Then another presence moved. Halvard felt it before he saw it; a tall figure detached itself from the alley mouth, cloaked in fine wool ill-suited to this place. Even in the dark, Halvard recognized the bearing, the arrogance, the way the man expected the world to make space for him.
Bowen Harcourt.
Rage surged hot and immediate.
So, it is ye.
Bowen stepped closer to Elsie, his voice low, persuasive. Halvard could not hear the words, but he could see the intent written plainly in the man’s posture—the proprietary angle of his head, the confidence.
Halvard’s fingers curled around his sword hilt. He barely restrained himself from jumping onto the man, plunging his blade deep in his heart. Harcourt had been a thorn in his side for far too long, and now he was actively threatening the woman he loved. All the attacks, all the lies, all the rumors that turned out to be false—it had all been his doing, just as Halvard had suspected, and now that he had proof, keeping himself in check was almost impossible.
Nae yet. Let them show their hand.
They did. Two more men emerged from the shadows behind Elsie, moving fast—too fast.
“Now,” Bowen said sharply.
Everything exploded at once. One man seized Elsie’s arm and she screamed, the sound slicing straight through Halvard’schest. She twisted and fought, her elbow striking, her legs kicking out as she was captured, but there were too many hands.
“Let me go!” Elsie cried, trying to wrench herself free from her captors. In her wild fight, the two men holding her struggled to hold her still, their arms twisting along with her, but they were too strong for her. No matter what she did, no matter how much she fought, there was no chance of escape for her.
But Halvard was there, and he wouldn’t let them get far.
“Move!” Halvard roared.
He surged forward, drawing steel, his men breaking from the dark with him. Sten’s shout cut through the night, and Harcourt, along with his men, turned to stare in surprise at the sudden attack.
He had truly thought Elsie would go to him on her own, without any protection.
He’s more o’ a fool than I thought.
Halvard threw himself into the fight, roaring as his sword clashed with an enemy blade. In the dark, behind the inn, it was hard for him to see his opponent, his features, anything more than the shape of him, like a shadow with a mind of its own. Even as they met again, even as their blades clanged, his gaze searched for Elsie, looking for her in the chaos. The two men who had first grabbed her were now engaged in a fight with twoof his own men, shouting at each other, breaking the silence of the night.
But he had no time to feel relief. Harcourt was ready; he wasted no time.
In the chaos, Harcourt shoved Elsie hard toward the waiting horses at the alley’s end. She stumbled and nearly fell, her legs giving out from under her as Harcourt dragged her along, but then was pulling her upright again, a cry ripping itself from her throat.
“Halvard!”
The sound of his name burned like a flame. Her scream pierced through him, rattling, unbridled. A pang of fear shot through him at the sight of her like that, frightened and struggling, desperate to get out of Harcourt’s grip. But the man was pulling her along, and Halvard could do little but watch from the corner of his eye, helpless as Harcourt’s soldier kept him occupied.
He strove to rid himself of the man fighting him. With a swing of his sword, he attacked, forcing the man to take a step back, but distracted as he was by Elsie and her panicked pleas for help, he could hardly keep himself focused. He swung again, the man catching his blade at. The very last moment, their swords clashing loudly, the force reverberating through him
Halvard cut down another man, blood slicking the stones beneath his boots.
He reached for her?—
Too late.
Two of Harcourt’s men rushed towards him and Elsie, grabbing her by the arms once more. She fought them just as she had fought before, just as she had fought Harcourt himself, but any effort to escape was meaningless. It only tired her, the exhaustion obvious in every line of her body, in the way she moved. Even as she thrashed and kicked, her movements seemed to turn weaker with every passing second, the fight taking too much out of her.
Halvard had to reach her before it was too late.
“Elsie!” Halvard called out, his voice ringing through the dark. She whipped her head back, her eyes searching for him, their gazes finally locking, and Halvard’s breath caught in his throat. She was so frightened, so panicked by that the men had grabbed her again. Seeing her like that ignited another flame inside him, fury coursing through his veins as he tried to cut his way through the men just to get to her.
Nothing else mattered; all that mattered was bringing her back to safety, away from Harcourt’s clutches.
With a grunt, he brought his sword down, only for it to be met by the enemy’s blade. Harcourt’s men were no match for his own—some of them his own people, some of them mercenaries from the Highlands, who were neither loyal nor well trained.
