Page 121 of The Speed of Lightning
Calum braced one hand on his dagger. The fine hairs along his neck rose.
Aileen studied his face in the way she often did when they were on missions together, as if to discern how much he suspected.You know how women are. We always need an extra minute to gather our things.
Her attempt at reassurance only made his fear coil tighter, belting around his chest. And then sounds broke across the bay—sharp, splintering snaps, followed by the heavy, mournful toll of a watch bell.
In an instant, Angus staggered backward, knocked clean off his feet—an arrow buried deep in his chest, crimson spreading fast across his tunic. His calm, steady voice sounded eerily out of place. “I’m… hit.”
Before the horror could register, another shaft hissed across the deck. Cara crumpled beside him, arms flung wide, an arrow jutting from her back.
“NO!” Hector’s roar shook the loch, raw and terrible.
Arrows hammered down like hail, clattering into the deck. War instinct snapped the men into motion, closing around Aileen, Angus, and Cara in a living shield, eyes raking the treeline where the attack rained from.
Oh God, no. Freya.
Murdoch’s eyes locked with his, both men crouched behind the rail, the same terror written across his partner’s face.
Doc rolled to the side, fingers hooking his bow and quiver. In one smooth motion he strung the weapon, nocked an arrow, and waited for the lull.
Behind them, Hector scooped Cara into his arms. His horrified gaze fixed on the arrow lodged in her back. “Cara—no, no, no—stay with me, love,please?—”
Her head lolled into his neck, her voice a broken whisper. “…My boys. Eamon… Finn…”
The color drained from her face, her eyes sliding back. Hector’s great frame shook as he clutched her tighter, his voice breaking apart. “Don’t—don’t you leave me—Aileen,help her! Somebody do something?—”
“No! Stay down!” Léo hauled his wife flat, wrapping his body over hers, pinning her to the deck as another wave of arrows shrieked from the trees.
They sheltered one another, wood splintering as arrows thudded into the planks—but no flesh was pierced this time.
At the prow, Iain struggled with the tether, frantic. “We have to get off the open shoreline!”
“NO!” Aileen, Calum, Murdoch, and David shouted as one—while Hector, Léo, Eoghan, and Iain bellowed back a resounding, “YES!”
Another thwip cracked from the woods. Léo shoved Aileen hard, as an arrow buried itself in the spot she’d been crouching a heartbeat before.
He spun, eyes raking over Cara and Angus, and screamed, voice desperate. “Hector!Allons-y! Sortez-la d’ici!”
The French broke through. Hector’s horror snapped into focus, his grief-wracked face hardening back into command. He met Calum’s eyes. “You three—find Freya and Aoife. Head north. Rally at Pornaluchaig by dusk. We’re driving for Lochbuie.”
He ripped his sword free and hurled it. Calum caught it clean, belting it on.
“Go!” Hector roared.
Sprinting past the others, Calum tore toward the cottage, arrows hissing around him. He screamed for Freya, hopeclawing at his chest that she was still inside, safe behind its stone walls. Beside him, Murdoch matched his stride, shouting for Aoife. No one emerged from the cottage.
As they drew closer, panic surged through him. The Shield had grown too comfortable in their skill, too certain of their stealth. That confidence had left them exposed—left Freya exposed. His mind reeled. They had never been ambushed. Always the hunters, never the prey. If their enemies could strike with the same precision, then nothing, and no one, was safe.
Inside the cottage was bare. Silence. Empty Rooms. They flung open doors, calling out.
“Back door’s open! Movement on the loch—northeast!” David’s voice cut through like a spear.
Murdoch spun, shoulders heaving, eyes wild. The sudden force of his roar made Calum’s own heart jolt. “GO! Catch them!”
Calum tore for the open door, bursting out into the arrow-strewn field. On the water, a boat cut steadily toward the horizon. His stomach sank with dread, but his legs were already churning, fire exploding through every muscle as he hurled himself forward across the field. Caterans spilled from the tree line, but he veered wide, heedless, his whole body straining for the shrinking vessel. Each stride burned deeper, yet still he drove on, vision tunneling until the boat came into focus—and the sight of it nearly staggered him.
The MacLean standard whipped in the wind, his father’s owl painted upon its hull.No. God. No.
The sail caught, oars dipping in unison, manned not by Jurans but the same kind of noble-looking lowlanders who’d tried to seize Freya months ago. The boat began to pull away, moving farther into the loch.NO, God please!
