"Where is she?"Ewan's voice was deadly calm as he drew his own sword and pressed the tip to the conscious guard's throat. "Where is Maia?"
The man'seyes went wide with terror, focusing on the blade at his neck. "I—I daenae?—"
"Wrong answer."Ewan pressed harder, drawing a bead of blood that welled up and trickled down the man's neck. "Try again. And this time, think very carefully about how much ye value yer life. Because right now, I'd very much like to end it."
"Up ahead!"the man gasped, the words tumbling over each other in his panic. "Maybe half a mile! The Laird has her, has both of them, they're headin' for the north road where the rest of our men are waitin' with horses!"
Ewan's griptightened on his sword, his knuckles white. "How many men total?"
"Four! The Laird and three guards!"The man was babbling now, words flowing like water. "Please, I've told ye everythin', just daenae kill me! I have a wife, children, I was just followin' orders?—"
Ewan reversedhis grip on the sword and brought the pommel down hard on the man's temple. The guard collapsed, unconscious but alive.
Four men plus Callen Ferguson.Against one.
I've faced worse odds.
Though not often,and usually with backup. But there was no time to ride back to the castle, no time to gather Leon and reinforcements. Every second he delayed was another second Maia was in her uncle's hands, being dragged toward whatever nightmare the man had planned for her.
Over Ewan's dead body.
Or preferably,over Callen Ferguson's dead body.
Ewan ran backto his horse, ignoring the burn of the cut on his ribs, ignoring the way his hands were shaking with adrenaline and rage. Half a mile. He could cover that in minutes if he pushed hard enough.
He swunginto the saddle and urged the destrier forward at a gallop, dodging trees and jumping fallen logs with the kind of reckless abandon that would get him killed if he wasn't careful. But careful took time, and time was something Maia didn't have.
The forest wasa blur around him—dark shapes and deeper shadows, the last traces of twilight fading into true night. But hiseyes were adjusting, and the path ahead was clear enough. Clear enough to see?—
There.
Maybe a hundred yards ahead,he could see them now. A group of figures, darker shapes against the darkness, two smaller forms being dragged along by larger ones.
Even from this distance,even in the failing light, Ewan recognized Maia's brown hair catching what little moonlight penetrated the canopy. Recognized Mollie's smaller frame struggling against her captor.
And standingin the center of it all, clearly giving orders even though Ewan couldn't hear the words, was Callen Ferguson.
The manwho'd tried to take her away from everything she'd found at Castle McGill. From her freedom. From her friends. From the happiness she'd only just started to believe she deserved.
Fromhim.
Fury,unlike anything Ewan had ever felt, surged through his veins like liquid fire.
Mine.She's mine. And I'll destroy anyone who tries to take her.
The possessiveness should have frightenedhim. Should have reminded him of his father's obsessive control. But this wasn't the same. This wasn't about owning Maia or controlling her.
This was about protecting her.About making sure she never had to be afraid again. About destroying the monster who'd hurt her.
Ewan drew his sword,the blade singing as it left its sheath, and spurred his horse forward with a wordless cry of rage.
22
The distance closed rapidly—eighty yards, sixty, forty.
One of theMacMahon guards looked up, saw Ewan bearing down on them like vengeance incarnate, and shouted a warning that was half terror, half disbelief.
Callen spun around,his beady eyes widening with shock and something that might have been fear. "It's McGill! Kill him!"
