Outside the room, he bent to take Richard’s sword and then bent again to take his companion’s. He gave one to Braya and then led her down the hall, to the stairs. They raced down and almost reached the front doors when two guards noticed them and hurried to stop their departure.
Torin was ready with a swipe to the first’s belly and then a jab of his blade into the next guard’s chest.
He pushed Braya behind him as more men hurried toward them, weapons raised.
They had to get outside. He had to let the others know to come.
He made quick work of three men, one of whom had his sword, which he retrieved. Braya took down two more.
Torin grabbed a torch from the wall and they hurried out of the house. He could hear men behind him. He took Braya’s hand as he ran and tossed the torch on top of the tavern when they reached it. He ran inside and shouted, “Out! Everyone leave! ’Tis a fire!”
Everyone got out. Flames engulfed the roof. Smoke billowed upward and outward like a cloud over the village. It was becoming difficult to see but Armstrong guards were everywhere.
He stepped out into the crowd and began fighting the guards. Soon, he could hear the sounds of men attacking. The Hetheringtons were here. They knew the smoke was his sign. Good for them. He fought among them, at their sides, against their enemies. But he was too aware of Braya fighting for her life close by, so he took her hand and ran with her toward the edge of the village.
But she would not leave her family, and he admired her for it—more than she might ever know. He would save her from the manipulations of a powerful man, but he wouldn’t drag her away from protecting her family. And he wanted to find John Armstrong.
He didn’t have to wait.
“Where do you think you are going with my woman?”
He was a hulking brute with clipped yellow hair and a long scar across his chin. He wore breeches and a jack, and wielded a long sword and shield.
Nothing would help him.
Torin dropped Braya’s hand and moved forward confidently. “I will fight you for her.”
