“Is there?” The older man’s expression hardened. “Ye helped a prisoner escape. Ye stood by while our Laird was murdered. And then ye ran like a coward to the very man who killed him.” He spat on the ground. “Our loyalty lies with the Laird, nae a traitor who opens cages for captives.”
Murdock’s hand tightened on his sword. The rage building in his chest was cold, controlled, but absolute. These men dared speak to her this way. Dared call her a traitor when she’d shown more courage than either of them likely possessed.
“I’d advise ye,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made seasoned warriors flinch, “to say nothin' more if ye value yer lives.”
The younger man’s eyes flicked to him, sizing him up with the arrogance of youth. “Or else what? Ye’ll kill us, too? Add our deaths to all the others ye’ve caused?”
Something in Murdock went very, very quiet. The rage crystallized into something sharper, more focused. He’d given them a chance. They’d refused it.
“Aye,” he said simply. “Or else this.”
He moved.
Years of training made the motion fluid, instinctive. His sword cleared its sheath with a whisper of steel, the blade catching the morning sun as he spurred Thunder forward.
The older man barely had time to register what was happening before Murdock’s blade found him. The strike was clean, efficient, aimed for the throat. The man’s eyes went wide with shock as blood sprayed, hot and crimson, across his horse’s neck. He fell backwards off his mount, hitting the ground with a wet thud.
The riderless horse screamed, rearing in panic. It bolted, charging past them in blind terror, hooves thundering against the earth.
Leona’s mare caught the panic like wildfire. The smaller horse shrieked, rearing up on its hind legs with a violence that would have unseated a less experienced rider.
“Leona!” Murdock’s heart stopped as he watched her fight for control, her hands yanking on the reins, her body pitched forward to stay seated.
But the mare was beyond reason, beyond training. It reared again, higher this time, and Leona lost her grip.
She fell.
Murdock was off Thunder before conscious thought, his body moving on pure instinct. He caught her as she tumbled from the saddle, his arms closing around her waist and pulling her against his chest as they both hit the ground.
He twisted at the last second, taking the impact on his shoulder, cushioning her fall with his own body. They landed hard, and pain jolted through him, but he didn’t care. Didn’t feel it. All that mattered was the woman in his arms.
“Are ye hurt?” His hands moved over her frantically, checking for injuries. “Leona, talk to me. Are ye…”
“I’m fine,” she gasped, her fingers clutching at his tunic. “I’m fine, I just…”
The thunder of hooves made him look up. The remaining two men had dismounted, drawing their swords as they advanced. The younger one’s face was twisted with rage, all cockiness gone, replaced by the reality of violence.
“Ye bastard!” he screamed, charging forward. “Ye killed Sam!”
Murdock was on his feet in an instant, pushing Leona behind him. His sword came up, meeting the younger man’s wild swing with a clash of steel that rang across the empty road.
The man had fury but no skill. He swung again, putting all his weight behind it, leaving himself wide open.
Murdock sidestepped easily, his blade flashing out. It caught the man across the ribs, cutting deep through leather and flesh. The man stumbled, blood blooming across his tunic, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.
The third man, seeing his companions fall, hesitated. Self-preservation warred with loyalty on his face.
Loyalty lost.
He turned to run, but Murdock was faster. He closed the distance in three strides, his sword striking low, severing the tendons in the man’s knee. The man went down with a scream, and Murdock’s blade found his back before he could rise.
Silence fell across the road, broken only by labored breathing and the distant rush of the burn.
Three bodies lay in the dirt, blood pooling beneath them. Leona’s mare had disappeared over the hills, following the path of the first frightened horse. Only Thunder remained, standing exactly where Murdock had left him, trained to wait through chaos and death.
Murdock turned, his sword still in hand, blood dripping from the blade. His chest heaved, a rush singing through his veins, the battle rage that had consumed him beginning to ebb.
Leona had pushed herself up and stood where he’d left her, her face pale. She stared at the bodies, then at him, her green eyes wide and dark.
