Neil stepped in front of Kristen and shoved her behind him with his left arm, then his sword came free with a clean scrape. “Stay back,” he ordered.
His eyes never left the bandit.
Lachlan was already driving forward with three guards, their faces contorted with fury. They hit the bandit low and hard, took his legs, and tore the knife from his fist. He spat at them and laughed again, wild.
“Kill him!” a man shouted.
“Make him pay!” another yelled.
“Silence,” Lachlan snapped. He planted a knee on the bandit’s back and bound his wrists. “Nae yet. We can use him. There is more that he kens.”
He lifted his head and found Neil’s eyes across the churned earth, almost like he needed to convince him. “Me Laird, ye ken very well that we need to take him alive.” He was breathing hard. “We throw him in the cells and let him feel what ye had felt for five years.”
Neil’s grip tightened on his sword. White-hot rage flared in his chest and asked for the quickest end. His brother’s face flashed through his mind, and he tried so hard to shove away the image of him begging for his life before the bandits ended it.
The world narrowed to the pulse in his thumb and the man writhing in the dirt.
He forced air into his lungs, then made himself count a slow beat.
“Aye.” The word came out rough. “Take him. Keep him alive.”
Lachlan nodded once, sharp and grim. “Take him away,” he instructed the guards.
They hauled the bandit to his feet, ignoring the way he kicked and spat. Blood flecked his lips, and he hurled even more curses over his shoulder as they dragged him toward the stairs that led to the dungeons. The words bounced off stone, foul and half mad.
Neil did not watch. Instead, he turned around and stood between the fallen woman and Kristen. His chest rose and fell too quickly. His blade hung low by his thigh, and he could feel Kristen trembling behind his shoulder.
The peace that had almost taken root in his study was gone. Nothing of it reached this ground. The woman lay between him and the people he meant to protect, and the man who had made the courtyard a gallows was alive because he had said so.
They would take the bandit to the dungeons, and they would drag the truth out of him. That was the only way. Everything that happened today would make sense later.
He had to believe that,even though he wanted nothing more than to drive his sword into the bandit’s chest.
28
Kristen barely heard Neil bark the order. The courtyard had shrunk to the woman crumpling on the ground, her hands sliding from a wound that bloomed like dark poppies across her dress.
People hovered, their mouths hanging open with shock.
“Move!” Kristen cried, shouldering them aside.
She dropped to her knees beside the woman, the cold seeping through the fabric and into her bones.
“Press here,” she told herself as much as anyone, pressing both hands to torn flesh.“Stay with me. Please. Stay with me.”
The woman gasped, her back arching, her pupils blown with terror.
Blood trickled hot between Kristen’s fingers as she pressed even harder.But it was not enough.It would never be enough.
Frightened shouts and the scrape of boots rose behind, but the world narrowed to the woman’s pale face.
“Look at me,” Kristen said firmly. “Ye are safe. I have ye. Keep yer eyes on me.”
The woman fought for breath, her lips grey, a smear of red at the corner. Her right hand pawed weakly until it caught Kristen’s sleeve. The grip was barely there, yet the intent was clear.
“Thank ye,” she rasped.
Kristen bent closer. “For what?”
