could hardly ask to be relieved of duty.
“You go to the beach,” Hallie said to Colban and Morgan as she rose. “Now that the bulk of the fighting is over, I’m going to take up a position atop the cliff, see what I can manage from there.”
They departed as quickly as they’d come. Gellir sighed. He’d missed the battle. And now he was left alone with a lovesick lass.
After a moment, she murmured, “Ye can go if ye like.”
He looked up sharply. Was his frustration so transparent? “Nay,” he replied, though he had to admit he’d been tempted for just an instant to take her suggestion. “I’m a warrior of Rivenloch,” he said, straightening with pride. “We don’t turn our backs on those in need.”
Saying it aloud felt like reclaiming his honor. It made him realize battles like this were not a trial of his skill at arms, but a test of his mettle as a man.
The mighty army of Rivenloch would triumph, with or without him. But to a wee lass with a broken nose, he was everything.
Dougal had bid the world farewell.
Yet here it was again, staring down at him in expectation.
Peering up through a bleary veil, somewhere between life and death, he discerned the familiar faces of his clan folk, murmuring in soft concern. Here were the men who fished the firth. There were the crofters who plowed the fields. The maidservants who tended to the castle. The villagers who marketed their goods.
They were carrying hayforks and scythes, axes and spades. For what purpose, he didn’t know. But they looked as if they’d deserted the fields mid-harvest to come stare at him on the beach.
Bending close over him, as blurry as a fish glimpsed in the shadowed depths of a loch, was the face he most longed to see.
Feiyan. Beautiful and fierce.
How could he leave her?
How could he face the thought of never seeing her again? Never gazing into her adoring eyes? Never kissing her welcoming lips? Never holding her tightly as they shared the joys of passion?
Someone jabbed his side, and a current of blinding pain brought him awake with a groan.
“He’ll live,” someone announced.
Cheers and prayers of gratitude went up all around.
Dougal was in too much pain to appreciate them.
But then he heard a voice that made him smile through the pain.
“Don’t you dare try to leave me again,” Feiyan threatened. “You’re going to be a Rivenloch now. And Rivenlochs ne’er leave clan warriors behind.”
Was it true? Was he going to live? Would he become the next laird? Would this incredible, brilliant, devoted, beautiful woman become his wife?
It took all of his strength, but he managed to croak out a reply. “Aye, m’lady.”
Another round of cheers erupted from his clan.
Then he frowned. He was still on his back on the sand. How long had he been lying there? Where were the Fortanachs?
While someone tended to his wound, poking and prodding, he drifted in and out of consciousness. But once when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by an impossible vision. By the exclamations of wonder around him, he realized he wasn’t the only one seeing the curious phenomenon.
Against the azure sky, he saw a strange flock of birds fly past. Golden phoenixes. Fiery-feathered beasts racing across the heavens and then diving down, as if to douse their flaming wings in the sea.
Turning his head, he watched the trajectory of one of the magnificent creatures. Its feathers smoked as it arced toward the water. But this one didn’t disappear beneath the surface.
Instead, it crashed onto a small sailing vessel in the harbor, engulfing the craft in flames.
“Got it!” someone cried.
“Burn in hell!” yelled someone else.
“They’ll burn or drown!”
“To Lucifer with ye!”
“Despicable demons!”
“That’s for Kirkoswald!”
“Ye’ll meet the devil for what ye did!”
The strange fire blazed on and on. Burning as if by magic atop the water. Sending black clouds roiling into the sky to foul the bright blue.
The last thing he saw before he succumbed again to the shadowy relief of slumber was his beloved Feiyan’s face, wreathed now in a smile despite her tear-filled eyes. It was a face that would grace all his dreams. Dreams that could now come true.
“Welcome home, Laird Dougal.”
Epilogue
The victory feast at Castle Darragh might have been delayed a week while Dougal recovered and supplies could be fetched. Once begun, however, it lasted long into the night. All the mac Darraghs, all the Rivenlochs and mac Girics, all the crofters and villagers from the surrounding lands, and even a handful