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The growl ripped from Will’s throat. It was a feral noise, rabid and fierce. The sound of his soul being ripped from his body, as he watched his Felicity, so terrified and vulnerable, torn from him forever.

He spun from that accursed star chart, turning to face Jamie’s men. He’d heard their approach, worried they’d reach him before he could push Felicity through to safety.

Will despised them, hated Jamie with everything he had. They’d forced his hand, forced him to push Felicity so violently away. He’d seen the shock of it on her face, the heart-break and the betrayal.

They didn’t get a proper good-bye. His final sight of her, simply the last of her beautiful blonde hair getting sucked into a terrifying maw of black nothingness.

The image would haunt him the rest of his days.

He sized them up in a heartbeat. Two men charging on foot. His cowardly brother still watching from the ridge overhead.

Will didn’t even deign to pull his sword from where it was hidden in the length of his cane.

The first man rushed at him like an ass, but Will stood still as a rock. He held his cane steady, tilting his wrist up at the last moment, extending it straight out from his body. The man leapt for him with dagger and targe, but Rollo simply jabbed him in the gut, followed by a strike to the groin.

His opponent fell to the ground retching, and Will tossed the cane up, catching and swinging it back down in a single fluid movement. He struck the handle against the man’s temple, stilling Jamie’s hired half-wit forever.

The second one came fast on his heels, charging Rollo with his broadsword extended. Will scowled to see the elaborate gilded basket hilt that guarded the man’s hand. The blood of Royalists had paid for that gilt.

He tossed his cane up, grabbing high along the length of it. Just as the swordsman lunged, Will pivoted sideways, hooking the cane’s handle on the man’s bicep, and reaping his arm down.

The man stumbled and Will struck him in the small of the back, hammered once on the back of his neck, and then on the kidneys. The man fell down, but Will swung up, striking him in the throat.

It felt good, this savagery. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to atone for his and Felicity’s final farewell.

His opponent choked his last, a grotesque wheezing at Will’s back. But the man was already forgotten as Rollo looked up at his brother, waiting on horseback along the top of the ridge.

“Can’t fight your own battles?” Will shouted up. Loathing seethed from his voice.

“Can’t fight like a normal man?” Jamie countered, with a scornful nod to Will’s cane.

Will’s eyes scanned quickly, searching out the mounts of the hired men. Two stout ponies grazed idly, at the base of the hill.

He made a soft whickering noise. One of the ponies twitched an ear, and then lifted his head to look at him. Will clicked his tongue again. The beast seemed to think on it, then heaved his body into a slow walk.

Will met the animal halfway. Grabbing the reins, he hauled himself easily onto the saddle. Leaning high on the pony’s neck, he kicked into an abrupt canter.

Jamie waited for him at the top of the rise. “Oh, Willie,” he hooted, greeting him with laughter. “This is too rich! You on a pony once more.” Jamie’s horse, a big bay, skittered beneath him. “How about we take care of your other leg, little brother?”

“I’d get ahold of your mount, Jamie,” he said nonchalantly. “The beast seems too much for you.”

Jamie merely hissed in response. He drew his sword and, swatting it on his horse’s rump, charged.

“You always did charge too soon,” Will muttered, coolly sizing up his brother. Jamie swung his sword wildly, keeping his other hand fisted tight in his reins.

His eyes narrowed, watching Jamie flail so.

Will was a trained cavalryman. A lifetime of riding and decades of pain had forged his muscles.

Misshapen they might be, but Will’s legs were steel.

He calmly knotted his reins, settling them high on the pony’s neck.

Unlike his brother, Will would have two hands with which to fight.

His brother raced along the ridge, but Rollo kept a quiet seat on his own mount, keeping the creature placid despite the warhorse headed straight for them.

“Always with the same error,” Will shouted. He slid his cane through his fist to grip it at the base.

Jamie was on him in seconds, charging wildly.

Will ducked back, but not enough to completely dodge the shallow slice of his brother’s blade. He withstood the attack, had braced for it, knowing it would come. The price of his own strike.

“It’s the mistake you made at the Tower.

” Will flexed, and with a nudge of his left leg, the pony spun in a tight circle to face Jamie.

“And you make it now,” he gritted, extending from his saddle despite the bloody track blooming along his chest. Leaning out, Will charged, hooking his brother’s arm with the handle of his cane.

Though Will didn’t tear Jamie from the saddle as he’d intended, his brother slid halfway off.

“The same errors,” Will said, unsheathing his blade.

Jamie scrambled wildly, and the sight was disturbingly satisfying. Will wouldn’t kill his brother, but it didn’t mean he didn’t want to see the devil suffer.

“In battle as in life, eh, Jamie?” He tucked the shell of his cane under his thigh.

“Impatient,” he snarled, leaning once more from the pony.

He slapped Jamie with the flat of his blade, his intention to pummel, not kill.

“Foolhardy.” Another slap, to the shoulder.

“Impulsive.” Again, the flat of the blade, this time to Jamie’s face.

Will would never recover from his broken heart, but the smack of steel on his brother’s flesh did much to appease. A red haze overtook him, his rage wiping out all thought. He continued to strike at him, beating him down and down again.

The big bay reared, and Jamie slipped from his saddle.

“Weak,” Will spat. It felt good to see Jamie helpless on the ground, as he’d lain helpless so many decades past. But the satisfaction tasted bitter on his tongue, like raw spirits that turned belly to bile. “You’re weak. Rolling in the dirt like a coward.”

Jamie scrambled to his knees. Though close to the ledge, his eyes were only on the tremendous warhorse looming over him. “Damn you,” he hissed, not taking his gaze from the spooked horse. “You’re the weak one. Feeble Willie.”

Will stared as the horse reared again, nearly trampling Jamie. Detached, he wondered at the morbid and poetic justice of it.

The animal bucked and started, and Jamie scrambled backwards.

Rollo heard the shocked shout at the same moment he saw Jamie’s body lurch. His legs had slipped over the edge and he clung to the lip of the ridge, feet kicking wildly in the air.

Will stared, for a moment dumbfounded. And then there was a moment of total clarity. He could let his brother fall to his death.

This man who’d maimed him, who’d spent a lifetime fighting against all Will believed in. Jamie had destroyed everything he’d ever loved, had forced Felicity from his life.

But even as he had the thought, Will knew. He was incapable of letting his brother die.

Will dropped from the pony. Using his sword for a walking stick, he went to Jamie, looked over the ledge at the valley below. There was a drop to a sharp slope. A man could survive the fall, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Jamie frantically clawed at dirt and rocks, trying to find purchase along the ridge.

Will knelt, awkward for a moment, then sat, grabbing for his brother’s hand. “Take it.”

Jamie swatted at the proffered hand, lunging instead for an unearthed root. “I’d rather die than take your help.”

“I may despise you,” Will said evenly, “but I’ll not let you die.”

“I’ll not see you win.” Jamie looked down, estimating the drop. A narrow ledge seven feet down, then a rocky slope to the bottom. “This isn’t the last of it,” he snarled. And then he let go.

Fascinated, horrified, Will watched his brother drop hard, scramble vainly for purchase, then slide down. Scree and gravel sped his descent, sounding a hollow noise that echoed in the valley. He careened faster and faster.

“Bloody fool,” Will muttered, shaking his head with loathing. “Bloody bastard.” He remounted, driving his pony along the ridge then back down the slope.

Though Jamie lay limp at the base of the hill, Rollo’s approach was tentative. Leave it to his brother to feign injury, then spring at the last moment to attempt a deathblow.

But as he got closer, Will knew. He knew before he dismounted, before he reached the body, knew even before he saw the blood matting his brother’s hair and the dark crimson shimmering on the stones.

Jamie was dead.

He inhaled. Waited for emotions to come. He braced for some feeling to slam into him, filling him with relief, or rage, or regret. But nothing came.

Will simply stood and stared at the body of James Rollo.

He had a job still to do. And all he felt was empty.