The Legend of a Rogue (League of Rogues)

by Darcy Burke

  He should just charge inside. One of them might shoot him, but if he could get to one of the male hostages and untie him so that he could then untie others, perhaps they could launch a revolt and retake the inn. He knew Elspeth would help. He had no doubt of her courage.

  Tavish studied the five men and tried to assess their abilities. It was nearly impossible since he hadn’t seen them fight. One was exceptionally tall and rather vicious looking—the one with the blond hair. Tavish would wager he was the one who would give Tavish the most trouble.

  The two missing brigands came from the rear of the inn. One was leaning on the other, his hand cradling the side of his face, which was covered in blood. A hostage had done that to him. Tavish wanted to cheer.

  A moment later, two of the villains walked to the door. Tavish pressed himself back against the frigid stone.

  “MacLean!” one of them called. “Come inside and give us the sword, or we’re going to start killing the hostages!”

  Did they really know he had the sword? Tavish gripped Lann Dhearg as the two men walked out into the yard. One was smaller than the other. Tavish decided he’d take out the larger one first. He inched backward, skimming his free hand over the ground in search of the rock he’d found with his injured foot.

  “We know you have the sword! Bring it in and save these people!”

  Something in his tone told Tavish they didn’t know—as well as the fact that he’d said, “We know you have” it. To him, that indicated they didn’t actually know, which made more sense to him. Elspeth wouldn’t have told them, and Carrie wouldn’t know for sure.

  Recalling that Carrie was not with the others, Tavish renewed his resolve and continued searching for the rock. At last, his fingers closed around it. Fist sized, the rock filled his palm as he picked it up. He had one chance.

  Lanterns on the outside of the inn cast a glow over the yard. Tavish kept himself low and dashed out along the perimeter until he was closer to the larger of the two men. Standing, he quickly took aim and launched the rock. It hit the man square in the back of the head, driving him to his knees with a loud cry.

  Tavish’s breath caught—he’d wanted to knock him out. Then the man pitched forward onto the ground, and Tavish exhaled. He threw himself on the ground as the smaller man spun around, looking for the threat.

  His gaze landed on Tavish, and he sprinted forward. Tavish barely got to his feet before the man raised his pistol. But nothing happened. Cursing, the man threw the weapon away and drew his sword.

  Raising Lann Dhearg, Tavish realized he could use the sword to its full potential out here without worrying about setting the inn or stable on fire. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent. “Let the hostages go.”

  Red-orange flame licked up the blade and cast bright light over the other man’s face, clearly revealing his fear as his gaze locked on the sword. He took a step back.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Tavish said, advancing. “But I will save those people.”

  “Just as we’ll get that sword.” The man surprised Tavish by lunging forward. Their weapons clashed. Then they circled each other a moment before the smaller man again tried an offensive strike.

  Tavish easily parried the blow. “This is your last chance. Surrender.”

  The man answered by pushing forward. But Tavish didn’t retreat. He was taller and bigger, and so was his sword. Plus, it was on fire. He pressed his advantage, driving the man back with thrust after thrust.

  Faltering, the man dropped his sword. Tavish wanted to let him go, but then he pulled a knife from his boot. Gritting his teeth, Tavish lunged, sinking the blade into the man’s chest. His eyes widened as his body caught fire. He screamed and ran.

  Tavish didn’t watch what happened next. He dashed to the first man he’d taken down with the rock, intending to drag him to the stable to tie him up.

  But the man was already rising to his knees. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror. He looked from the flaming man to Tavish, then jumped to his feet and sprinted into the night.

  Tavish let him go. Then he ran back to the inn and pressed himself next to the window. He peered inside. The villains seemed agitated. Perhaps they’d heard the screams of the man who’d caught fire.

  That left five of them, two of whom were injured. For the first time, Tavish liked these odds. A plan formed in his mind. He dashed to the stable to set it in motion.

  “He has the bloody sword!” Grover stalked back to the fireplace from the window, his eyes blazing.

  The screams from outside echoed in Elspeth’s ears. She prayed the sounds hadn’t come from Tavish. When no one came back into the inn, she exhaled in relief. If Tavish had been the one hurt—or worse—the brigands would have returned.

  Grover paced beside her in front of the fireplace. His face was drawn tight with tension. He stopped abruptly and came toward her, not stopping until there were just inches between them. “MacLean has become a problem for me. Perhaps what I need to do is dangle you from a window upstairs and threaten to drop you unless he comes in.”

  Elspeth swallowed. She couldn’t look away from the malevolence in his eyes.

  “At least now we know he has the sword.” He slitted his eyes and stroked his hand along his jaw.

  Elspeth wanted to know how they’d tracked the sword to the inn, but to do so would show she knew more than she’d admitted.

  Kent approached. “Let’s burn the inn with these people inside. That will draw MacLean out, and we can take him easily—even with that damned sword. I will do it myself, in fact.” The craven hunger in his eyes made it clear he wanted to try.

  Grover grabbed Elspeth’s arm once more and dragged her to the front door. Opening it, he yelled outside, “I’m going to kill your Miss Marshall! You have five minutes to bring the sword to me!”

  After slamming the door, he strode back to the fireplace, pulling Elspeth along with him. Once there, he released her with such force that she went sprawling on the floor, hitting her shoulder as she landed.

  Huffing out a breath, Grover offered her his hand. “Look what you made me do.”

  Elspeth sat up but scooted away from him. Suddenly, the front door of the inn opened. Grover turned his head, and Elspeth did the same.

  Tavish appeared, closing the door behind him.

  Blood caked the left side of his face from temple to jaw. His white shirt was smeared with dirt and blood, and one sleeve had a gaping hole. There was more blood on his feet. So much blood.

  A cry tore from Elspeth’s lips as she scrambled to her feet. Before she could go to him, Grover clasped her arm and pulled her to his side.

  The two uninjured brigands trained their flintlocks on Tavish. He lifted his hands in the air. Where was Lann Dhearg? Had he hidden the sword to prevent them from obtaining it? She hoped so.

  “At last,” Grover said, sounding pleased. And calm—though Elspeth could feel the tension radiating from him. “Where is Dyrnwyn?”

  Elspeth caught the flicker of surprise that dashed across Tavish’s brow. He clearly hadn’t known they thought the sword was its twin.

  “You can’t have it,” Tavish said calmly. “I know who you are.”

  Grover smiled. “Do you?”

  “Not you specifically—and that doesn’t matter to me one whit.” Elspeth felt Grover twitch. “But I know your organization, and I’ll say it again—you can’t have the sword.”

  Grover looked toward Kent, who tossed him the flintlock he held. Catching the pistol, Grover turned it on Elspeth, leveling it against her temple. “Then you can’t have Miss Marshall.”

  “No!” Tavish thrust his arms up higher. He reached his right hand behind his head. When he brought it back up, Lann Dhearg was there. As he brandished it before him, bright red-orange fire danced along the blade.

  Everyone gasped. The sound of a pistol firing drew another cry from Elspeth. She watched in horror as it struck Tavish’s left bicep, tearing another hole in his shirt. The grimy white linen began t
o turn red with his blood.

  Another pistol fired as Tavish advanced on one of the men. Elspeth tried to break free from Grover, but he squeezed more tightly. She had to help Tavish!

  “Kent, upstairs!” Grover called before he tugged Elspeth toward the stairs. The sounds of everyone yelling or screaming and swords clashing filled her ears as they ascended to the landing.

  The last thing she heard was Aunt Leah sobbing her name, and the last thing she saw was the three villains, including Thane and Fitz, driving Tavish into a corner with their swords. She screamed as Grover pulled her around the corner, certain that Tavish would be lost.

  Elspeth’s scream distracted Tavish just enough so that one of his opponents was able to nick his side with his sword. Pain slicing through him, he drove forward.

  “Don’t start a fire!” someone yelled.

  Tavish didn’t want to set a fire, but he also needed to finish these men so he could get to Elspeth. He knew they were luring him upstairs. Perhaps if he started a fire, he would force them down…

  Suddenly, he had help. One of the guests, a spry lad in his early twenties, was free from his bonds. He used a chair to engage one of the men. The married man joined him—he’d grabbed a poker from the fireplace.

  A musket fired, and the uninjured villain fell. Tavish looked over to see Balthazar standing behind the bar with the flintlock in his grip, his lip curled. Then he worked to reload it.

  One of the remaining villains, a younger man with spectacles, shrieked and dropped his sword.

  “Go!” the young guest yelled to Tavish as he jerked his head toward the stairs.

  Tavish didn’t need further urging. He sprinted upstairs and kicked the first door open in search of Elspeth.

  A feminine shriek sounded from the direction of her room. Tavish ran but had to stop short as the man called Kent came into the corridor. Brandishing his broadsword, he strode toward Tavish. The light was dim, but Tavish could see the menace cut into the lines of the man’s face.

  Bloody hell. Tavish couldn’t use Lann Dhearg. He’d set the inn on fire for certain. Yet, if he didn’t use it, how could he combat the man? And he must fight to get to Elspeth. No, he must win to get to her. He’d just found love, and he’d do anything to keep her.

  Lann Dhearg’s flame diminished as he moved forward. By the time he faced Kent, it had died.

  Kent narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the fire?”

  Tavish thought he knew—it was the love he felt. Lann Dhearg thrived on darker emotion. The key, it seemed, to controlling the flame was to feel something better. He focused on love and hope, letting the joy of finding Elspeth and their plans for a future guide him. He swung the blade with all his might.

  Kent fell back as he parried. Tavish didn’t give him a chance to respond and struck out again. Pivoting, Kent caught Tavish’s blade on his. Tavish pushed him against the wall, their swords clashing between them. Kent’s pale blue eyes narrowed just before he spit in Tavish’s face. Then he shoved Tavish so that he sprawled against the opposite wall.

  Tavish wiped his hand over his face and launched away from the wall as Kent turned, reversing their original positions so that Elspeth’s room was now behind Tavish. He was tempted to go and ensure she was safe, but he had to finish this first.

  With a loud cry, Kent drove forward, swinging his sword. Tavish parried the blow, clenching his jaw as the blades struck, igniting a spark that Tavish feared was the sword starting to flame once more. He was relieved when it did not and concentrated on the love in his heart.

  “No!” Elspeth’s cry from inside her room spurred Tavish into greater action. With renewed fervor, he attacked, pushing Kent backward toward the stairs. He was relentless in his pursuit, thrusting and swinging until he finally met the man’s flesh. Lann Dhearg cut into Kent’s shoulder.

  The man screamed and dropped his sword. The blade clattered down the stairs. Tavish kicked out and sent Kent tumbling after.

  The married guest, carrying another sword, ran to the fallen Kent. It was all Tavish needed to see. He spun around and raced to Elspeth’s room.

  Elspeth’s lower half was outside the window. She clutched at the leader’s hand as he started to turn. “Grover!” she shouted.

  “Don’t you let her fall,” Tavish said. “Not if you want this sword.”

  Grover held a pistol, which Tavish hadn’t realized he possessed. He leveled it at Tavish. “I will have that sword, whether she falls or not.”

  “It’s not Dyrnwyn.” Tavish felt a rush of satisfaction at the surprise in Grover’s eyes. “Your order wants Dyrnwyn. I’d tell you to inform them of their mistake, but you won’t be able to do that.” Tavish hadn’t wanted to kill anyone, but this man had made it clear he’d go to any length to get what he wanted. And Tavish still didn’t know what had happened to Carrie.

  Grover’s dark eyes glittered in the light from the fireplace. “It may not be Dyrnwyn, but I will have it.” He let go of Elspeth. She wildly reached for purchase.

  Tavish pitched himself toward her as Grover fired. Dropping Lann Dhearg, Tavish grabbed her hands and pulled her back through the window. They landed together on the floor, with him taking the brunt of their fall.

  He looked into her wide green eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, then pushed herself off him. Tavish leapt up and helped her to do the same. Grover had picked up the sword.

  He frowned. “Why is it so bloody heavy?”

  Tavish advanced on him. “Because it wasn’t made for you.”

  “Get the sword!” Elspeth rushed at Grover and lifted her arm.

  Tavish saw the glint of a blade in her hand, but couldn’t see what she did to Grover. He could guess, however, as Grover’s eyes rounded. The villain gasped, and Lann Dhearg fell to the floor.

  Grover stumbled back. Elspeth stepped away. Tavish plucked up the sword, then saw blood staining the front of Grover’s clothing. The knife Tavish had left in his boot protruded from his chest. Grover fell against the window opening. Elspeth pushed him through.

  The villain opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He fell to the earth below.

  Elspeth threw her arms around Tavish’s neck. “You’re safe.”

  “So are you.” Clasping her, he buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes. Suddenly, all the injuries he’d suffered decided to remind him they were there. He winced. “Ow.”

  She let him go and pulled back. He opened his eyes to see her looking over him intently. “You need help.”

  “Soon. I want to make sure everyone downstairs is safe and that the rest of the villains are in hand.”

  She nodded, taking his free hand. “I’ve got you.”

  “Yes, and I’m never letting you go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As Elspeth helped Tavish walk downstairs, she was aware of every ache and pain he suffered. “You need to sit as soon as possible so I can tend to your feet. What happened?”

  “Glass in the kitchen. I had to break a window to get in.”

  “So you decided to dance all over it?”

  Tavish was surprised he could laugh, but he did. “I had to fight someone.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Same as Grover, minus falling from a window.” Tavish kissed her forehead. “You are a formidable woman, Elspeth.”

  “He was evil.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  She guided him down the stairs and immediately surveyed the common room. Kent and Thane were bound together near the bar, while the other two were off to the side. One was the victim of Balthazar’s musket, and the other had been gutted by someone’s sword.

  Aunt Leah rushed to meet Elspeth, hugging her tightly. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” Then she looked at Tavish and gasped. “You look terrible.”

  Tavish gave her his lopsided smile before turning his attention to the other guests. “I see you all have everything well in hand.”

  The young guest who’d sprung into act
ion inclined his head toward the sword in Tavish’s hand. “Is that what they wanted?”

  Tavish nodded. “Yes. As I’m sure you could all see, it’s a rather special weapon. Because of that, I would beg just one thing of you—and I know I don’t have a right to ask anything at all. However, there are many people who would like to get their hands on this sword for nefarious purposes. Men like Grover and his band. It would be best for everyone if this sword and its…abilities remained a whispered story, a myth.” He glanced at Elspeth.

  She’d already agreed she wouldn’t write about it, and she never would.

  “No one but those here tonight would believe it anyway,” the married man said, clutching his wife to his side.

  Balthazar burst into the common room at that moment, his arm around Carrie. “She’s all right!”

  Elspeth felt Tavish relax beside her. In fact, it was as if all the tension left his body. He began to slump against her so that she had to prop him up. “Help me,” she said to no one in particular.

  Aunt Leah moved to Tavish’s other side, and together, she and Elspeth guided him to the nearest chair.

  Elspeth knelt before him, then glanced up at Aunt Leah. “His feet…”

  “I’ll fetch water and cloth.”

  “And medicine,” Carrie said.

  Elspeth looked to the serving maid. “You’re truly all right?”

  Carrie smiled. “Yes.”

  “That was a brilliant plan,” Elspeth said.

  “Thank you.” Carrie notched her chin up with pride, then looked to Tavish. “Have you any idea how these brigands knew to come here in search of the sword?”

  “I don’t, but I wonder if Dougal might be able to tell us when he awakens.”

  Carrie nodded, then left the common room, presumably to fetch medicine.

  Tavish let out a groan. “Are all the villains accounted for?”

  “The grooms?” Balthazar asked worriedly.

  “Unconscious,” Tavish said.

  The sound of loud barking drew everyone to turn their heads. The front door opened, and the dogs rushed inside, followed by the grooms. Balthazar rushed to the animals, who swarmed around him.