“’Tis safe,” Torin said, coming to stand beside her. “The Armstrongs lost a heavy number. The rest are retreating.”
She turned to look at him. She’d watched him fighting down there, protecting the gate. He’d moved his sword as if it were a part of him, hacking away at their enemy as if they were not fighting back. She had never seen anyone move the way he had. He was a force unto himself. And then he had come for her, killing four at the door, including her assailant.
“You saved them,” her father echoed her thoughts, moving toward them. “What can I do to thank you, Sir Torin?”
“Acknowledge that your daughter almost gave her life doing the same,” Torin replied, and slanted his wintry gaze to her.
She did all she could not to leap into his arms.
Thankfully, he looked down into the ward, littered with the dead. “Where is your son?”
“Here.”
Everyone turned at the sound of Galien’s voice. He stood in the archway. His face was pale. His jack was bloody. “Are any of you hurt?”
“No, no, thank God,” their father assured while Braya and her mother rushed to him.
After he assured his family that the blood was not his and he was well, their father gathered them toward the door. “We need to find the warden. Let us hope he still lives.”
“Aye,” Galien agreed quietly. When Braya moved to pass him, he took her hand and held it to his lips. “If anything would have befallen you or mother…” He paused, unable to continue.
“They are unharmed,” said their father, “thanks to Sir Torin…and Braya.”
“Aye, and Braya,” her mother and her cousins all agreed.
Braya wondered how one of the best moments in her life could happen in the midst of so many bad ones.
As they hurried down the stairs, she said a silent prayer of thanks for her family’s safety and for…him. He’d gone ahead and she watched him, hoping he would turn around and look at her the way he had on the battlements. As if his next breath and every one thereafter depended on seeing her. But he had reached the landing below and spoke to Mr. Adams while the older man wiped blood from his face.
“The great hall is safe,” Torin called out to them and led the way inside. Braya and Galien took the rear.
Before Braya entered the hall, the warden came upon her. He took one look at the swelling purple bruise along her cheek and reached his hand out. “What’s this? Who dared put a hand to you, Miss Hetherington?”
“A dead Armstrong,” she replied, moving away to avoid his touch.
He smiled, not truly concerned about any man putting his hand to her. “As are the relatives he brought here with him tonight. The inner ward is littered with them. The Armstrongs have been defeated, I’m told, by the efforts of Mr. Adams and Stir Torin. ’Tis said the two held the eastern gate alone. Then again,” he laughed, “we know how tales are enhanced.”
“The tales are true,” Braya told him woodenly. “They did hold the entire east end by themselves. I saw them.”
She wanted to tell him he repulsed her, but why anger the old toad? The Armstrongs had proven tonight that they were a powerful enemy. They needed Bennett’s army. Still, no one had expected the Armstrongs to be so bold as to raid the defender’s stronghold.
“What will you do about this bold, unlawful family, my lord?” she demanded.
“I must wait and bring it up before the other wardens on the day of truce since the Armstrongs have family on Scottish land. But believe me, I will see that the Armstrongs pay for this.” He breathed and seemed to move closer to her. He dipped his head and lifted a finger to her cheek again, touching her this time. “Especially for this, little pigeon.”
