Chapter 22
The distance closed rapidly—eighty yards, sixty, forty.
One of the MacMahon guards looked up, saw Ewan bearing down on them like vengeance incarnate, and shouted a warning that was half terror, half disbelief.
Callen spun around, his beady eyes widening with shock and something that might have been fear. "It's McGill! Kill him!"
Two guards released Maia and Mollie, shoving the women aside as they drew their weapons and moved to intercept. But they were on foot, tired from their march through the forest, and he was mounted on a warhorse trained for battle and fury.
Ewan crashed into the first guard with the full weight of his destrier behind him. The man went flying, his sword clattering away into the undergrowth, his body crumpling like a broken doll.
The second guard managed to dodge aside at the last second, but Ewan's blade caught him across the shoulder as he passed, biting deep. The guard screamed and went down, clutching at the wound that was already soaking his tunic with blood.
Ewan wheeled his horse around to face the remaining threats: Callen and one guard, who still had his hands on Maia even as she struggled against his grip.
And seeing her there—seeing the bruise on her temple, the blood on her lip, the terror in her grey eyes—something inside Ewan snapped.
"Let her go." His voice was ice and death and promise of violence. "Let go of what's mine, or I swear by every god I ken, I will make ye suffer in ways ye cannae even imagine."
"She's nae yers!" Callen's face twisted with rage and desperation. "She's mine—me niece, me responsibility—ye daenae have the authority to—"
"LET HER GO!"
The roar echoed through the forest, feral and furious, and Ewan saw Maia jerk in the guard's grip. Saw her grey eyes find his across the distance, wide with fear and hope and something else he couldn't quite name.
She looked terrified. Hurt. There was already bruising forming around her temple where someone had struck her, and her lip was split and bleeding.
Someone had hurt her.
Someone was going to die for that.
Multiple someones.
"Ye cannae have her!" Callen was shouting now, his voice high with panic. "Kill him! Kill him now! I'll double yer pay, triple it, just kill the bastard!"
The guard holding Maia hesitated, clearly torn between following orders and facing an enraged laird on horseback who'd just cut through two of his companions like they were nothing.
Ewan didn't give him time to decide.
He charged.
The guard's eyes went wide, and he made his choice—he shoved Maia away roughly, sending her stumbling toward where Mollie stood frozen, and raised his sword to meet Ewan's attack.
But he was too slow. Too afraid. And Ewan was beyond reason, beyond mercy, beyond anything but the need to destroy the men who'd dared to touch what was his.
Their blades met with a clang that rang through the forest. Once. Twice. The guard was skilled, Ewan would give him that, but skill meant nothing against the fury driving Ewan's sword arm.
On the third exchange, Ewan's blade found its mark, slicing across the guard's throat. The man's eyes went wide with shock, and he dropped his sword to clutch at the wound. Blood poured between his fingers, black in the moonlight, and he crumpled to his knees before falling forward onto his face.
Callen was backing away now, his bravado crumbling into naked fear. "Stay back! Stay back or I'll—I'll—"
"Ye'll what?" Ewan dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud. He stalked toward Callen with predatory grace, his sword still dripping with the guard's blood. "Ye'll hurt me? Kill me? I'd like to see ye try, ye cowardly bastard."
"She's worthless!" Callen's voice cracked. "I told ye that in me letter! She's nothin', a burden I was glad to be rid of! Why would ye even want her? Why would any man want a fat, useless—"
"She was never yers." Ewan's voice cut through Callen's babbling like a knife. "From the moment I took her from that tower, she was mine. And ye—ye had nae right to her. Nae after what ye did. Nae after six years of abuse and cruelty and makin' her believe she was less than nothin'."
"I'm her uncle! I'm her laird! I had every right."
"Ye had nae rights at all." Ewan was close enough now to see the sweat beading on Callen's forehead, to smell the fear rolling off him in waves.
"Ye were a cruel, petty man who abused his position and hurt someone under his protection.
Someone who should have been precious to ye.
And now ye're goin' to pay for every moment of pain ye caused her. "
Callen's hand went to his own sword, fumbling with the hilt. But his hands were shaking too badly, his fear too great, and by the time he managed to draw the blade, Ewan was already moving.
Their swords met, but it wasn't really a fight. Callen was soft, pampered, a man who'd spent more time drinking and scheming than training. His attacks were clumsy, desperate, and Ewan batted them aside with contemptuous ease.
"Please," Callen gasped after the fourth exchange left him stumbling backward. "Please, I'll give ye anythin'! Money, land, whatever ye want! Just—just let me live!"
"What I want," Ewan said softly, "is for ye to suffer the way ye made her suffer. But I'm nae as cruel as ye. So I'll make this quick."
His blade slipped past Callen's guard, pathetic defense that it was, and drove deep into the man's chest. Straight through the heart, clean and efficient and far more merciful than the bastard deserved.
Callen's eyes went wide with shock and pain. His sword fell from nerveless fingers, and he clutched at Ewan's blade where it protruded from his chest.
"She... was mine..." he wheezed, blood bubbling at his lips.
"Nae," Ewan said coldly. "She was never yers. And now ye'll never touch her again."
He wrenched his blade free, and Callen collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Ewan's harsh breathing and the distant sound of the injured guard groaning somewhere in the darkness.
Ewan stood over Callen's body for a moment, making sure the bastard was truly dead, that this nightmare was finally over. Then he turned, his eyes finding Maia where she stood frozen next to Mollie.
She was staring at him with wide eyes, her face pale in the moonlight. Was she afraid of him now? Horrified by what she'd just witnessed?
"Maia," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he'd intended.
She made a small sound—something between a sob and his name—and then she was moving, stumbling toward him on legs that didn't seem quite steady.
Ewan met her halfway, catching her as she crashed into him. His arms came around her automatically, holding her close, and he felt her shaking against him.
"I'm sorry," she was gasping against his chest. "I'm so sorry, I shouldnae have run, I shouldnae have left, I just—I saw Laura and I thought—"
"I ken what ye thought." Ewan's hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. "And ye were wrong. So bloody wrong, lass."
"But she was on ye."
"I threw her off." Ewan pulled back just enough to look down at Maia's face, to see the confusion and hope warring in her grey eyes.
"The moment she touched me, I threw her off and told her she was nae welcome in me castle ever again.
Told her I'd exile her entire family if she ever tried somethin' like that again. "
Maia's eyes widened. "Ye—ye did?"
"Aye. Because I daenae want her." Ewan's thumb brushed across Maia's cheek, wiping away tears she probably didn't even realize she'd shed. "I've never wanted her. The only woman I want, the only woman I will ever want, is ye."
"But ye've dinnae talk about what happened for two weeks."
"Because I was terrified." The admission came easier than Ewan had expected.
"Terrified of how much I felt for ye. Terrified I'd become like me faither, that this need I have for ye would turn into somethin' dark and controllin'.
But then ye ran, and I realized—" His voice roughened.
"I realized that losin' ye was worse than any fear I had about what I might become. "
"Ewan."
"Ye're mine, Maia Ferguson." The possessiveness in his voice should probably concern him, but right now, with her safe in his arms and her uncle dead at his feet, he couldn't bring himself to care. "And ye're never—never—leavin' me again. Do ye understand?"
Something that might have been joy flickered across Maia's face. "That sounds like a threat, me laird."
"It's a promise." Ewan's hand tightened in her hair, tilting her face up toward his.
"I love ye, lass. I'm in love with ye. And I'm nae lettin' ye go.
Nae now, nae ever. Even if I have to lock ye in a tower to keep ye safe—" He stopped, realizing what he'd just said.
"Christ, nae, nae like that. I dinnae mean it. "
But Maia was laughing, actually laughing through her tears. "I ken what ye meant. And for what it's worth—" She took a shaky breath. "I love ye too. I think I've been fallin' for ye since ye climbed through me window and tore those bars away."
Relief and joy and something fiercer flooded through Ewan's chest. "Say it again."
"I love ye." Maia smiled up at him, that dimple appearing in her cheek. "I love ye, Ewan Byrne, and I—"
He kissed her.
Kissed her hard and deep and possessive, pouring everything he felt into it—the fear he'd experienced when he'd heard her scream, the rage that had driven him through those guards, the love he'd been too afraid to name, the desperate need to make sure she understood that she was his and he was hers and nothing would ever separate them again.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"Ye're goin' to be punished for leavin'," he said, but his voice held no real heat. "For runnin' away without givin' me a chance to explain about Laura. For makin' me think I'd lost ye."
"What kind of punishment?" Maia's voice was breathless, and there was something in her eyes that made his blood heat.
"The kind that will make sure ye never want to leave again." Ewan bent and swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "The kind that will have ye screamin' me name for entirely different reasons."
Maia's cheeks flushed pink, but she didn't protest. Just wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder.
"Um." Mollie's voice cut through the moment, tentative and awkward. "What about me?"
Ewan had honestly forgotten the maid was there. He glanced over to where she stood, looking uncomfortable and more than a little afraid.
"Ye can find yer own way back to the castle," he said. "It's nae that far if ye follow the trail. Just keep the North Star on yer left and—"
"I'm nae leavin' her behind!" Maia protested, trying to squirm out of his arms. "Mollie, I'm sorry, he doesnae mean all that."
"Oh, I mean it," Ewan interrupted. "Because what's goin' to happen between us once we're alone, ye daenae want yer friend to witness it, lass. Trust me on that."
Maia's blush deepened until her whole face was red. "Ewan!"
"It's fine," Mollie said quickly, though her own cheeks were pink. "Really. I can find me way back. And I think—" She glanced between them, a small smile playing at her lips despite the carnage surrounding them. "I think ye two have some things to discuss. Privately."
"Mollie."
"Go, Maia." Mollie's voice was gentle. "Be happy. God kens ye deserve it after everythin'. I'll be fine."
Ewan didn't wait for Maia to protest further. He turned and carried her toward his horse, his strides long and purposeful.
"What about the bodies?" Maia asked weakly. "We cannae just leave them there."
"I'll send men back to deal with them." Ewan settled her on his horse before swinging up behind her. His arms came around her waist, holding her secure against his chest. "Right now, the only thing I care about is gettin' ye somewhere private where I can show ye exactly how much I love ye."
"Ewan, stop it," she protested half-heartedly.
"And then," he continued, his voice dropping to a rough whisper in her ear, "I'm goin' to make ye promise, swear on everythin' ye hold dear, that ye'll never run from me again. That ye'll talk to me when somethin' bothers ye instead of assumin' the worst and fleein' into the forest."
"I promise," Maia whispered. "I swear I'll never run again."
"Good." Ewan pressed a kiss to her temple, gentler than he felt. "Because if ye do, lass, I'll chase ye to the ends of the earth. There's nowhere ye could go that I wouldnae find ye. Ye're mine now. For always."
"For always," Maia echoed, and there was joy in her voice despite everything. "I like the sound of that."
Ewan urged the horse forward, carrying them away from death and toward life. Toward a future he'd never let himself dream of until now.
Toward home.
Behind them, Mollie stood watching until they disappeared into the trees, a smile on her face despite the horror of what she'd witnessed.
And somewhere in the darkness, an injured MacMahon guard could have crawled away to tell the tale of how Laird McGill had slaughtered his companions and stolen Lady Maia away for good.
But by then, it was far too late to matter.
Maia Ferguson was already exactly where she belonged.