The anger. It boiled her. Gave her strength. Power. She felt the rush of it pump through her veins, sharpening her vision as she took in the boy who had the audacity to assume he controlled—

CHAPTER FIVEFingalFifteeen Years Ago Fingal had been sick plenty as a child. Seldom had he hurled up his guts as he had aboard the ferry rolling the choppy seas on the two-day journey to Lairts’cre, on the southern tip of the Drahticht Isle. He rolled on to his side and tried to keep the meager bread he’d …

He couldn’t leave. Not without leaving her.

“Ever heard of the phrase, nothing like violent hospitality?”

Riona sneered at him. “This is life or death for me.”

It was starting again.