Kinsey.
William was moving forward now, his focus locked on her. His blade flew without mercy, blocking every hit aimed toward him, slashing in retaliation.
She stood up to the injured fighter who was nearly her size when he knelt. He pulled his blade back, but before his weapon could fall, Kinsey had whipped the bow off her back, nocked an arrow and sent it into his neck. He fell back and did not move.
Kinsey did, however. She caught Duff by the back of his chainmail and dragged him out of the fray.
She’d saved Duff. But how many were already dead?
He knew without a doubt, if they stayed, they would all be.
“Retreat,” William shouted.
His men edged toward the entrance as they continued to fight. Kinsey, however, did not. Nay, she plucked arrows from her quiver and helped cover the men who were fleeing. In doing so, she’d taken the target from everyone’s back and put it on her own.
One of the large guards turned on William and swung a massive two-handed sword. William dodged to the side, and Reid immediately struck their new opponent, slamming him in the chest with a powerful blow. In the time he did this, William had fully recovered and shoved the point of his blade into the man’s helm while he reeled from Reid’s hit.
By the time the English guard fell, nearly all of William’s men had cleared out. He looked to Kinsey in time to see one of the elite warriors swipe his blade in her direction.
She drew her bow back, but the man was too close.
“Nay,” William growled.
Another man jabbed his sword at William, obstructing his path to Kinsey. William opened his mouth to call for Reid to go to her but found that two men were already on his friend, their weapons flashing with lethal intent.
William kept his focus on Kinsey as she backed away from the man. A sharp blow caught William on the side of his shoulder. Pain radiated down his arm.
He needed to focus, to kill this bastard, so he could make his way to Kinsey.
Last time he’d had that thought, she had survived and come back to save him. He hoped to God her luck would hold out once more.
* * *
The man was too close for Kinsey to use her bow. She dropped it and withdrew the sword she’d belted to her waist.
The Englishman struck out at her, his blade moving with such speed, she scarcely had time to dart from its path. She lifted her weapon. Her arms trembled with the weight of it, fatigued from her efforts with the bow.
Using its weight to accelerate her strike as William had shown her, she slammed her weapon at the man she fought. It missed him wildly. So much so, his helm turned to regard the blade’s tip where it rasped against the stone floor.
His sword flicked up, too quick to stop. The hilt of her sword flew from her hand and clattered to the ground several feet away from her. Too far to retrieve.
Discreetly, she eased the dagger from her belt. If she were to die, she would take one or two of their enemy with her.
The Englishman advanced on her.
This time, it was she who was too fast. She skirted around him and struck hard at his side with the hilt of her dagger. He jerked in pained surprise, his tight grunt audible, despite the fight waging on around them.
He growled and swung around, not with his sword, but with his fist. It connected to her head, snapping it to the right. Her vision faded for a second, and the world around her tilted.
She staggered. Her body tried to keep moving, but her mind was stunned for that moment. A warning shrieked through her. She shook her head in the helm, trying to clear her thoughts.
Something powerful struck on her right side, exploding in pain and sending her sprawling. She hit the unyielding surface of the wall in another wave of agony and slid down.
A rhythmic whistle echoed in her helm. Wheezing. Her breath.
Fire burned in her lungs with each labored intake of air.
A shadow fell over her. All the hurt screaming through her faded beneath a spike of fear. If she remained where she was, she would be dead.
She squeezed her hand around her dagger and found nothing in her palm. She had lost it. Hopelessness nipped at her resolve. Brief, but sharp.
She gritted her teeth. It would be fists against steel, then. For if she were to die this day, it would be while fighting. She lifted her head to regard her opponent as he raised his sword.
Before he could swing it down, she launched herself from the ground and caught him at his waist. It had been her intention to drag him to the ground, but he was too solid, too powerful. He remained rooted where he stood and flung her off him.
Her head cracked back on the flagstones, and nausea churned in her stomach. Everything hurt. Moving. Breathing. Thinking.
The footsteps approaching her were heavy with intent. Even though her chest was on fire, the air pulling in and out of her chest came faster. Panic.
She tried to kick at the man, but her blows hardly touched him.
“Nay,” William’s voice rose above the din of war. “We yield,” he cried. “We yield.”
If they yielded, they would be hanged. It would be certain death for William and Reid.
“Nay.” Kinsey shook her head. “Don’t.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. Inaudible. He would never hear her.
Tears rushed to her eyes.
The Englishman standing over her grabbed her and hoisted her upright. “I’ll no’ kill a man who is yielding.” Though his voice was muffled by his helm, she caught the slight Scots accent.
The bastard was Scottish and fighting with the English?
She struggled against him, but he held his grip.
“Release her,” William said fiercely.
She stopped struggling against her captor and searched the room through the slit in her visor, immediately finding William and Reid. Both had their
