Page 9 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

"Behind me," he ordered.

Neilina barely had time to breathe before the warrior attacked again.

Marcas turned the sword aside, stepped forward, and drove his own blade beneath the man's ribs.

The warrior stiffened.

For an instant he remained standing, his face registering surprise, before Marcas pulled his sword free and the man collapsed heavily onto the stones.

He turned immediately.

His eyes found her immediately, as though he’d been keeping track of her even through the fight.

"Are ye hurt?" he said.

"Nae." Neilina shook her head, though her legs were trembling so badly she was not certain they would hold her. She looked at the warrior on the ground and then at him. "That was⁠—"

He caught her arm. "Then come."

She stumbled after him as he pulled her through the fighting, but she could barely keep her footing. The courtyard seemed to have become a blur of steel and blood and shouting men, and every instinct told her to run in the opposite direction from the battle, yet Marcas moved through it with the certainty of a man who knew exactly where he was going.

"Wait."

He did not slow.

"There are still MacRath men on the eastern wall," she said.

He glanced at her.

"There were several," he said. "My men came over the eastern wall first. There are three now."

She nodded at that.

The fighting was moving toward the keep, which meant the courtyard was opening up, which meant the big roan tethered near the far wall—Marcas’horse, she realized— was becoming accessible.

Before she could answer, a MacKinnon warrior ran toward them.

"Marcas! We've taken the courtyard, but they're gathering at the inner gate."

"Then get the men out before they close it."

"What about Cailleach?"

Marcas glanced across the courtyard.

Cailleach came through the keep door with five men behind him, the pleasant expression he’d kept earlier was gone, replaced by something harder and more honest.

He looked at Neilina. Then at Marcas.

"MacKinnon," he said. "Ye've nae right tae be on my land."

CHAPTER FOUR

"And yet here I am," Marcas said.

His voice was different from the voice he'd used in the courtyard moments ago, or from the wry observation he'd made at the postern gate. His tone was harder, more commanding somehow.

“Stay where ye are.”