Page 74 of The Speed of Lightning
They were gone. Both of his parents. In the blink of an eye, in the span of minutes. Shaking with the shock, he stared at his father’s still form. His ears rang, distant voices shouting orders muffled and far away. His mind was muddled, his heart split wide open.
Rock rushed forward, hooking an arm around him and hauling him upright. “Focus! Do you hear me?”
Lightning shook his head, trying to break free of the fog.
Rock shook him hard, his thunderous voice ringing in his ear. “Lightning. FREYA. LEALT!”
Rock’s words finally penetrated and he got to his feet, ferocious, relentless rage pounding in his heart.Freya. Lealt.
Without another thought, his body obeyed his father’s last command. Sword in hand, he pushed toward the road. Da hadsent her toward Lealt, toward the ring fort. One glance at his mother’s body lying in the grass sent terror coursing through him that Freya would be just up ahead, also dead. He couldn’t lose her. Nothing else mattered except finding her, nothing mattered but holding her in his arms. She was all he had left.
Rock came up behind him with two conrois?1 of MacLean guards, moving up the road, cutting down stray caterans and rallying the villagers. Orders rang out, men scrambled, defense slowly taking shape.
The Jurans began to fall in behind Lightning. Step by step, they followed his lead through debris-strewn paths, searching for survivors. Dazed still, he didn’t understand. Then it began to dawn on him. They were following because he was their chieftain now. They were looking to him to guide them through the wreckage, through the terror, through a world that had shifted in the span of an hour.
Grufa trudged up beside him, stern-faced, pointing to a cluster of children sobbing in their mothers’ arms. “Cù Cogaidh, what are your orders?”
Lightning sifted through what he knew, scanning the chaos around him. The fires burned mostly at the edges of Inverlussa, the worst destruction left at the bay. To the south, clouds of smoke obscured the horizon where the caterans had moved on. To the north, all seemed quiet.
He gripped Grufa’s meaty shoulder, steadying himself against the familiarity of the old-order Juran. “Take them as fast as you can to Lealt. We’re heading there now, but I need to find my wife. Get them into the ring fort and do not come out until I arrive. If Freya is there, guard her with your life. She is—she is the new Lady of Jura.”
Grufa’s face slackened with shock, his eyes heavy with the weight of the news. Then he gave a slow, resolute nod and turned, his voice booming toward the gathered MacSorleys atRagnall’s fence. “Move quickly! The chieftain has ordered us to take the children to the Lealt fort!”
Without hesitation, the men tightened around the mothers and little ones, forming a shield of bodies as they hurried them up the road.
Balder followed Lightning up Ragnall’s path. “I’ll help you search.”
Lightning rushed to Ragnall’s darkened door, kicking it inward and shouting Freya’s name. The house was empty. He stood on the steps for a breath, realizing it was the only house untouched by fire.
Balder frowned. “Where’s Ragnall gone?”
Then he heard it—a scream. Distant, piercing, and unmistakable. It shot straight up his spine and urged his feet into action. It was her. He knew it in his bones, the call of his mate, echoing from the quiet Ardlussa Wood to the north.
Rock heard it too, turning toward the trees. “What was that?”
Lightning’s heart thundered. He cupped his hands to his mouth, shouting with all he had, praying she would hear. “I’m here!”
He sprinted toward the Lealt path, straining for another cry, but silence crushed in. For a heartbeat he hesitated, wondering if she had taken the main road toward the village, but on instinct he plunged into the overgrown track arched with briar, the same one where weeks ago he had collided with her. Please God, let her be there again. It was darker in the forest than he had anticipated, and thin branches tore at him from every side as he fought his way toward the glade. At last the path widened and he gained speed, flying past their rowan tree, outrunning Rock and the others, unwilling to slow his pursuit.
Up ahead a second strangled cry split the night and his blood ran cold. He lingered for only a heartbeat, straining toward the sound. The clouds shifted, moonlight spilling through thecanopy, and there at the far side of the glade he caught the glimmer of silver thread from her cloak.
His gaze fixed on her, he sprinted harder, scanning the scene as he closed the distance. Two men. Not caterans. Their silhouettes gleamed with continental finery: doublets, verdant hose, red chaperons, boots of polished leather. Not Islanders. Not Highlanders. Noblemen.
The men charged down the embankment toward the shore, aiming for the beach. Lightning lunged after them, his eyes locking on a cog?2 anchored in the harbor, a red insignia painted on its bow, indistinct in the dark. Dread coiled in his gut. This was no chaotic raid. It was an organized abduction, cloaked beneath the Wolf’s flames.
Another scream tore from Freya’s throat as she writhed, clawing at her captor’s back. The second man swung a club and struck her across the head. She crumpled, arms limp, her body jolting as they trod over the deep sand.
Something in Lightning snapped. They had touched her. They had hurt his woman. The warhound stirred in his marrow, a presence without words, only hunger. A hunger for retribution that would tear the world apart if it meant keeping her whole.
A howl ripped from him, raw and feral, the sound of a beast unleashed. Instinct devoured thought, driving him forward in an explosion of speed. Head low, teeth bared, he overtook them in seconds, colliding with the larger man and slamming him into the shore. Freya fell into the sand with a moan, clutching her head.
Frenzied, Lightning hurled himself at the man who had struck Freya, ripping the club from his hands and smashing it across his face with bone-splintering force. The man toppled, bloodied and stunned.
Prey scented, the warhound surged again. These were not men—they were intruders, carrion-beasts who had dared touchhis Freya. Every one of their movements reeked of threat. Love sharpened his fury. She was his to guard, his to keep safe, and until every threat was put down, the warhound would not rest. Not while his prey yet lived.
The one who had carried Freya scrambled upright, dirk flashing as he slashed wild arcs through the air. Lightning dodged each stroke with savage precision, tearing the weapon from his grip, and driving him down into the sand. Chest heaving, wrath roaring in his ears, Lightning planted his boot on the man’s face and wrenched the sword from his side. With one merciless thrust, he drove it into the soft hollow of the man’s throat.
Satisfied the big man would not rise again, Lightning spun, spotting the other man fleeing across the beach toward a waiting rowboat, abandoning the abduction. Chest heaving, he snatched up his sword and braced to give chase.
