Five others joined them moments later, their swords flashing and slashing at the Mabrick guards.
All at once, there was an explosion from the right. The ground rumbled beneath William’s feet, and the boom was so deafening, it left William with a high-pitched ringing in his ears. But it did nothing to dull his vision, nothing to shield him from the sight as a massive bolt punched through first one of his men, then a second. The thick stock of metal continued onward, glistening with their blood as it sailed into the night.
The two men had been standing near the edge and pitched over without once crying out—as they were dead before they fell.
A moment of shock descended on the battle, and for the blink of an eye, no one moved. Not William and his army, nor the Mabrick guards.
“Get the archers.” The shouted order launched everyone back into action. Amid the ring of clashing weapons and roars of men was the unmistakable rasp of another bolt sliding into the weapon that had killed two men in one blow.
A cluster of eight guards rushed toward them, an amount they could certainly take.
The massive boom thundered once more, causing the stone beneath their feet to shudder. A heart-rending cry came from beside William, and he knew he’d lost another man.
Damn.
The attacking guards redoubled their efforts, forcing William and his men back. William braced himself but still found his heel hitting the hard stone wall behind him. He cut down the man in front of him, and his falling opponent was immediately replaced with a guard who was taller, stronger.
The man struck like an ox, each blow so hard it made William’s bones rattle. Back, back, back, the man pushed as William’s other heel met the stone.
An arrow flew past his shoulder and sank into the man’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and the guard dropped. As he fell, William caught sight of an oblong iron barrel with a flame flickering at its rear.
Boom!
Fire flashed at its front as a massive bolt shot out. This time, however, it hit a crenellation with a splintering crack, taking a chunk out of the stone. Another English guard attacked William.
“They have an archer,” one of the Englishmen called out.
The back of William’s neck prickled in fear.
Beneath the sounds of battle came the familiar creak of a dozen bows being drawn. Only this time, William knew they would be pointed toward the woods, in the direction of Kinsey and Fib.
* * *
Kinsey kept her gaze locked on the top of the castle, where four of their men were nearly being pushed over the side. While she had never been in battle before, she knew this one was not going well.
She took aim and released her bowstring. Her arrow sped through the air and hit the guards trying to shove one of William’s men to the ground.
Despite the grisly fate of their fellow fighters, the other men had not abandoned their attempts to scale the wall. Nine more were climbing to the top, nearly midway. Four men had been cleared away from the ground, victims of the pot-de-fer, and one due to an arrow. The rest of their army had backed into the safety of the woods and lay in wait for their turn at the ropes.
Fib fluttered around her in excitement and horror, his hands on his head. “There are more archers firing.”
“I see them.” Kenzie redirected her aim toward the bowmen shooting at the men edging up the wall. One of them cried out and fell, the silence of his descent indicative of his fate.
She released another arrow.
“Ye got one.” Fib threw his arms into the air in victory.
All at once, she realized an archer had turned toward her.
Her pulse spiked.
They were shooting at her. At her and Fib.
“Down,” she shouted as she dove toward the earth.
Fib joined her on the ground, partially covered by several thin tree trunks. The arrows whooshed toward them, cutting off abruptly in several errant thunks and pops as they landed harmlessly around them.
“Go to the forest where the others are,” she ordered Fib.
He stood stubbornly in place. “Are ye coming?”
Another hearty boom cracked through the night, and yet another man pitched over the side of the castle wall. Dead. More arrows rained down on the men climbing the ropes.
One cried out, and the group began to descend with haste as a call came to the archers once more.
Kinsey leapt up and took out another archer. While it was a victory, her shot let them know she was still alive. They would fire at her again.
Fib clambered to his feet with a cheer. “Ye hit one more.”
“Go now, Fib,” she said through clenched teeth. “The men are retreating. Hurry and join them.”
“I willna go without ye.”
One of the men loading the pot-de-fer lifted his head over the crenellations for a fraction of a second, and she released her nocked arrow. He ducked down, just as her carefully aimed arrow shattered against the stone behind him. Exactly where his head had been.
The men atop the castle fought onward with tireless strength. Doubtless, they didn’t know their men were gone.
Several arrows sailed toward Kinsey once more. She ducked, pulling Fib with her. An arrow landed just before Kinsey’s face, not even an inch from her eye. Her breath sucked in sharply. That had been close.
Too close.
All at once, the four men fighting leapt over the wall, catching the ropes and sliding down with haste.
Kinsey’s stomach sank.
They were retreating.
They had lost.
The archers turned their arrows toward the ropes.
“Fib,” she shouted in aggravation. “Ye need to leave now. We’re retreating.”
“Nay, my lady,” he replied stoically. “A man of chivalry would never leave a woman alone to defend herself.”
She loosed an arrow at an archer, who pitched crumpled out of sight. “I’m no ordinary woman.”
But she couldn’t think about Fib now, not when she had to concentrate on picking off as
