With a signal, the baron’s men moved in on Bram. Laren saw the anguish on her husband’s face, and Harkirk demanded, “Whose life has more value? Your brother’s? Or your daughter’s?”
AlexturnedonHarkirk,unleashing his rage as his sword struck the baron. His movements forced Harkirk backwards, allowing him to keep Adaira in his sight.
He abandoned himself to the fight, not caring what happened to him. If he died, so be it. But he’d strike down the baron with his last breath.
“Kill her!” Harkirk ordered, and Alex shoved the man backwards into the group of soldiers.
At that moment, he saw Finian MacLachor running forward with a dirk in his hands. The man raised the weapon toward Adaira and Alex’s heart stopped. He couldn’t reach her in time. The thought of watching her die was unthinkable.
But instead of killing her, Finian embedded the blade in the back of the soldier’s throat, pulling the child away. He held his blade in readiness to defend her.
Alex breathed easier, and his reinforcements invaded the fortress until they slowly regained control of the battle. Turning back, he saw that Harkirk had disappeared. The coward. He couldn’t stop to search for him now, but his sword bit through flesh and bone as they drove back the soldiers. And when Alex reached his daughter’s side at last, Finian MacLachor stood near the child, his dirk still in hand.
“You saved her,” Alex said, grateful beyond words.
“Were it not for me, she’d never have been in danger. I’m sorry for it.” Finian moved aside so Alex could reach for his daughter.
He picked her up in his arms, and Adaira clung to him. Though she wasn’t safe yet, it meant everything to hold his child again. “It’s all right, sweet one.” He pressed a kiss against her hair, embracing her tightly.
To the MacLachor chief, Alex added, “Harkirk fled. I think you should find him.”
Finian’s face tightened, and he went off in pursuit of the English lord. Alex started to move toward the gates, where he saw Hamish MacPherson approaching. Blood streamed from a cut on the man’s face, but he seemed to breathe easier when he spied Adaira. “I’m sorry, Alex. They killed three of my men when they took Adaira. I rode as quickly as I could.”
“She’s all right,” Alex said. His hand moved to Adaira’s head, protecting her as they retreated from the remaining soldiers.
“Mama!” Adaira suddenly shrieked. Alex turned and saw Laren running toward them. He caught her in his arms, holding her so tightly, it was as if he needed to absorb her into his skin. His wife gripped him hard, then took Adaira into her arms, smiling even as she wept over both of them. Alex held them, his throat constricted with emotion.
But he didn’t feel safe yet. Not until they’d found Harkirk.
“Search for the baron,” he ordered his men. “I want him found.”
“He’s here,” came the voice of Finian MacLachor. The chief stood at the top of the stairs leading to the fortress tower and at his feet was the body of Lord Harkirk.
A black-feathered arrow lay embedded in the baron’s throat.
LadyHarkirkstoodoutsidethe fortress with the others, her face colorless. The Scottish prisoners had been freed and they’d set the rest of the fortress on fire, driving the remaining soldiers out. Lord Harkirk’s body had been left to burn.
Laren stood beside the Lady, uncertain of what to say.
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Lady Harkirk whispered. “I just . . . don’t know where to go now.”
She rubbed her shoulders from the cold and Laren touched her shoulder. “Do you have family you could return to, perhaps in England? We could arrange an escort.”
The woman shook her head. “I have no one.”
Before long, Laren spied a young boy watching from within the tree line. It was the same child whom Lady Harkirk had hidden in the forest. His expression held fear as he stood, watching the fire spread.
The sight of the boy seemed to urge Lady Harkirk into motion. She hurried toward the trees, signaling for the boy to come forward.
The boy took a few hesitant steps, but when he spied the MacLachor chief, he took off running. Throwing himself against the man, the child burst into tears. It was then that Laren realized that the young boy who had brought her to his shelter that night was not a boy at all, but a girl whose hair had been cut short.
The MacLachor chief’s face broke into an incredulous smile, and he gripped the girl hard. “Iliana, you’re alive?”
“Yes, Da. She rescued me.” The girl hugged him tightly and he smoothed his hand across her shorn hair.
“I bribed one of the soldiers to help me get her out,” Lady Harkirk explained. “I disguised her as a boy and let my husband believe she was dead.” With an apologetic smile she added, “I didn’t know she was yours.”
Finian kept his arm around his daughter, but he reached out and took Lady Harkirk’s hand. “There are no words to say how grateful I am.”
