Chapter 5 #2
His words, delivered in a low voice, sent a sharp pang of fear straight into her gut.
Admittedly, he was huge. His arms alone could crush her, and his fierce expression confirmed he had no qualms about doing that very thing.
If he got close, he could easily overpower her, and she had no doubt that was his ultimate goal.
He was giving her an out as if she had no chance against him.
She’d have even less of a chance if he knew she was a female.
She gritted her teeth but raised her own blade, shortened to accommodate her smaller size, to ready position. Her terse nod was met with a you-asked-for-it look, and his blade was pressed against hers so quickly she barely had time to step forward and brace her arm against it.
The man smiled, and she could have kicked herself. He saw the fear in her eyes.
“A lad yer size should know better than to engage a seasoned warrior.” He pressed his arm more firmly against hers with little effort, and she struggled to hold her ground. “Ye need to be put in yer place.”
With barely any effort, he shoved her away from him and lowered the point of his blade directly at her. “Show me what ye’re made of, pup.”
The distance was a gift and she knew it.
He was giving her more of a chance than she deserved.
Light on her feet, her speed was her most powerful weapon.
She’d experienced it over and over again.
The lads she’d trained with had grown stronger over the years, but they’d also become slower.
Surely this man’s momentum did not match his strength.
Shifting from foot to foot, she didn’t dare to say anything in her defense.
The big man merely watched her maneuvers, his eyes narrowing.
When she jabbed at him, he turned his body aside to easily miss the blade.
The only problem with this miodóg intended for her shorter height was its shorter reach.
“Ye’ll have to try harder than that.”
She bent her arm, raising the hilt of her blade as high as her shoulder, and slashed at him, catching his brait. It was her unexpected step forward that caught him off guard. He jumped back, obviously surprised by the tactic. Confidence welled in her chest.
He had thought so little of her abilities that he hadn’t even shoved the heavy material from his shoulders to give himself full maneuverability.
He did so now, and she used the opportunity to repeat the same tactic going the other way, once again catching him unprepared.
The thin line of blood where her blade had sliced through the sleeve at his forearm was a minor wound, but it emboldened her.
With a fast shifting of her slight weight from side to side, she pressed her advantage.
The dagger tight in her grasp, she pulled her elbow back to ready herself for the shove into his belly when he was within reach.
He appeared too dumbfounded to withdraw.
She’d drawn first blood, but this would be the first time she’d actually impaled anyone.
When the moment was upon her, she hesitated, giving him the time required to shift away from her lunge.
He dropped the heavy material back into place before she could pull back.
Instead of making contact with his body, her arm became tangled in his mantle. She was unable to clear her weapon.
With a growl and a shove, he easily toppled her backward. The pursuer dropped on top of her, straddling her with his heavy weight. His massive legs easily pinned her arms to her sides, the weapon still clasped in her fist. She moved her shoulders back and forth in an attempt to work herself free.
She was helpless, and that fact sparked a hot rage deep within her.
“Ye little shite.” He growled through tight lips barely discernible against the heavy growth of beard. Dark, wide eyes filled with anger peered down at her. When he backhanded her, she gasped.
The sting at her cheek spread into a burning sensation across the side of her face, and her mouth flooded with blood. Struggling to move her arms and free her hand, she was lurched forward when he grabbed her by the front of her tunic.
Nose to nose, he said, “Give me the name of yer leader. He’ll not get away this time.”
Just as suddenly, he released her and was squeezing his knees into her again, backhanding her for the second time. The wave of pain exploded across the other side of her head.
“Ye’ll talk, or I’ll kill ye straight away.”
With the taste of her own blood mixing with the rotten stench of his breath, her stomach threatened to heave. Her fingers wiggled on the hilt of her dagger.
“What swine enlists the aid of a smooth-faced lad? Who sent ye?”
Blood trickled down her throat and she was forced to swallow it. Clamping her jaw tight, her attempt at a fierce scowl merely caused him to laugh.
“Ye think ye can withstand my fists?”
He shoved her shoulders flat, his legs clamped to her sides, and set about proving her wrong. The first punch was to her side and the pain was more intense than anything she’d experienced. She squeezed the hilt so tight, it pierced her flesh.
“A name is what I want and a name I’ll get.”
When he punched her in the stomach, her gut gripped tight and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.
“How much d’ye think ye can bear?”
Despite the pain, she kept alert. Escape was imperative. He flattened himself against her with his massive hands gripping her sides, pressing into her ribs, his stinky breath again in her face. She was suffocating beneath his weight and panic set in.
“A name is all I want.” Spittle accompanied his word and dripped down her chin.
She shuddered in a tight breath that barely reached her lungs, but he immediately stopped his assault, tipping his head and studying her with intently. Her bindings! He could feel her bound chest. When she tried to hold her breath, the pain was too intense. A painful high-pitched moan escaped.
He scowled in displeasure and scooted low enough that he could yank at the V of her tunic.
“This better not be true.” He worked at the leather belt, tugging the material, and shifted his knee lower.
His hold of her slackened. Brighit slipped her small weapon up between his knee and her body.
As she bent her elbow out, moving it as far as his relaxing hold would allow, he freed the material of her tunic to reveal the tight binding at her breast.
“And what have we here?” His tone changed, as did his expression, and a flash of excitement lightened his eyes. “Allow me the pleasure of releasing yer bondage, little one.”
Her blade cleared her hip. When he reached for the knife at his waist, his exposed side offered her the perfect target.
She buried her dagger into his tight flesh with all the strength she could gather. It made a sickening sound.
He stilled as if frozen in ice before he turned his face toward her, a look of incredulity in his eyes.
Filled with wrath and an unquenchable desire to survive, she pressed the blade deeper still, stopping only when the hilt snagged at his rib.
Hot, sticky blood covered her fist, but she held fast, clamping her jaw, his eyes locked onto hers.
It took an eternity for the man to die. Brighit dared not move. She dared not breathe.
At long last, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on her, forcing her hand to release its death grip on the weapon or snap at the wrist.
Relief swept over her, but it was short lived when realized she was trapped beneath his dead weight.
Whimpers of frustration filled the air as she bent her knees up in a desperate attempt to dislodge him.
Brighit heaved her body up, her hips pushing against him.
He was as heavy as a horse. Shoving against his lower body, she finally managed to roll him off.
Her mouth gaping open and her eyes focused heavenward at the stars twinkling overhead, she took one, two, three deep breaths of fresh air.
Sighing loudly, she closed her eyes at the pleasant sensation of freely filling her lungs.
She blew out a breath before standing. Pulling her tunic back into place, she adjusted the belt, refusing to think about the tremors in her bloody hand.
Her attacker lay flat on his face, his body not moving.
Bending closer, she thought to check if he was truly dead, but a movement in the distance caught her eye.
A lone rider sat mounted on a huge beast at the top of the hill.
Stray puffs of breath from the horse’s muzzle were the only sign that the rider was indeed real and not summoned by her imagination. She didn’t recognize him.
She straightened her clothing. Her breath ragged, she glanced back at her victim. He could easily have killed her. Or worse.
The horse snorted as the mounted rider began to move closer, covering the distance between them with plodding steps.
She began shaking uncontrollably. For the smallest moment she considered calling out to him, reasoning with him, mayhap even asking for his help, but she tossed the idea away just as quickly.
There would no help from him even though she had no doubt that he’d witnessed the entire event.
With a low whistle, Brighit called to her horse.
Valiant came from wherever she’d been grazing, oblivious to the plight of her rider.
The man stopped a few feet away, his face masked in shadows.
He was dressed in the traditional léine, the long brait wrapped around him to ward off the cold and held at his shoulder by a large, shiny brooch.
She waited for him to speak, to try and stop her, to ask if she was going to bury the man she’d killed. He said nothing.
So she mounted, put her heels to the horse and sped off.
Though she expected the sounds of pursuit, there were none.
No horse’s whinny. No leather creaking. No foot falls.
Today she’d killed a man and she would have to live with that fact for the rest of her life.
She followed the path back to the MacNaughton land, away from the violent scene.
Back toward her boring life. Refusing to glance over her shoulder the entire ride, she wondered if she’d ever feel at peace again.