he wrought with his body, that held her entranced.
Just as when he had battled the wyrran in her village, Reaghan couldn’t take her eyes off him. Galen moved effortlessly, dominating and annihilating any and all who came near him.
His roars were booming, the strikes of his claws ferocious. He was a Warrior.
And he was magnificent.
Some feared the Warriors, but Reaghan had known from the beginning Galen was different. Her love for him had only grown each day she had been with him and had seen the man, the Warrior he truly was.
It was that love which gave her the strength to search for Braden. Galen would stop at nothing to protect those he cared about, and Reaghan could do no less.
She tore her gaze from Galen and focused on finding other Warriors. Braden had wanted to help them. Reaghan guessed he would stay near a Warrior to render whatever aid the lad thought he could.
It didn’t take her long to find Braden standing not far from Logan. She tried calling out to him, but the boy couldn’t hear her over the battle. Reaghan could go back into the castle and get the attention of a Warrior on the battlements, but they were busy fighting wyrran.
She was on her own.
Reaghan squared her shoulders and lifted her skirts as she raced toward Logan and Braden. The lad had found a sword lying on the ground and was trying to lift it as a MacClure came at him.
A scream lodged in her throat when the MacClure struck Braden with a sword. His small body fell to the ground without a sound as the sword dropped from his hands.
Reaghan rushed to Braden’s side. She stood over him, the sword he had attempted to lift in her hands, as a wyrran came at her.
She had never been so petrified in her life. The wyrran smiled at her, its lips unable to cover the mouthful of teeth. Its long claws clicked together just before it swiped a hand at her.
Reaghan leaned back to avoid being scratched. She tried to swing the sword, but she was more effective in using it to keep the wyrran’s claws at bay than to harm the ugly creature.
Suddenly, Broc fell from the sky behind the wyrran and severed its head from its body. “Reaghan, what in the name of all that’s holy are you doing?” Broc demanded.
Reaghan set the end of the sword on the ground and leaned on it. “Braden. He’s hurt. Take him to Sonya.”
“I’ll take both of you.”
“Nay,” Reaghan said. “I’ll make my way to the castle. Just take Braden before he dies.”
Broc frowned but lifted the boy in his arms and jumped into the air, his wings spread wide. “Get as close to the castle as you can. I’ll come for you.”
Reaghan kept the sword in her hands as she started toward the castle. She smiled when she saw Broc reach the castle with Braden. She had saved him.
An icy chill overtook Reaghan, one of menace and evil. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Dunmore had spotted her. He spurred his horse toward her, his gaze intent on her and her alone.
Reaghan lifted her skirts as she began to run. Behind her she heard a man yell the MacClure name.
A sharp, ferocious pain slammed into her. Reaghan stopped, her feet refusing to move. The sword dropped from her fingers as her vision swam and the world tilted. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees.
The pain was cruel and brutal as it stole her breath and her ability to move. Something had struck her in the back. But she had promised Galen she would stay safe. She wouldn’t give up now. She would crawl to the castle if she had to.
But no matter how many times her brain told her body to move, nothing happened.
It grew more difficult to breathe. Each time her lungs emptied, her body struggled to fill them up again. She felt something warm and heavy slide down her back.
Reaghan toppled to the side and cried out from the unbearable agony. All she could do was watch from where she lay as Galen and the other Warriors battled back the MacClures and the wyrran.
Reaghan, however, knew her time was at an end.
THIRTY-NINE
Sonya rushed from the dungeons into the great hall when she heard Broc bellow her name. It had taken all of them to keep Fiona inside the dungeon as Reaghan searched for Braden. Fiona’s grief-stricken cries had broken Sonya’s heart.
Exhaustion and weariness weighed heavily on Sonya. She had slept little. Not even Broc’s promise to fly the Druids into the castle had helped ease her worry. Nor would it until her sister was beside her.
Then it had taken all she had to save Odara. At one point, Sonya hadn’t thought she would be able to help the old woman. She worried that the fear she had long had of losing her magic was coming to pass.
And it couldn’t have come at a worse time, when others would need her so desperately.
“Sonya, hurry,” Broc yelled as he carefully laid something on the floor.
Her steps wavered when she caught sight of Braden. Tears gathered when she saw the boy’s chest and the deep slash that cut him diagonally from hip to shoulder. Sonya knelt beside him and held her hands over the wound.
It took a moment for her magic to come to her, once more bringing to mind her unease that she might one day lose her healing magic when it was needed most.
Braden’s wound was severe, but his little body was strong and he fought for life, which helped Sonya’s magic. Still, it took everything she had, pouring all of her magic into Braden, before the wound began to close.
The fact that the wound was large and gaping meant she had to use her magic even longer. She couldn’t rest, couldn’t rebuild her strength, for fear Braden’s body might give out.
When the last of the wound had come together, Sonya lowered her hands and nearly fell over.
Broc’s strong arm came around her. “It’s over now.”
She wanted to do nothing more than sleep for a sennight.
Then they heard the anguished, heartbroken roar.
*
Galen swiped his claws across the chest of a MacClure and watched as the mortal fell backward, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.
He glanced around for his next victim, only to discover that the few remaining MacClures were running away. Galen looked around at the carnage. So many lives had been taken, and all in Deirdre’s bid for dominance.
Galen started toward the castle to help the others with the wyrran when auburn locks lying amid the grass caught his eye. He paused, his heart suddenly unable to beat.
“Nay,” he whispered, refusing to believe what he saw.
Reaghan was in the castle. Safe from harm. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.
It didn’t matter how many times Galen told himself that, he had to know for sure.
With heavy feet and a sinking heart, he started toward the woman. He saw the spear sticking from her back. She lay at such an angle that Galen couldn’t see her face.
He took a few more steps then halted. All his breath left his body when he glimpsed Reaghan’s face. Galen ran the remaining steps to her, the roar which tore from his throat stripping him of his soul.
Galen dropped to his knees and smoothed Reaghan’s hair from her face. His hands shook, his god having ducked away at the grief that assaulted Galen.
Carefully, he put his hand under Reaghan’s shoulders and brought her against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, unable to believe she was gone, that he hadn’t known she needed him.
“Galen?”
