He heard Logan’s boots scraping against the stone floor and watched the glint of candlelight ripple along the blade.
Ryder dodged, the blade causing a breeze that ruffled his hair as it shot by, vaguely, as if from far away. He heard the tooth-grating scrape of the sword’s point scratching at the stone.
Ryder’s limbs seemed to have a will of their own. Just as Logan was lifting his sword again, this time preparing to swing the blade down in a powerful arc that was clearly designed to take off Ryder’s head, he brought his own, shorter blade forward.
Snick.
The sword thrust point-first through Logan’s chest and went through.
Logan froze, his sword falling limply from newly numb fingers. His eyes widened, almost comically so, and his gaze fell to the weapon jutting out of his chest. He let out a slow, ragged gasp, hands lifting to the blade.
Ryder staggered backward, releasing the blade. His hands shook, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a particularly aggressive or lengthy battle.
Nay, it was, in a way,he thought.It was the worst battle I’ve ever fought.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ewan, ashen-faced, standing in front of a handful of MacCulloch warriors. Megan still crouched on the ground, the front of her throat still slick with blood. It was shocking how much a simple cut had bled.
Logan let out a long, rattling groan, then collapsed to his knees. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward onto the ground. At least he tried to slump forward, but the sword got in the way, still protruding from his chest. He ended up landing on his side in a still, lifeless heap. Blood pooled around him.
“Dear God,” Ewan whispered.
Ryder stared down at his uncle. No, not his uncle. Logan had never considered Ryder as his nephew, or even as kin at all.
To him, I was nothin’. Only an obstacle.
There was no time for this now. Ryder could take these thoughts out and brood over them later. For now, action was required.
Breathing in deeply, he turned to the others.
“Laird MacAdair was behind the scheme to kidnap Alaina,” he announced firmly. “He planned to marry her off to strengthen his own alliance, ultimately gainin’ an army large enough to threaten Clan MacCulloch. There’ll be evidence of this, and Isuspect that Laird Campbell and his son will back up what we’ve been told.”
“What a vile plot,” Ewan murmured.
“Aye. He intended to take Alaina today and was willin’ to kill Lady Megan to do it. Find Alaina and Hamish, Ewan. Let them know that all is well. We’ll need to address the clan about this, and speak with the MacAdair councilors.”
“I have an inklin’ that they’ll be happy enough to replace their laird,” Ewan remarked, shaking his head. “Laird MacAdair has been a disaster.”
Ryder nodded, only half listening. His gaze fell on Megan, still leaning against the wall, staring at the body. He crouched before her until she looked him in the eye.
“Ye all right, lass?” he whispered.
She swallowed, nodding. “Aye, I will be. Nay harm done, except for this.” She tapped the cut on her throat. “I doubt that it’ll even scar.”
He reached up to touch the sensitive skin of her throat. “Well, if it does, ye will have a fine mark there, aye? Very brave.”
She reluctantly smiled, shaking her head. “If ye say so. Now, I had better help find Alaina. She’ll want to speak to me.”
Megan tried to stand up, but her knees shook, and she slapped a hand against the wall, trying to steady herself.
Ryder moved before he knew what he was doing. He dived forward, sweeping Megan off her feet and into his arms, bridal-style. She gave a squeak of surprise, her arms going around his neck reflexively.
“Ye have been through plenty,” Ryder murmured, his face inches from hers. He could count the colors in her eyes. Maybe hewould.
“I… I’m fine,” she stammered. “Get me to a healer, and I will be just fine.”
“Ye are with a healer,” he responded with a wry smile. “Ye cannae imagine that I’ve fought this many battles without picking up a thing or two. I’ll take care of ye. Ewan, make me excuses to the party, and get rid of the body. Treat him well.”
Ewan paused, frowning. “Treat himwell?”
