Chapter 11
“Get down!” Alex shouted, forcing Meg’s head down moments before an arrow sped by, missing her by mere inches.
He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if he’d just had twenty years of his life shaved off.
That had been too damn close. Later, he’d be furious with her for scaring him half to death.
But right now he had other things to worry about—like how to get them out of this alive, which at the moment didn’t look too promising.
He quickly assessed their situation.
Even though he’d anticipated an attack, the brigands, if that’s who they were, had chosen a perfect spot for an ambush.
Alex had sensed the danger, but too late to move them to safety.
It was no conciliation that he’d been right about the threat to Meg, not when they would be in a fight for their lives in a matter of minutes.
One of Meg’s guardsmen slid off his horse, an arrow protruding from his gut. Alex could do nothing for him. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be soon. With two men left and little room to maneuver, he knew that he had only moments to make a decision or they would each be picked off one at a time.
The rush of battle hit him full force. His only focus was to protect Meg and kill anyone who dared to threaten her.
He didn’t need to look to know that they were surrounded.
His first instinct was to ride hard and try to outrun them or fight his way through their position blocking the path.
If he were alone, it would not be a problem.
But with Meg he dared not risk it. Riding, she would be too exposed.
He would have to take them down one by one, but not here.
From what he could tell, there were at least half a dozen men scattered around them. They had to get out of the open and draw in the attackers, taking away the use of their bows.
“Follow me,” he ordered the men, quickly shouting out instructions.
To Meg he said, “Keep your head down, and stay behind us.” He knew she was frightened, so he made sure his voice sounded calm and controlled.
He wished he had time to reassure her further, but every second they stayed out in the open they were vulnerable.
Heedless of the danger posed by the arrows, he plunged into the trees, hoping the archers would not be expecting a frontal assault.
He was right. One of the men managed to get off another arrow, this one poorly aimed, before Alex cut him down with his claymore.
One of Meg’s guardsmen dispatched another.
Meg’s scream alerted him to the third. Alex whirled around, but not in time to prevent a powerful blow of the villain’s sword from landing on his exposed left side.
He barely acknowledged the pain, though the heavy weight of the blade had at the very least bruised a few of his ribs.
Without thought, he sank his blade deep into the heart of his attacker, his reaction honed by years of training.
The threat from this side of the trees was gone. They would fight with no one at their back. Their situation was still precarious, but no longer desperate. Here, he could make a stand.
Knowing that their horses would only impede their movements and make them greater targets in the dense forest, Alex dismounted and ordered the others to do the same, getting them into position and giving them instructions.
If he was right, he wouldn’t have long before their attackers came to them. He had what they wanted.
He was agonizingly aware of Meg, and of the danger to her. But he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. It would only distract him. And he needed all of his skills right now if they were to survive.
He looked around, searching for any place for her to hide. But time had run out; he could hear the other attackers moving through the woods toward them.
“Stay behind the tree,” he said, pointing her in the direction of the largest tree he could see. “Use the horses for a shield if you must.”
“But Alex—”
He could hear the tremble in her voice. “Don’t worry, sweet. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Alex hadn’t trusted himself to look at her, but he did so now.
Her face was drawn and pale, and her beautiful eyes loomed large in her heart-shaped face.
She was worried about him. Something inside him swelled.
Instinctively, he reached down and cupped her chin, brushing his mouth across hers, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Go.”
He hated letting her go, hated separating from her, but there was no other choice.
He gestured to the men to be ready. Raising his sword high above his head, Alex let out a savage cry—“Hold fast!”—the battle cry of the MacLeods. The guardsmen followed his lead as the attackers came crashing through the trees.
There were more ruffians than Alex had thought.
Perhaps another ten in addition to the three they’d already killed.
Fortunately, they did not seem well organized.
While they were busy shouting out instructions and getting into position, Alex started to even the score, wielding his claymore and dirk in deadly tandem.
None of the men looked familiar. Despite what they wanted him to think from the rags they wore, he’d already concluded they were mercenaries merely dressed as ruffians.
Alex knew what an outlaw looked like. These men did not have dirt and grime sticking in every exposed crevice, seeping out of their pores, dripping from their unkempt hair.
Their clothing might be rough and filthy, but the weapon that had struck him in the side was of good workmanship.
But most important, these men did not have the unmistakable feral stare of hunted men.
No, they were hired killers. And from their numbers, they’d sought to ensure that this time they did not fail.
But they hadn’t counted on him. Alex dispatched the first two with ease.
Meg’s guardsmen, however, were not having as easy a time of it.
Two more ruffians came at him, preventing Alex from going to their aid.
It took a few more swings of his claymore and strokes of his dirk, but the next two soon went the way of the first. Gazing around, he made a quick tally of the dead.
One of Meg’s guardsmen had managed to extricate himself from his attackers, killing one, but another had already come to fill his place.
The other guardsman was not as fortunate.
He lay prone in the dirt and underbrush with the dirk of the man he’d managed to kill before he fell still protruding from his belly.
Alex stared grimly at the fallen warrior.
The attackers would pay. With their lives.
Only four ruffians remained, and one of these men he recognized.
One of the two men engaged in vicious battle with Meg’s guardsmen was none other than the thin, sharp-featured man from the tavern.
Despite his wiry build, he seemed to have some skill with a sword.
Meg’s remaining guardsmen would not be able to hold the two of them for long.
Alex felt no satisfaction in knowing that his suspicions had proved correct, only pure rage at the hired killer who would murder a woman. And not just any woman, but his woman, he thought with a fierce wave of possessiveness.
Alex would enjoy ending his foul life. But first he had to contend with the two remaining men now approaching him with considerably more care.
They came at him from opposite sides. Alex smiled, knowing what they would attempt.
He watched one man mouth, “Three, two, one …” As their blades descended, Alex spun with his blade high, blocking both timed blows with one precisely executed swing of his claymore.
The clang of steel on steel sounded the beginning of the end.
Their strategy foiled, the attackers’ next strokes were not as well timed, and Alex had no trouble blocking their blows.
Quickly he assessed the relative skills of the men and concentrated his efforts on the stronger of the two, leaving his open side to the weaker one.
Unfortunately, it was also the side that had taken the brunt of the blow earlier, and the villain managed to get in one strike on his ribs before Alex dispatched the other.
Gaze still focused on his man, Alex glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Meg’s remaining guardsman.
He’d managed to kill one of his attackers, but the hook-nosed man from the tavern had just dealt him a death blow.
Alex returned the favor to his attacker and turned to face the man from the tavern.
But something bothered him. He looked around at the dead littering the forest floor, searching for a body that would match the other man from the tavern.
Meg’s scream cut through the still air, turning his blood to ice.
Too late, he’d found the man he’d been looking for. He cursed, realizing that while he’d been locked in battle, repelling the attack, the other man from the tavern had circled around his flank and found Meg.
Ignoring Hook Nose, Alex spun around and started toward the tree where he’d left Meg. But the scene that met his eyes forced him to halt in his tracks.
Rage such as he’d never experienced before coursed through him at the sight of the dirk pressed into Meg’s neck and the light trail of blood trickling below it. He’d cut her. His response was visceral, every muscle in his body twisted with uncontrollable anger.
The memory of Dougal’s evil smirk right before his cousins were gulleted flashed before his eyes. Alex would not let it happen again. Not to Meg.
An urge to kill crashed over him, so powerful that it must have been a remnant of his barbaric Viking ancestry.
Everything went black, except for the clear vision of the ruffian, a man he recognized too well, holding the blade to her neck.
Thomas Mackinnon. Her father’s trusted chieftain wanted Meg dead. What the hell was going on?