EVANDER LOST SIGHT of Rachel a few moments before the black ships smashed into each other. He looked back to see the mortals they had tossed overboard being seized by clansmen in the dories, who were rowing them back to shore. Evander could not join them. He knew the laird expected him to burn with the ships once he had used the pouch of catch-fire. For his crimes against the clan he would have let the fire take him, too, but he could not allow Rachel to share the same fate.

Pitch-fueled flames roared around Evander as he braced himself against the wheel for the collision. The burning main mast cracked, and with a loud splintering groan fell over onto the other boat. It crushed the undead caught beneath it. For a moment the smoke cleared, but Rachel had disappeared, along with the tribune and the old man who had been with her.

They willnae take her.

Evander felt his chest burn, and seized a spear dropped by one of the sentries before he took a running leap and jumped to the other ship. He landed and fell to his knees, righting himself onto his feet as a grim-faced Roman marched toward him, swords in both hands.

“Your slut tried to trick me, highlander,” the undead shouted. “She will pay for it with her blood and her bones–”

He stopped and looked down at the spear Evander had buried in his chest, which clattered to the deck along with the pile of ash he became. Evander grabbed the spear as two snarling undead charged him, and he skewered one through the heart before he seized the other and flung him overboard. Swiveling around, he spotted the hatch to the hold, and shouted into it for Rachel.

A short sword jabbed at his face, and Evander spun out of the way, nearly thrusting his spear into the man’s gut before he saw his condition and the bite marks on his neck.

“Ye shallnae harm me marster,” the gaunt man hissed.

Evander knocked the sword from his shaking hand, and clubbed the mortal, who collapsed. Carrying him over to the side, he dropped him into one of the druids’ boats, and saw the other being rowed to shore, with the Romans and Rachel inside it.

Dust blasted him, and Evander spun around to see Tormod drawing back his sword as if to strike another blow, with a pile of undead ash on the deck between them.

“To think you were once the clan’s deadliest fighter,” the Norseman complained as he jerked him away from the side. “I might have killed you just now. Me, the facking map maker. This wench has you entirely addled.”

“Aye,” Evander agreed and returned the favor by spearing another guard leaping down on Tormod from the crow’s nest. “Yet your example helps me improve.”

The Norseman peered down into the hold. “Enslaved mortals,” he bellowed. “If you dinnae wish to burn along with these evil bastarts, drop your weapons and come up here.”

Evander stood guard as Tormod helped the remaining thralls out of the hold. A few came with weapons, which he plucked from their hands before he hurled the thralls over the side into the sea.

“You see? If you’re kind to the facking toadies, they bring you gifts.” The Norseman gave Evander a short sword and another spear, and then took in the fire building around them. “We’ve ended their masters, so they’ll no longer be enslaved. That’s it, then. All that’s left is you.”

Evander waited for Tormod to attack, but something jerked him backward and he fell into the sea. Raen dragged him underwater as he swam across the cove and dragged him onto the shore.

“The facking undead wish to speak to you,” the big man said, nodding at the undead between the stone columns. “Or they’ve promised to cut her throat.”

Yanking off his soaked jacket, Evander saw the carved Gyfu rune Rachel had given to him for luck tumble to the ground.

‘Twill need be squared by ye, lad, the old woman had said. Gyfu, the gift, the love, the sacrifice.

Evander knew what he had to do now. He picked up his weapons.

Lachlan and Diana joined them, and flanked Evander as they walked toward their enemy.

“So the Viking didnae end you.”

“’Twas a surprise to me as well,” Evander said and glanced at the laird. “I expect he wishes more time to enjoy my suffering and screaming and such.”

“We all do, honey,” Diana assured him as they stopped a short distance from the columns. “This sucks. They’ve got perfect cover. Maybe if we put some men behind them.”

“No time,” Lachlan told her.

Rachel emerged from the shadows, the waves from the incoming tide crashing against the sea columns and soaking the bottom of her skirts. Quintus Seneca stood at her side, his stern face impassive as he regarded the McDonnels. Then Evander saw the dagger glittering against Rachel’s throat, and behind her an elderly face appeared, wrinkled with a huge, fanged grin.

“So you survived the catch-fire, Talorc,” Ermindale said. “You live up to your reputation as a slippery bastart. I quite admire you, you ken. Betraying your clan, running off with our spy, and remaining so well-hidden. And, of course, taking all of our new captives as well as this little witch. Did you enjoy her? Is she much skilled with her mouth?”

The old man was trying to provoke him into foolishness, which Evander ignored. He looked into Rachel’s eyes, and knew she was sharing his thoughts.

“Release the lady, Ermindale, and I am yours.”

“Oh, that’s so not happening,” Diana muttered.

“You think me a cunt to be stuffed with a cock of lies, then?” Ermindale tightened his grip on Rachel. “The moment she’s free the McDonnels will kill you, and take her, and we’ll have naught. No, traitor, I want the location of Dun Aran.”

Lachlan made a disgusted sound. “He willnae tell you that, and even if he does, you’ll never live to pay a visit.”

Diana spread her hands. “There you go. Ask for something else.”

“I think not,” Quintus said softly.

The marquess looked past them. “Parati.”

The mortals who had been rescued from the ship had quietly moved into positions behind the druids and the McDonnels. In an instant they produced daggers to press against the back of each clansman’s neck, and every druid’s throat.

“Son of a bitch,” Diana breathed.

“For this,” the laird said, his voice like ice now, “I shall gut you myself.”

“Och, you’ll permit us to do as we please,” Ermindale said. “For I created each of these thralls. All I must do is utter another word, and they will slaughter the lot.” He sent several soldiers up to collect horses before eyeing Evander. “Tell me the location now, or I slice your slut and end the rest.”

“Have no doubt, he will do this,” Quintus promised.

Diana shook her head. “If you tell him, my lord, he’ll just do it anyway. He’s that kind of asshole.”

“We’ve no choice, lass,” Lachlan said.

Evander hardly heard them as he held the gaze of the woman he loved.

I ken you hear me, just as you did on the ship. I cannae betray the clan to save you, but I willnae permit the undead to harm you. We’ve only one choice left. He showed her what he wanted to do to put an end to the standoff. I wouldnae ask this of you, but you willnae do it alone.

The fear vanished from Rachel’s face.

“I want what you want, Evander,” she said. “Always. I love you.”

“You are my heart,” he said and tightened his grip on the spear as he nodded. “I’ll be only a moment or two.”

He lifted the weapon and threw it with all his strength.

Diana screamed as the spear buried itself in Rachel’s chest, ramming through her heart. Evander knew he had killed her instantly, and felt as if his own heart were tearing itself in two. Behind Rachel the marquess stopped grinning, and uttered a strangled sound before his face turned gray and began to blow away with the wind. His arms crumbled away from Rachel’s body, and a moment later his ashes dissolved into the sea.

The mortals holding the daggers on the McDonnels staggered away, now released from Ermindale’s hold. Quintus Seneca stood over Rachel’s body, his head bowed and his shoulders stiff. His female bodyguard rode up behind him, and pulled him onto her horse before she urged her mount into a fast gallop away from the shore. But Evander didn’t pursue them. He rushed to Rachel’s side and gently lifted her body from the water. As he slid the spear out of her and threw it away, he looked up to find Lachlan, Diana, and Raen.

“I would have chopped the old bastart to pieces,” the laird said, gazing at the drifting ash. Then he turned a mournful look on Rachel. “Her end was quick.”

“’Twas the only way we could save the clan and the magic folk,” Evander said and stroked a hand over her dark hair. “She’s always been a brave lass, my Rachel.” He offered Raen the hilt of his short sword. When he didn’t take it, he added, “You’re owed this, and she’s waiting on me, Aber. Please.”

The big man swallowed as he took the blade, and then dropped it. He shook his head and pulled Diana into his arms.

“Gods forgive me,” the big man said, “but I cannae do it.”

“You forget, Seneschal,” Lachlan said. “’Tis my duty to reward bravery.” He picked up the sword, and moved behind Evander. “Give your Rachel our thanks, Talorc. You go with mine.”

Evander pressed his cheek to the top of her head, and smiled as the laird thrust down the point of the blade toward the back of his neck.

Always.