Chapter 17 #2
Magnus tossed his sword away too and stepped closer, his gaze locked on Alan. “Nay. But I hope ye ken this is a fight to the death,” he said, his voice a low, absolute promise.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Alan snickered. He looked back to Hannah and smiled viciously. “Watch closely as ye learn just how fragile yer dear husband truly is.”
As he turned back to face Magnus, he was met with a fist to the face. Alan stumbled backward as Magnus overtook him, his fists grabbing hold of his shirt and tossing him away from Hannah. He spared her only a look of remorse before he stalked after his brother.
Hannah managed to wriggle to her side and then pulled herself up into a seated position.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the brothers. When she had first met Magnus, he had seemed like the obvious brute of the two.
He was taller, broader, and had those wild raven locks that always looked so disheveled atop his head and scraping the nape of his neck.
And Alan had been the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the predator hiding underneath a clean, handsome face.
Right now, they finally looked like their true selves.
Alan was unkempt, wild, and his movements were impulsive thrashing of limbs and fists.
And Magnus stood strong and composed with his clan tartan sash and family crest brooch, a true fearless leader; each moment controlled and calculated compared to Alan’s frenzied attacks.
One with determination igniting his gentle eyes.
Alan was on his feet and ducking his head side to side as he swung his fists toward Magnus’s ribs. With a broad swipe of his arm, Magnus blocked the attack and knocked Alan off balance. He stepped closer, his hand jutting forward and wrapping around Alan’s throat.
Even though violence had always terrified Hannah, she couldn’t help but marvel at Magnus in that moment.
Everything was so controlled, so skilled, that it was like he was simply containing an unruly child.
Really, it made Hannah wonder what had ever gone through Alan’s head that made him think fighting his brother head-on and without weapons would have ever worked out for him.
And then she remembered Eunan lurking in the shadows.
With wide, frantic eyes, Hannah scrambled to get onto her feet.
She had to warn Magnus. She had to somehow find a way to let him know that another man was there and was surely armed.
It was the only reason Alan had been foolish enough to accept Magnus’s challenge, knowing he had the trump card waiting on his signal.
She rushed toward them as Magnus pinned Alan against a stone wall, his fist colliding with Alan’s face repeatedly, filling the air around them with painful, wet thumps.
Hannah screamed out, but her mouth had gone so dry from the fabric at that point, the sound was too muted for even her own ears to hear it.
And then she saw it, a flash of black tartan and the glint of a drawn blade.
Her attention pulled away from Alan and Magnus just in time to see Eunan approaching with a dirk swung back and ready to pierce Magnus’s back.
Her mind went blank and her heart and body acted of their own accord.
Hannah’s weak and sore legs hurried along, pushing herself into a full sprint as she closed the last bit of distance between herself and Magnus.
Her cheek collided with his back just as the dirk dug into her side.
Sound couldn’t escape her, but she groaned into the fabric in her mouth.
The pain was immediate, searing, and all-consuming.
Her vision immediately began to blur, making it difficult to make out the details of Magnus’s face as he turned to see her.
She could see the whites of his eyes, though, as he stared back at her in horror.
“Hannah!” she heard him bellow, but his voice was so far away already.
And then she slumped to the ground, feeling her side grow hot and wet with each passing second.
Overhead, Magnus moved. There was a blade in his hand and Hannah couldn’t seem to piece together if it had been the dirk that had stabbed her or if he had one hidden on his body all along.
Who had truly had the upper hand during that fight, if he had it the entire time?
She couldn’t make out the details as she lay there, but she could see the glint of the blade as it swung in Alan’s direction.
Red poured down his front from his neck as he slumped back against the stone wall.
Eunan pounced on Magnus’s back, and Hannah could make out the sounds of curses and grunting while there was a struggle for who held the blade.
And then a sharp gasp, followed by the thinner figure in her vision crumpling to the ground. A weak smile overtook her lips as she watched Magnus’s broad frame grow nearer.
Strong arms had hold of her, untying her wrists and reaching in her mouth to pull out the fabric that had been choking her all that time. The smell of musk and sweat and peppercorns filled her senses and soothed her troubled mind.
“Hannah… Hannah…” Magnus murmured. She could feel the way his hands trembled as he stroked her cheek.
“Magnus,” she said, her voice raspier than she thought it would be. “I’m sorry… For before…” she murmured. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was… I was angry…”
“Dinnae talk,” Magnus urged, his voice thick with emotion. She wished she could make out his face, wishing to see for herself if he accepted her apology. “Save yer strength, please.”
“I have to apologize. I was cruel,” she pressed.
Magnus was standing, keeping her in his hold.
She could feel him moving, but it made the entire world sway and spin around her.
“We will talk about it later, Hannah. Dinnae talk,” he urged again.
It sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but that didn’t make sense to her mind in its weakened state. Magnus wasn’t the kind of man to cry.
But, yes he was. He was strength and courage for his people, for her, but that didn’t mean it was all he was. And Hannah adored him for it. He was more than his muscles and his title, and he was more than a man who lived up to such accolades.
Through their short time together, Hannah had witnessed it for herself—his tenderness.
He was almost always gruff, but his kind heart showed in even the smallest of actions; it was the exact reason all servants and villagefolk respected him as much as they did.
And he was soft, but only for her. The way he had treated her scars like nothing more than the rest of her skin, and the tender way he kissed the scar on her cheek, the same one that made those who didn’t know her tremble in her wake.
Even though the world was a distant blur to her right then, Hannah finally felt like she was seeing things clearly. Her heart, battered and shredded by life and the time in the dungeon, had been healed and stolen by Magnus.
“You’re a thief, just as Alan said,” she said weakly.
“Stop talking,” he hissed, but there was no real venom to the words.
“Thief… you managed to steal my heart,” she murmured. Magnus’s steps halted and she could feel his gaze on her, even though his face was too muddled to make out at that point. “I… I love you…”
A faint smile tugged at the dry corners of her lips before she suddenly couldn’t hold her eyelids open anymore. The world continued to swirl around her in a nauseating dance as her mind slipped into darkness.
“Hannah! Hannah! HANNAH!” Magnus cried out, somewhere in the distance.
She hoped, however foolishly, that she could see his face one more time.
Even as the world slipped away from her, Hannah longed to see the look on Magnus’s face as she confessed her love for him.
She had been the unobtainable English mare, and he had properly tamed her with his firm but gentle hand.
He must have been feeling awfully smug right then.
And everything was warm, and sweet, and dark for Hannah Black.