A wall of Englishmen formed at the entryway to keep William and the army out, but after several minutes of combat, the Scots were able to force their way through. Their blades flashed and slashed, hacking through the defenses to get into the castle beyond.
Once they were inside, it would be easy to take possession of the castle, with most of the English’s prime defending soldiers already slain.
Kinsey held back from sending more arrows into battle lest she hit one of her men. They pushed farther into the thick stone entryway and finally disappeared inside. Her heartbeat quickened.
This was it.
The hard part was done.
Victory would be theirs.
She searched the area for any guards who might be coming to assist. Seeing none, she waited.
That had been the plan. She was to remain on the outskirts of the castle, vigilant for any approaching guards. The seconds passed like hours.
It was impossible to gauge the time. The clashing of swords continued to ring out through the entryway, as did the grunts and cries. She craned her neck but couldn’t see inside.
Apprehension tingled up her spine.
Shouldn’t the fighting have stopped?
William had made it seem as though once they were within the castle, Mabrick would fall. The sounds of battle suggested otherwise.
She waited only a moment longer before making the decision to relinquish up her post and join the men inside. Wasn’t this why she had a sword strapped to her belt? In the event that she might need to help?
She scanned the surrounding area constantly as she moved, on alert for any men who might try to attack. Blood darkened the path where the packed earth met fitted stonework. She stepped over one dead English guard and another, flinching as she saw one of their own too—a man with unruly dark hair and a witty sense of humor.
She knelt at his side, but his open sightless eyes told her there was nothing that could be done. He was already dead.
The ringing of swords was louder now. She pressed against the thick stone wall and crept deeper into the entrance. There were more bodies, the floor wet with blood. The coppery scent mingled with the odor of death and made bile rise in her throat.
She lowered her bow and nocked an arrow to her side, still keeping it at the ready lest she need it and glanced around the corner.
The air sucked from her lungs in horror. Many of their men had been slain, but not only by English guards. Mabrick had reserved its most powerful warriors for inside the castle. Several Englishmen in superior armor, wearing blue and white surcoats, fought alongside the guards with brutal force.
In only one slash, the soldier closest to Kinsey blocked the blow of three men, killing one and injuring another as the third staggered back.
The back of her neck tingled with fear.
Her gaze darted through the mass of fighting men, seeking William. She found him alongside Reid as they battled against the tallest of all the superior English warriors.
William wouldn’t want her to fight. She was aware of that, just as much as she realized that in joining this battle, it might result in her death.
But if she did not, William would certainly be slain.
Ignoring all the warning protests in her mind, she took aim and released her first arrow.
She had joined the fight.
20
This was not how the attack was supposed to go.
William ducked to evade the sword streaking toward him.
The skilled English fighters had been behind the back of the guards, waiting to defend the castle. This was a tactic he’d never seen before. Usually, the best fighters were at the head of the attack, not at its rear.
Reid rushed at their opponent and knocked him back several feet. After years of fighting together, William and Reid had formed a companionable rhythm in battle. One instinctually knowing when to attack while the other blocked.
Thus far, it had kept them alive.
Something flew across the room, snagging William’s attention. The item had moved so fast, he hadn’t had time to recognize it until the thing stuck fast in the arm of the man Duff was fighting.
William’s blood turned to ice.
An arrow.
Kinsey was there.
“William,” Reid hissed.
A mail-clad fist slammed into William’s helmet. His head knocked hard to the side, throwing his balance off.
“She’s here,” he grunted.
Footsteps shuffled in front of William as Reid stood before him while he recovered. “She made her choice,” Reid ground out.
A sharp clang of striking metal as Reid parried another blow pulled William back to the fight at hand. But even as he worked with Reid, jabbing and blocking, William couldn’t take his mind off Kinsey.
He’d lost men. Their blood ran with that of their English enemies underfoot. He wouldn’t now lose her as well.
With a guttural roar, he charged at the man with everything in him. No matter how powerful his opponent, fighting two men at once was no small feat.
True to his suspicion, the Englishman was beginning to tire, and William’s strike had the man stumbling backward. Reid punched his sword upward, just beneath their opponent’s helm. Blood spurted from the wound and spilled out in a river of red down the surcoat, staining the white with a brilliant crimson.
William and Reid both took a moment to catch their breath and lower their weapons to quell the fire in their limbs. In that flash of a second, they both assessed the situation around them.
After they’d broken through into the castle, there had been ten warriors within. It had seemed easy enough until the first one engaged with unholy power. When the remaining nine attacked, several of William’s men had fallen.
Another arrow flew through the air and sank into the knee of the same Englishman struck in the arm previously. The man fell to his good knee but continued to lash out with his sword. The blade caught Duff in the shoulder.
Before William could run to him, a Scottish warrior rushed out to Duff’s aid, too petite to be a
