Even if he made it inside the walls, one knight could not hold off an entire horde of raiders. Suddenly someone gripped her tighter. A woman rode the horse with her and grabbed for the reins around her to slow the horse. Freda fought for control and urged the horse faster—through the dark woods, over the drawbridge, and past the castle walls to the keep. She hopped from the destrier. The other woman dropped to the ground too, and her hooded robe fell away. Long hair fell to her shoulders. Nora with blond hair instead of black.

A heavy rattling noise drew her attention to the portcullis—the metal grill had dropped to protect the main entrance, but the drawbridge had not been raised.

Freda rushed forward.

The knight rattled the gate, demanding entrance. Behind him, pillagers on horses closed in. He removed his helmet as if he wanted her to know his identity and to look her in the eyes.

Alex.

She stumbled back. Wait. This wasn’t right. What was he doing here? He didn’t belong here. She had to help him. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to open the portcullis in time to let him in.

He looked at her—sharp and true. Turned to face the onslaught. Freda had to try. With Nora’s help, they worked the winch that pulled the chains and raised the portcullis. Freda dashed through, and Nora released the winch, dropping the portcullis as planned. With the metal grill of the gate at her back, Freda stepped next to Alex, who’d been prepared to face the raiders alone.

“What are you doing? You’ll be killed.”

“I can’t let you do this alone.”

“Then you’ll have to use your majuk, or we’ll both be slaughtered.”

What majuk?

“I don’t know of what you speak!”

“You have to use it. Now!”

He gripped and shook her. Those piercing eyes, now pleading, held her captive even as the marauders bore down on them.

She jerked awake and gasped, her heartbeat racing much too fast. A man stood over her, gripping her arms.

Mackenzie screamed and fought.

“It’s me, Mackenzie. It’s me . . . Alex . . .” He loosened his grip on her arms as she relaxed.

Dim light spilled through the door and revealed his twisted, concerned features. “You had a bad dream. Or a nightmare.”

He still gripped her but finally slowly released her, and she immediately missed the warm touch of his hands. Her breathing still erratic, she pushed to sit against the pillow and tried to calm her racing pulse.

“You want to talk about it?”

Rubbing her eyes, she realized her palms were sweaty. Not just her palms. Her forehead. Her entire body. Alex had been in that dream with her, and he was going to die, was prepared to die, to save her. Only, he wanted her to . . . what was it? She couldn’t remember.