The man staggered a little and Iain used that uncertain movement to hide the sound of his boots on the hard floor. He could see Emily trying to find something to use against the man and Iain stopped closer, readying his sword. Then he thrust the blade into the man so hard and deep his hand bumped up against the man’s back. He felt a twinge of horror when the man just hung there on the point of his sword and tried to pull it back. When it did not come out as easily as it had gone in, he placed a foot on the man’s backside and shoved his body forward.
When the dead man fell to the floor he saw Emily’s face and almost swore. He was not sure his saving her life was going to make her accept what he had just done. One thing his father had never told him was how gruesome a death one could cause with a sword.
Chapter Twelve
Emily coughed as she threw a bucket of water on the fire just to make certain it was out. That produced even more smoke and she stumbled back to the sink. Clutching the side of the large sink, she coughed until her ribs hurt and quickly used a damp cloth to clean her face. She then filled the bucket up again and cursed Albert and the men he had hired. Why did they always have to burn things down? And why did it have to be in the dining room? She had only recently scrubbed the whole room. She could not get over how much that annoyed her, petty though that it was.
Looking at the damage already caused by the fire, smoke, and water almost made her cry. The MacEnroys had worked so hard to build themselves a home and yet again some English gentry were trying to destroy it. Iain had come to this country to get away from her kind. It was so wrong, so unfair, and she wished Albert were there himself so that someone could shoot him.
That bloodthirsty thought was oddly satisfying and Emily hurried to douse the last of the fire one final time. She was setting the empty bucket on the kitchen table when she heard something at the back door. Emily tensed when she realized she had not barred it after she had let Mrs. O’Neal in. Distracted by the woman and her children she had simply locked it.
Just as she decided she might have a chance to go into the root cellar without the man kicking at the door seeing her, it was too late. The door crashed open and the man started toward her. Emily hurled the bucket at him, hearing the man curse as it clipped him on the shoulder. He staggered a little then started for her again. Emily was backing up and frantically looking for something to defend herself with when the point of a sword appeared out of his chest. Emily met the man’s horrified gaze, certain her own was the same. Blood began to pour from his mouth and she felt her stomach churn. He sagged and then was propelled forward to lie on the floor.
Tearing her gaze from the man’s body, she looked up and there stood Iain, his expression fierce and a bloodied sword in his hand. She started to shake and forced herself to stop. She did not wish to make Iain think he had caused her fear. Emily also did not want him to think she was too horrified by what he had done although she feared he could read it in her face. She had to let him know it was the death that upset her, not the fact that he caused it. The man was planning to kill her and she was more than grateful that he had been stopped. Cautiously she moved around the table. As soon as she had a clear path, she ran into his arms, hearing the sword hit the ground as he wrapped his arms around her. She could smell sweat, blood, and smoke on him but nothing had ever made her feel so safe before.
“Are ye okay, lass?” he asked, rubbing one hand up and down her back.
“I am fine.” Emily stepped back and he was slow to release her. “Best pick up your weapon in case others come.”
“No others left to come.” He bent, wiped the sword clean on the dead man’s coat, and then stood up. “We killed a lot of them and as the men began to fall, others changed their mind about it all and fled. We accepted the surrender of others. We will keep a watch in case some eluded the Powell brothers.”
“The Powells?”
“Aye. They came running and ended up on the backside of this lot. Hid themselves well and, I cannae say how many, but I dinnae think many of the ones who ran away got very far. I am hoping we’ll find one alive.”
“So many dead,” she whispered in shock.
“They intended to kill ye and the boy. Dinnae waste a moment of grief on them.”
“No grief. Just shock. I begin to think Albert is more than greedy. He must be mad.” She looked around. “Oh, Iain, your lovely home. They have ruined it.” She felt tears sting her eyes.
“It will be fixed, love,” he said quietly.
“Smoke, fire, ash, and blood are not easily banished.”
“Dinnae fret. We will do it. There is no damage to the main structure. Where is Mrs. O’Neal?”
“Still in the root cellar. Is anyone hurt?”
“Nay. A few nicks and bruises is all. How about ye go and fetch her, but take it slow so I have time to get this body out of here. Dinnae want the children seeing it.”
“Yes, I can do that.” She took a deep breath and reached for calm. “I am glad none of you were badly hurt and I am so sorry for all of this.”
“Ye have nothing to apologize for. This wasnae your doing, never think so. It was all the fault of that greedy bastard Albert. I would sorely like to find him. He is a man who badly needs killing. Just keep that thought in your head. This is all Albert’s doing.”
“I am so sorry you were forced to do that,” she said, and nodded toward the dead man.
Iain pulled her into his arms and kissed her, all the fear he had felt that he would not stop the man in time adding a fierceness to the kiss. “There was a choice before me. Ye or him. That was a simple choice to make.” He let her go and nudged her toward the door leading to the cellar. “Go and let the others out.”
She nodded and headed to the root cellar, trying hard to ignore the sound of a body being dragged out the door. It was Albert’s doing. A faint smile touched her mouth. She still felt to blame for bringing this trouble to Iain’s door but he was right, the dead were all on Albert’s head. All she and the MacEnroys had done was fight to stay alive.
“Em! Fire!” Neddy ran up and wrapped himself around her legs. “We go. We run.”
Crouching down she framed Neddy’s face with her hands. “I put the fire out, Neddy.”
“No fire? I smell it.”
“That is just the smoke and I am afraid we will be smelling that for quite a while. But there is no fire. I threw water on it all and I am sure Iain will do a thorough check to be certain.”
