William’s heart squeezed painfully.
Reid shouldn’t have to pay the price with him. Nor should Kinsey.
She was too bright a light to be doused from this world. Her determination, too fierce. He would never hold her again, kiss her again, have the opportunity to tell her he loved her.
A stubborn ache settled in the back of his throat.
He should have told her he loved her. He should have told his father he would rather forego being laird, that he would marry no woman but Kinsey.
It was so easy to picture in his mind now, the idea of Kinsey as his wife. She was half English, aye, but she had the heart of a Scot. She was a warrior, powerful and beautiful.
He gritted his teeth against the hurt swelling in his chest.
He should have realized it sooner. Before it was too late.
Before now when everything was coming to an end.
“Do ye think they’ll spare her?” William asked aloud the question burning a hole in his brain.
Reid looked down at the floor and pressed his lips together. “We’ll find out on the morrow.”
That was what William was afraid of. To go to his death with the pain that he had also killed Kinsey, the woman he’d been too afraid to admit loving.
He truly had lost everything.
* * *
Kinsey’s body ached everywhere. Exhaustion fogged her brain and left her thoughts thick as pottage.
Something pillowy cradled her body. A mattress? Was she on a bed?
How had she arrived there?
Flashes of memory came to her. Bodies. Blood. The sweep of a blade. Ducking away.
William.
Her heart beat harder, and her breath caught. A blaze of pain fired through her chest at her gasp. She groaned, a low, ugly sound that rose from her soul.
The last she’d seen of him, he’d been fighting. Had he made it? Had he been captured? Had she?
Somewhere nearby, a door closed.
Alarm spiked through her, and her eyes flew open. Anguish erupted in her brain at the light coming toward her. She put her hands to her face and moaned against the brilliance.
“Kinsey.” The voice was soothing. Familiar.
The light shifted away, so the glowing red behind her eyelids faded to a soothing black. A quiet thunk came from the table beside the bed, and she knew the candle had been set aside. The splintering creak of old wood indicated someone sat on a chair near her bed.
“Kinsey, look at me.”
She pried one eye open by sheer will and choked out a sob. Fire blazed in her chest. “Drake? Where is William? And Reid?”
Her brother, always so confident and sure, now looked at her with tears shimmering in his eyes. “Kinsey. I’m sorry. God forgive me. I dinna know—” He swallowed thickly and put his head in his hands. “I dinna know it was ye.”
“Am I a prisoner?” she asked in a weak voice.
“I’m sorry, Kinsey,” Drake repeated. “I dinna know.”
She reached for him and gently pulled his hands from his face. “It wasn’t yer fault. I didn’t think ye’d be here, or I’d never have agreed to be part of the attack.”
Drake scrubbed a hand over his hair. “The king has been knighting men for providing additional protection on the border. Lord Werrick knew how much I wanted it.” His gaze wandered over her face, and issued forth a pained sigh. “I’ve no’ been knighted yet on account of our Scottish blood, but if I do well here with Lord Carlyle…”
“They’re going to make ye a knight?” Kinsey’s heart splintered open.
They were.
Surely, they wouldn’t award it to him now. The weight of her guilt hurt more than any of her wounds. He’d finally had a chance for the knighthood he’d worked his entire life to achieve. And she had ruined it for him.
Drake’s lower lip trembled. “I’ve injured ye so badly.” A tear escaped his eye. “I dinna know it was ye, Kinsey. God, I’m so sorry.”
“Good thing I’m not so easy to kill, eh?” She offered him a smile.
He gave a shallow laugh. “Ye’re a commendable fighter, little sister.”
“I learned from the best.” She grabbed his hand and held it.
He glanced down at their clasped hands, and his expression turned serious. “Do ye think…do ye think ye’ve lost the babe?”
Kinsey blinked at him, certain she’d heard wrong. “Babe?”
“I was told ye were with child.” His face twitched in myriad emotions: sorrow, horror. Rage.
She shook her head and immediately regretted it as the room began to spin. “Nay. I’m no’ with child.”
“The man in the dungeon said ye were.”
Kinsey stiffened. “William. He’s alive? Reid too?”
Drake scowled. “Did he touch ye?”
“Drake,” she cried out impatiently. Her chest was almost too tight to breathe, compounded by the press of fear. “Are they alive?”
“Aye, they’re alive.” Drake frowned. “But if he took advantage of ye—”
“I’m a grown woman,” she said in a firm voice. “This is one of the reasons I left. Ye all think of me as a child. I’m a woman. I have fought in battles. I have made my own choices. And, aye,” her throat clenched. “I have loved a man.”
“And ye love him still?” Drake’s brown eyes were hard, his jaw tight.
Exhaustion lapped at her awareness, promising her relief from her injuries. She closed her heavy eyelids. “I do.”
“We’ve all been worried about ye, Kinsey,” he said tenderly. “I should have insisted ye return home when I saw ye at the tavern. I hadna received the news ye’d left home so abruptly then. Ye should be at the manor. Safe. Ye shouldna have been here. I shouldna have—” His face stretched in a silent wince, and he rose abruptly to his feet.
Panic swelled in her. She had too many questions unanswered. “Where are ye going?”
“To find a way to get ye out of here,” he said with stoic resolve.
“Ye can’t.” She reached for him again. “Don’t sacrifice yer chance at knighthood for me.”
Tears burned in his dark gaze. “I almost killed
