“That’s not how this is going to go, lassie,” Robert sighed, sounding almost reluctant. “I have been looking for ye for some time. It’s high time ye came home.”
“I’m going nowhere with ye.”
He sighed again. “Ye always did have trouble seeing things the way they were. This is not a choice, lass. Ye can come with me of yer own accord, which I’d prefer. We can go back to the Keep, arm in arm, as a success story. Ye will be Lady Senga Murray again, of Clan Murray, instead of a… what was it ye were living as? An aspiring nun? Come on, lass, that isn’t ye.”
He advanced steadily, and Senga scrambled to the side, putting the stone circle of the well between them. Fumbling ather belt, she withdrew the short knife she used to collect herbs and plants and aimed it shakily at her father.
“I’ll tell ye once more,” she quavered. “Stay back.”
Robert did not seem deterred in the slightest.
“Put yer wee blade away, lass. It’s embarrassing to us both.”
At that moment, more figures stepped out from around the blackened house. They wore Murray tartan, of course. She recognized Tobey, his sword drawn. He grinned nastily at her. She noticed a scar on his forehead and allowed herself a faint smile.
I did that.
“Come quietly. It’s for the best,” Robert said, taking another step towards her. He stretched out his hand. “Ye are coming with us, one way or another. I tell ye what, Laird Dickson has great plans. He’s going to Keep Kenneth next. There’ll be nowhere to hide. So why not make yer peace with it? Don’t fight it.”
She stared at him, fear stiffening her limbs. She saw her father’s plan in his eyes a half-second before it happened. He lunged forward, trying to grab her. She struck out blindly with the knife, catching him across the back of his hand. It was only a shallow cut, but it made him stop trying to grab her at least. He gave a strangled scream, backing away, blood dripping from his hand.
“Ye wee bitch!” he bellowed. “Tobey, take her. Bind her tight!”
But his yell had echoed across the quiet village. A shout of warning echoed from the gates. Tobey glanced around uneasily.
“M’Laird—” he ventured, but that was all he managed to say.
Running footsteps were their only warning. Abruptly, Noah came plunging forward out of the mist, sword drawn. His eyes flashed, taking in the scene, and he lunged towards Robert.
Tobey was there in an instant, lifting his sword and deflecting Noah’s blow. There were voices and more running feet approaching. Help was on its way.
“She is my daughter!” Robert bellowed, hastily backing away behind a row of his men. “She ismine.”
“She is no one’s!” Noah roared back.
“M’Laird, it’s time to go,” Tobey snapped, backing away from Noah.
The two men faced each other down, swords raised.
Robert and Tobey had enough men to overwhelm them easily, Senga realized. But if they stayed to do that, the rest of Noah’s soldiers would arrive and outnumbertheminstead. There was only one way this could end.
“This isn’t over,” Robert hissed, catching Senga’s eye and jabbing a finger towards her. “Oh, this isnotover. Ye are coming home, lass, even if I have to cut ye into pieces to do it.”
“Don’t speak to her that way,” Noah ground out, pointing his sword towards Robert. “I won’t let ye lay a finger on her, do ye hear me?”
Robert gave a harsh laugh. “I thought ye seemed familiar. What, has Laird Grahame let ye feel as though ye are something now, Noah Gordon? Ye are not, I can promise ye that. Ye think that because ye hold a sword, ye deserve to have a laird’s daughter?”
“I don’t want tohaveanyone.”
Robert shook his head, eyes blazing. “Ye were born to shovel horse shite, lad. When I kill ye—and I will kill ye—I’m going to bury ye in it.”
With that, he backed away further still, the mist eating him up. The rest of the soldiers followed suit, disappearing into the gray veil, leaving Noah and Senga alone.
Noah did not relax, though. He stood in front of her, every muscle taut, head whipping around as if he were afraid of being outflanked.
Instants later, a group of soldiers, all with their swords drawn, came charging out of the mist.
“Captain, what was it?” one of the men gasped, drawing the back of his hand over a mist-drenched forehead.
