by Bree Wolf
Knowing that his knees wouldn’t hold him, Connor raised his own blade as the sword came crashing down toward his head.
The second he heard the soft clink as his foil was cut in two, Connor lunged forward. He landed on his injured shoulder and almost blacked-out. His muscles clenched against the onslaught of pain, and he rolled over, once more evading the deadly swing of his opponent’s sword.
Laughing, the man sneered, “Ye canna escape me.” Then he lifted his sword once again, and this time, Connor had nothing to defend himself with as his foil lay broken beside him in the grass.
As the man stood above him, the sword pointed downward at Connor’s heart, Connor closed his eyes and whispered a silent goodbye to his wife.
Above all, regret filled his heart. If only…
Laying in the grass, Connor waited for the piercing pain that would end his life when a soft whir reached his ears, followed by an agonising grunt.
As his eyes snapped open, Connor stared in wonder at the small dagger sticking in his attacker’s chest.
Gaping down at the small weapon, the man drew in a strangled breath and a trail of blood flowed out the side of his mouth. His eyelids drooped, and he sank to his knees before he collapsed onto the ground beside Connor.
Chapter Thirty-Six − The Traitor's Wife
Stunned for but a moment, Connor craned his neck…and for yet another moment, he thought he had died after all.
For right there on the slope leading down from the forest line stood his wife.
The second their eyes met, Connor saw something on her face that almost stopped his heart.
Then she rushed toward him, her skirts billowing in the wind. “Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over his face before coming to rest on his shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she swallowed, then forced a deep breath down her lungs.
Connor simply stared at her. “What are ye doing here, Lass?” he stammered, his heart torn between joy and fear.
“We need to go,” she whispered, ignoring his question. Then she rose to her feet and stepping around him knelt down beside his attacker, who lay dead in the grass. To Connor’s surprise, she reached out her hands and with a soft grunt pulled the dagger from his chest. Then, she grabbed the broken foil and hurried back to his side. “Can you walk?”
In that moment, hoof beats echoed from the other side of the wall.
“Ye need to go, Lass,” Connor hissed, fear stealing into his heart.
“Not without you.”
“Go!” Connor snapped, yanking back his arm as she tried to help him to his feet. “They havena seen ye yet. If they do, they’ll kill ye as well. Go!”
As she looked down at him, her eyes narrowed and a new determination shone in them that Connor hadn’t seen before. “Why do you think I came here, you mule-headed fool?” she snapped. Then she reached for his good arm once more and pulling him up hissed, “You’re coming with me whether you like or not. Either you walk or I’ll knock you out and carry you. These are your choices!”
Clenching his teeth against the pain, Connor leaned against her, willing his knees not to give up their post. “Ye’re mad, Lass!” he whispered, staring into her eyes. “D’ye even know what ye’re saying?”
Her lips thinned then, and she nodded her head. “I do,” she said, her voice strong and proud, “for I do not wish to live without you.” She swallowed and took a deep breath as though gathering courage. “I love you. I'm just sorry that it took you nearly dying for me to realise it.”
Still staring at her, Connor felt as though he had strayed into a dream. As though his wound had been healed magically, the pain subsided and a new strength filled him. His knees grew stronger, and the strength in his right arm returned.
“Don’t stare at me like a fool,” his wife snapped as she gathered the collected weapons in one hand and pulled his right arm over her shoulders with the other. “Move your feet.”
“Aye,” Connor breathed as his heart filled with joy. If only her love for him had not come at this unfortunate moment. If only she hadn’t come here, Connor thought, and yet, he could not bring himself to regret what had happened. Despite the threat to their lives, he had never been this happy.
“We need to try and make it to the forest,” his wife grunted out as he leaned on her heavily. “I hitched Kerr to a tree for they would’ve spied me too easily on horseback. Without her, I was able to crouch low to the ground.”
Looking down, Connor saw the grass and dirt stains on her dress, and still a part of him could not believe that she had truly come for him, that she was willing to risk her life to save his.
Hurrying down the narrow path along the outer wall of the ruins, Connor glanced over the edge at the rolling waves down below, then upward, hoping that not another attacker would jump on them from above. Voices as well as hoof beats sounded close by, only held at bay by the massive wall. But what if they reached its end?
“They’ll be waiting for us,” Connor moaned, “before we can even make it to the tree line.”
“We have to try,” his wife countered. “It’s our only option, and I still have my dagger and the broken off foil.”
Connor grunted. “It’ll never be enough. There are too many of them.”
“Do you have a better idea?” she snapped.
Growling under his breath, Connor sighed, “I do not.”
“Then stop fretting!” his wife hissed as she glanced up at him with gentle eyes. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”
A soft chuckle rose from his throat, and Connor nodded. “I do trust ye, Lass.”
“Good.”
“Where did ye learn to throw a dagger like that?” he asked, savouring the last few moments he would probably ever have with his wife.
“My brother,” she said, pulling him forward and behind a tall growing bush once the path widened. Should their attackers come upon them, at least they would gain time by not revealing their position directly. “Although he taught me how to fight, he always told me I didn’t have the strength to win a sword fight with a man,” she whispered as they trudged through the dirt, branches scraping their skin. “As mad as I was, I suppose a part of me did believe him, and so I taught myself to hurl the dagger.”
“Ye’re full of surprises, Lass,” Connor whispered, then froze as a horse’s whinny sounded only a few steps ahead of them. Pulling his wife down, he sank to his knees behind the bushes, gritting his teeth against the pain. “D’ye see him?” he whispered, trying to see through the dense foliage.
Craning her neck, his wife tried to see above the thicket, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she nodded, and her hand slid down to the pocket that held her dagger.
Connor swallowed as conflicting emotions raged through him. Although he knew how capable women were, he, too, had grown up with a code of honour instilled in him from the moment he had been born. A husband was to defend his wife, not the other way around.
And yet, Connor had to admit that right then and there, his own abilities were nowhere near his wife’s. Although he was a formidable sword fighter, he knew he did not have the same precision that his wife possessed when it came to hurling a dagger.
And so Connor swallowed his pride and took a deep breath, praying that his wife’s hands were steadier than his own.
Crouched low, his wife stepped around the bush and pushed aside a few branches, her eyes trained on the rider circling the area, his eyes on the ground searching for tracks. Apparently, their enemies had not yet come upon the trail they had surely left in the soft ground.
Holding his breath, Connor watched as his wife slid the dagger from her pocket, gripping the hilt with only two fingers while the others merely stabilised the weapon’s position as it rested almost gently in the palm of her hand. Then she drew back her arm, the dagger rising above her shoulder, its sharp end directed at the still circling rider.
Although his eyes were trained on the shiny blade, Connor barely saw the moment his wife’s arm flew forward,
sending the dagger spiralling through the air until it buried itself into the rider’s back.
The man grunted in pain, then slid off the horse and hit the ground with a low thud.
Still holding his breath, Connor waited, praying that the man wouldn’t get up or worse cry out for help.
When the fallen rider remained still, his wife rose from her crouched position and pushing aside the branches of two closely grouped bushes made to step through the thicket.
“What are ye doing?” Connor hissed as his eyes searched their surroundings. “There could be more.”
“I don’t see any,” his wife simply stated. “I need to retrieve my dagger. It’s the only reliable weapon we have.” Then she slipped through the thicket and, for a moment, was lost to his sight.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Connor held his breath until she reappeared only a few steps away, carefully approaching the fallen rider, his horse grazing by his lifeless body.
Stepping closer, she kicked his leg and when he failed to respond, she knelt down beside him and once more pulled the dagger free.
Watching her, Connor marvelled at the strong and yet fragile woman who was his wife, and he realised that they complemented each other perfectly. Where he was strong, she was weak, and where he was weak, she was strong. If he had ever believed in fate, it was in that very moment when his slender wife pulled her bloodied weapon from a man who had threatened their lives. She had defended them, defended him, and Connor couldn’t be more proud. They were truly meant for each other.
“Can you walk?” his wife asked, her gentle voice tearing him from his thoughts.
Blinking, Connor looked up into her face and smiled. “Aye,” he said and dragged his tired body through the bushes while she held apart the branches.
As Connor’s eyes slid over her, he noticed new stains on her dress that hadn’t been there before. Bright red, they gleamed in the sun, covering her lower sleeves as well as the front of her dress. From their pattern, Connor assumed that she had brushed her hands down her skirt in order to wipe off the man’s blood.
“Let me help you,” his wife said, once more tearing him from his thoughts.
Again, Connor blinked and found her standing before him, leading the fallen rider’s horse by the reins. Glancing around, she bent forward and linked her hands. “Get on,” she told him, and Connor smiled.
Today was truly a strange day, and he wondered about his own sanity as his thoughts repeatedly tore him from the danger at hand and led him to new musings. After all, not too long ago, she had snapped at him for offering to help her on the horse. And now, here she was offering him the same assistance she had so rudely refused herself.
A smile on his face, Connor shook his head, then walked up to the horse, slid his booted foot into her hands and allowed her to lift him into the saddle. From looking at her, Connor would never have guessed at the strength that lived in her chest as well as her arms!
Once he was seated on the prancing horse, his wife quickly swung herself into the saddle before him, taking up the reins. Slowly, she directed the horse toward the thicker-growing copse to the side of the cliff that ran all the way down to where it stretched into the forest where Kerr waited. All the while, her eyes searched their surroundings, narrowing whenever movement caught her attention.
With his good arm wrapped around his wife’s middle, Connor managed to stay upright although the horse’s movements brought new pain to his shoulder.
“There he is!”
The call tore through the air, and for a moment, Connor froze as did his wife, staring at the lone rider who had spotted them.
Gesturing wildly, he shot forward, his horse quickly bringing him closer, as more riders appeared on the horizon.
Grunting under her breath, his wife kicked the horse’s flanks and they set off toward the forest. Connor doubted they would make it. However, it still was their best option.
Cries echoed behind them as their pursuers cursed his name, and for a moment, Connor contemplated sliding off the horse so that his wife could make her escape.
Only she wouldn’t, would she? She would circle back and die trying to save his life.
When they had almost reached the forest, a tiny spark of hope sprang to life in his chest, but was instantly crushed when Connor spotted yet another group of riders emerging from the tree line. There were only three of them, but counting the twenty-odd riders already pursuing them, there was no way they could overcome such an opposing force.
His wife reined in the horse as her eyes glared at the three riders blocking their path.
Even despite their masks, Connor could see their surprise, and he realised that his wife had truly remained undetected until then. If only he could have persuaded her to leave when she still had the chance!
“’Tis her,” one of the riders hissed, “the English wench! The traitor’s wife!”
The second his hand lowered to reach for his sword, Henrietta once more drew her dagger, already stained with the lives it had taken that day, and flung it forward with such speed that the man only saw it when it had already sunk its blade into his chest.
His comrades gaped with open mouths as the rider slid from the saddle, staining the soft brown ground crimson red.
Recovering from their initial shock, the two remaining horsemen drew their swords, angry snarls on their faces as they advanced.
“We need help,” his wife whispered under her breath as she reached for the broken foil. “Alastair, where are you?”
“Alastair?” Connor asked in surprise before his wife flipped the foil in her hand, her fingers now holding the thin blade. As she drew back her arm, the approaching riders stopped, their eyes widening as they stared at the small weapon.
“Let us pass,” his wife demanded, “or you can choose which one of you will be next.” Voice hard, she glanced down at the fallen rider before once more meeting the others’ eyes.
Despite the hatred clearly visible in their eyes, the two riders remained still, indecision clouding the angry snarls on their faces.
The moment they looked as though they were about to comply, a familiar, angry voice commanded from behind them, “Kill them! Kill them now!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven − A Loyal Man
Where was Alastair? Henrietta wondered. If he didn’t come soon, their lives would be forfeit.
If it hadn’t been for Angus, the two riders blocking their path might have allowed them to slip by, but now that last little hope lay crushed at their feet.
The broken foil in her hand, Henrietta turned the prancing horse, her eyes gliding back and forth between the two men guarding the rim of the forest and the approaching riders, their drawn swords glistening in the bright afternoon sun. Her eyes narrowed as she judged their speed, and she realised that they had no intention of slowing down and would simply run them down.
The only chance they had was to buy some time for Alastair to arrive. How long had it taken Moira to return to Greyston and relate what had happened? And how long would it take Alastair to come to their aid with the full force of Clan Brunwood?
The answer was: too long.
Realising that her hope was futile, Henrietta still couldn’t bring herself to surrender. One look at Angus’ angry face had told her all she needed to know. Driven by misguided revenge, the old man had no intention of taking prisoners, but sought to eliminate a man whom he deemed a threat to his clan.
Behind her, Connor took a deep breath, and his good arm tightened around her middle.
More than anything, Henrietta wanted to lean back and enjoy the soft embrace he offered, but the moment couldn’t have been more wrong. If she didn’t think of something soon, all would be lost.
Whatever my dreams are meant to do, I believe that you two were meant for each other.
As Rhona’s words echoed in her mind, Henrietta drew forth the last bit of courage and hope left to her. There was not much in the world that she had ever believed in, but in her heart, she knew that
she belonged with her husband just as much as he belonged with her, and now that she had finally found her place in the world, she would not surrender and die.
As her eyes narrowed, targeting the lead rider thundering toward them, Henrietta’s arm drew back, then flung forward and released the broken foil like a bolt of lightning striking the ground and tearing it asunder.
The broken blade struck the lead rider square in the chest, knocking him to the ground while his horse raced on.
Too stunned to react, some of the riders following close behind did not manage to dodge his fallen body and trampled over him, their gaping mouths betraying the shock that rattled them to their bones.
After the initial surprise, most of the riders slowed their horses, their eyes drawn to the trampled body of their fallen comrade. However, before long shock turned to anger, and Henrietta could see the desire for revenge on their faces.
Connor had to have seen it, too, for his arm tightened around her as he whispered in her ear, “We need to run. It’s our only hope.” He nodded to their left. “Into the forest.”
Swallowing, Henrietta agreed before her eyes travelled into the distance one last time. Nuances of red and purple streaked across the sky as the sun slowly dipped lower, painting a breath-taking picture of hope and strength and promise
And there in the near distance, something moved.
Henrietta’s eyes narrowed as she squinted them against the setting sun. Holding her breath, she tried to focus, and her heart jumped into her throat as she saw an army charging down the plains toward them. The faint thundering of hoof beats echoed to her ears, and relief washed over her like a spring rain.
“He’s here,” Henrietta gasped, gesturing toward the approaching warriors of Clan Brunwood.
Behind her, Connor exhaled slowly, and although she could not see his face, she could almost feel the tension falling off him. His arm holding on to her relaxed, and for a moment, he rested his forehead against the back of her shoulder. “Alastair,” he whispered, joy and relief plain in his voice.
