Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Unhand me wife,” Arthur roared as he and Eric tumbled toward the ground.
His entire body was sore, but he did not care. There would be time for him to deal with the pain later. After he killed the man who had threatened the woman he loved.
The pair hit the ground hard, but Arthur did not pause. The second his body smashed into the earth, he scrambled forward, launching himself on top of Eric’s supine form.
The man beneath him groaned. Drying blood covered the bottom half of his face, staining his teeth as he bared them at Arthur, despite his half-lidded eyes.
“She isnae yer wife,” Eric spat, blood trickling from the side of his lips.
“She will be in three days,” Arthur said, quickly casting a glance around.
The sight of Eric with his hands on Marissa had driven him into a blind rage, thinking not of the sword that he had gripped in his hand but of the fists that he’d wanted to drive into the man’s body. And as he’d hurled himself through the air, the sword had been knocked from his grip.
A glint of metal in the soft sunlight caught his attention, and his gaze flew to it. It was only a few inches away. He reached for it.
Eric, seizing the moment, bucked his hips, throwing Arthur off balance. He fell forward, his hands hitting the ground with a thud.
Sticks and leaves bit into his palms, but Arthur didn’t notice the pain as he turned his attention back to the sword. His hand grasped the hilt, and a wave of triumph shot through him.
But in the split second that it had taken him to balance himself, and with the small gap that Eric’s bucking had caused, the bastard had found the space and the time to shimmy himself out from beneath Arthur.
The man was spry, Arthur would give him that.
Both men sprang to their feet, glaring at one another.
“Ye think that ye can best me?” Eric yelled, spittle flying from his lips. “Ye think ye can win against me when it was God himself who sent me here to claim the woman I am destined to be with?”
Arthur laughed—a cold, mirthless sound. “Ye’d think if God intended ye to win,” he taunted, “then He would have not allowed me to kill nine of yer men. Do ye think I will have trouble with ye when I handled them so easily?”
Eric shook his head. If Arthur had thought the man looked deranged before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. His eyes were wide, almost feverish in their intensity.
“Nay,” Eric said. “I think He saved ye for me. I think God kens that the only way Marissa will see that I am the right man for her is if I kill ye meself. I can see it now. It’s all so painfully clear.”
A bubble of manic laughter flew from the man’s lips. If Arthur had not been filled with a rage that drowned out everything else, the sound of the man’s laughter would have sent chills down his spine.
But, as it was, Arthur did not feel anything except for the need to drive his sword through the man’s belly.
Arthur did not wait for Eric to move. Eric’s sword was still sheathed at his side, and Arthur did not want him to have the opportunity to draw it.
With a mighty, ear-splitting battle cry, Arthur swung his sword above his head. Eric was reaching for the sheath at his hip, his hand finding the hilt just as Arthur swung down with both his hands.
The sound the sword made as it buried itself in the man’s skull was one that Arthur would never forget, the sickening squelch calling out his victory.
Eric did not die immediately, not as the blade buried itself in the center of his head. Instead, there was a split second where a shocked, haunted look crossed his face. Blood trickled from the wound, dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.
The hand that had started to grip his sword went limp, and slowly, ever so slowly, the man who had caused Marissa so much strife fell to the ground.
Arthur spared no time. He walked forward, kicking Eric’s body over to make sure that he was well and truly dead. The man’s eyes were still open. Wide, but undoubtedly lifeless.
With a sigh of relief, he turned, his eyes scanning the small patch of forest for Marissa.
She’d been standing right with Eric when he had come barreling from behind the tree. So, he was shocked when he didn’t find her standing there, watching the entire thing unfold.
Did me killin’ all those men scare her off? Has she run off?
Just as those thoughts began to take over his mind, a flash of dark blue caught his eye. There was a small thicket of high weeds that he believed to be near where he’d first jumped out to attack Eric. And dark blue fabric was jutting up from beneath the leaves.
Marissa had a dark blue sash around her waist when they’d been at the loch earlier that day.
Panic surged through him as he rushed forward.
Sure enough, Marissa was lying on the ground, her body supine and unmoving. One arm had been thrown over her face, so he could not see her expression.
“Marissa!” Arthur yelled, hurling himself to her side and falling to his knees next to her.
Immediately, he reached down, his hands shaking as he moved her arm away from her face. Her eyes were closed, her lashes not fluttering.
“Marissa!” he yelled again, his voice breaking.
Still. She did not stir.
He grabbed her, slipping his arms underneath her and pulling her into his lap. Arthur tried to focus, slowing his breathing and his wildly beating heart so that he might be able to hear her, before pressing his head to her chest.
It took him a moment to find it, took him a second to realize if what he was hearing was her heartbeat or his own. But, sure enough, after a moment or two had passed, Arthur was able to hear it.
Marissa’s heart was beating, loud and steady beneath his cheek.
“If ye wanted to touch me breasts, ye could have just said so. Ye didnae need to go on a killin’ spree and nearly knock me head off.”
At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, but they were open. She was looking at him with lips half-cocked in a smirk, and a wave of relief flooded him.
“Ye’re all right,” he said, unable to stop the disbelief from seeping into his tone.
“I dinnae ken about that,” she groaned. “Me head is hurtin’ somethin’ awful. But there’s nay way I feel as bad as ye look. Ye look like ye’ve bathed yerself in blood, ye do.”
Arthur chuckled despite himself. He didn’t care. He was so happy that she was alive, so happy that Eric was dead and he would not cause them any more strife, that he bent down and pressed his bloodied lips to hers.
Apparently, Marissa didn’t care either. She returned his kiss fiercely, pressing her mouth to his with all the passion she felt.
He stirred beneath his kilt, and with a strength that he did not know he possessed, he broke their kiss and pulled away from her.
“Enough of that,” he mumbled. “Shouldnae bed ye when a dead man is lyin’ right next to us.”
A look of disgust flickered across Marissa’s face before she nodded, and then winced.
Slowly, Arthur extricated himself from beneath her and then helped her to her feet. She was a bit unsteady, and it took her a couple of seconds of just standing there before she got her bearings.
Whether it was from the hit to her head or the stress of everything that had happened, Arthur could not be sure. Either way, she eventually felt steady enough for them to begin walking back toward the castle.
It was slow going, and the moment they arrived at the gate, the guards took one look at them both and sprang into action.
“What happened, Me Laird?” one of the guards asked, rushing forward.
The moment Arthur told Joseph what had happened, his brother sent guards out to start cleaning up the bodies. They would not receive a proper burial—Arthur did not think the men who’d served such a cowardly, sniveling laird deserved that.
But that did not mean he wanted their flesh corrupting his beloved loch. And so the guards would dispose of the bodies in whatever way they saw fit.
The healer arrived, and although he tried to tend to Arthur first, Arthur had waved him off. He had a few cuts where some of the men had nicked him with their blades. But he was more concerned about Marissa.
And so while the healer tended to her, he sat in the courtyard, eagerly waiting for his men to return home.
“Ye’ve had quite the day,” Ayla’s voice sounded from behind him.
He didn’t turn to look at her. Didn’t think he had the energy to. So, he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon as she walked around the bench and sat next to him.
“Aye,” he grunted. “But he’ll nae bother us anymore.”
“We got a healer from Clan Murray. He says she’s goin’ to be all right, ye ken.” His sister’s voice was soft as she spoke. “Says that she’ll need a day or two of good rest, but that she’ll be right as rain before ye ken it. He’s givin’ her a tonic now to help with the pain.”
Arthur nodded but didn’t respond.
“So,” Ayla continued pointedly, “ye should go inside and let him tend to ye.”
He shook his head. “I want to wait until they’re back.”
His sister shook her head, raising her hand to point at something on the horizon. “Ye dinnae need to wait.”
Sure enough, there was a dot beyond the gate, growing larger with each passing second. His men materialized, riding on their horses as they headed for the castle.
Smoke rose behind them in the distance, back beyond the trees and in the direction of the loch.
They must have burned the bodies.
Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but it was something he would think about another time. Especially when, as they got closer, he realized that each man riding toward the castle was holding the reins of one, if not two, riderless horses.
“We found them nae far from the loch,” Joseph explained. “They’re in good condition. Well trained. A few seem to be battle-hardened.”
Arthur grunted. “Take them to the stables, then. I suppose the beasts didnae do anythin’ wrong. I dinnae want to punish them for the sins of their masters.”
With a quick, terse nod, Joseph did as he was instructed.
And, now that his men were back, his brother safe behind the walls of their fortress, Arthur could finally focus on getting treated.
And as soon as he did, he would go and see the woman he loved.