Someone had put her in a kirtle, one of simple blue linen that was rough against his fingertips. Kinsey winced as she struggled to sit, her breath labored.
A tight band squeezed at William’s chest at the realization of her pain. She was tough, aye, but there was something delicate and precious about her that made him want to keep her protected. If given a choice, he would gladly assume her agony.
Once upright, she swayed, and her lashes fluttered as though she was near fainting.
She would need help to walk.
William looped one of her arms around his shoulders. “Reid, get her other side.”
Reid rushed to comply, his actions swift but gentle. Even still, Kinsey flinched.
More shouts rose from outside as a fire was apparently being addressed.
William had wanted to ask Kinsey who the man was who had freed them from the dungeon, but now was not the time. Not when they had to rush. Not when they had to stay quiet and avoid being seen.
Together, Reid and William helped Kinsey down two flights of stairs to the main entrance of the castle where the stone floors were still tinged red from the blood of the battle. The cries of alarm came from somewhere in the rear of the castle.
They would be free to escape without notice.
“Stop,” a voice bellowed.
William and Reid both began to run. Kinsey’s body had gone limp between them. Surely, the pain had been great enough to make her lose awareness. At least that much was a blessing. William would not allow himself to think of any other option that would cause her to go so still.
An arrow skittered over the stone.
“Close the portcullis,” another voice cried.
William increased his pace along with Reid, charging toward the portcullis as it began to fall closed. They had to make it. If they didn’t, they would all be hanged.
Mayhap tortured.
A death cry came from the side of the portcullis where an English guard manned the lever. He slid to the floor, unmoving as the portcullis caught and held halfway down its track. The man who had freed William and Reid from the dungeon stepped from the shadows, his blade dripping with blood.
“Go,” he shouted.
All at once, more guards appeared. The man didn’t seem to notice as he charged into the Englishmen with his sword raised.
“There’s too many.” Reid eased Kinsey from his shoulders. “Go.”
William hesitated in horror at what his friend was suggesting, even as he gathered Kinsey in his arms to keep her from sliding to the ground. “Nay.”
“Damn it, William, save her.” Reid snatched up a sword from the soldier who had fallen by the portcullis lever.
“Meet me at the inn,” William said.
Reid gave a solemn nod, as if he were accepting an order that he would be able to follow.
They both knew the truth. There were too many English guards and only two men to stop them.
A band of tension squeezed at William’s throat. Leaving his lifelong friend, his comrade in arms, went against everything inside his very soul. But he knew if he didn’t go, Kinsey would die.
And Reid’s sacrifice would be in vain.
William couldn’t still his mind as he ran with Kinsey in his arms, fueled by the energy roaring through his veins. Reid, the boyhood friend, who’d been a part of his life for as far back as he could remember, would be dead. Slain by the English, as his family had been.
Kinsey was limp as William carried her and remained so a while later when he had to stop to rest his arms and back. He bent over her, panting for breath from his exertions, and found she’d gone pale.
“Kinsey?” he whispered.
She didn’t move. Not so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
“Kinsey?” he said, louder this time, his voice hoarse.
When she did not respond again, he rested a light touch on her chest, confirmed it still rose and fell. However, the action was shallow and did not allay his fear.
She was still alive, aye, but for how long?
Tears filled his eyes, and he didn’t bother to swipe them away. “Kinsey, stay alive, aye?” He cradled her to him despite his tired limbs and buried his face in the silkiness of her hair, breathing in the familiar sweet scent of her, though it made his heart ache.
“I love ye,” he said vehemently. “I dinna want a wife from another clan. I want ye.” He lifted her with arms that trembled with exhaustion and pressed onward on foot, desperate to get her to a healer. To see if she might be saved.
He would not give up. Never. He would do anything to ensure she lived.
* * *
Everything hurt.
Kinsey drew in a shallow breath and caught the scent of herbs in the humid air. Her back ached where she lay on a flat surface. She tried to shift her weight and pain sizzled in her lungs.
A noise caught in her throat.
“Kinsey?” an unfamiliar feminine voice asked. A cool hand settled on Kinsey’s arm.
She blinked her eyes into a squint and found bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters, moving slightly on an unseen breeze. Her focus slid toward the shadow hovering over her and she opened her eyes so she could see properly. A woman was there, several years older than herself, with hair the color of honey and violet-blue eyes.
The woman smiled kindly. “I’m Fennela.” She kept her voice low and soothing.
Kinsey frowned in confusion.
“I’m a healer,” Fennela continued. “Ye’ve been injured. We’re in my cottage, where I’m taking care of ye.”
Kinsey’s brow furrowed. She didn’t remember coming to a cottage. Or being injured for that matter. Except that it hurt when she breathed, when she moved.
She searched her thoughts for the last memory she had and recalled Drake talking to her in Mabrick Castle. “William?” Kinsey tried to sit up, but Fennela put a gentle hand on her shoulder to still her.
“He’s resting.” Fennela indicated the corner near the hearth.
William sat in a wooden chair, his arms folded over his chest,
