“I ken ye’re called the Beast of McMurphy,” she said without flinching. “I ken men fear ye.”
“Do ye ken why?”
She was quiet for a moment, studying his face. “Nay.”
“Because,” Elijah said softly, “I’ve never lost a battle, never retreated from a fight, never left an enemy breathin’ when they threatened what’s mine.” He let that sink in. “Any man foolish enough to attack this carriage will be dead before he draws his sword.”
“That’s quite a boast.”
“It’s nae a boast, lass. It’s a promise.”
As if to prove his point, the sound of hoofbeats thundered from behind them. Elijah’s head snapped around, his hand automatically going to his sword hilt.
“Company,” Henry announced grimly, already drawing his weapon.
Elijah counted quickly. There were eight riders, coming fast, too fast to be friendly.
“Get down!” he barked at Iris, who immediately ducked back into the carriage. He could hear her steadying herself inside, despite the danger.
Good lass.
The riders were closer now, close enough that he could see their faces. They were rough men with hungry eyes and weapons already drawn. Bandits who had probably heard about the wedding and decided a Highland laird’s new bride might be worth a ransom.
They were about to learn otherwise.
“Eight of them,” Henry called, positioning himself on the far side of the carriage.
“I counted. Ye take the four on the right.”
“With pleasure.”
The first bandit reached them with a wild cry, swinging a rusty sword at Elijah’s head. Elijah ducked, came up inside the man’s guard, and drove his blade deep into the fool’s chest. The bandit toppled from his horse without a sound.
Seven more.
Another attacker tried to flank him, but Elijah spun his horse around and caught the man across the throat with his blade. Blood sprayed across the road as the second bandit fell.
Six.
From the other side of the carriage, he could hear Henry’s battle cries mixing with the screams of dying men. His friend was enjoying himself which meant the other bandits were having a very bad day.
A crossbow bolt whistled past Elijah’s ear, close enough that he felt the wind of its passage. He tracked the shot back to its source, a thin man sitting on a brown mare about thirty yards away, already reloading.
Mistake.
Elijah spurred his horse forward, closing the distance in seconds. The archer looked up just in time to see death coming for him, his eyes going wide with terror.
“Please—”
Elijah’s sword took his head clean off.
Five.
The remaining bandits were scattering now, their confidence shattered by the speed and brutality of the defense, but Elijah wasn’t about to let them escape. These men had threatened his wife, and that was unforgivable.
He ran down two more as they tried to flee, cutting them down from behind without mercy. Henry finished the last one with a throwing knife that took the man between the shoulder blades.
And then it was over. The entire attack had lasted less than five minutes, and eight men had died, and neither Elijah nor Henry had so much as a scratch to show for it.
