Ceana ducked under her sister’s arm to stand directly in front of the cook. “Is aught amiss with me ma? Where is she? What is wrong?”
But the cook would not say. “Come quick. Yer ma calls for ye,” she said and hurried downstairs. Still in her nightdress, Ceana ran after Alina and the cook. When they arrived downstairs, they met their mother at the entrance to their home.
Her eyes were red, and she had been crying. It occurred to Ceana. Her father. It was her father. Something was wrong with her father.
She ran into her mother’s arms and held her tight. “What is amiss?” she dared to ask.
“‘Tis Bridget,” their mother, Regina, sobbed. “She was found dead this morn!”
* * *
“‘Tis silly to be sent all the way here for a box,” Rannoch shook his head. The pair were riding back after making their delivery.
“Do nae think of it that way,” Torcall said to his cousin. “I believe that me uncle sent us because he trusts none other. It makes the task easier to do.”
Rannoch looked to his cousin and shook his head. “Me, perhaps. But I would think ye are better left training with the men. Ye are the brilliant fighter.”
“And who is a fighter without the expert swordsman?”
Rannoch laughed. “I trust ye to belittle yer talent.”
“Nay, ‘tis nae so. I wouldnae win a battle if my swords were weak. I have ye to thank for that. Even though ye have gone back on yer promise to make a special sword for me.”
“‘Tis been a while since I have forged. Ye can buy another. If ye do nae have money, da would be pleased to buy one for ye. He offered me money to upgrade me forge.”
“And did ye take it?”
“Nay.”
“Ye ass. Why? Ye could have had a great forge! The biggest there is. Men would fight for yer swords. Ye made the sword that deals death in a single blow, and ye do nae want to make more?”
“I do nae ken if I am ready to return to the forge.”
“There is nae pressure on ye. We will wait till ye are ready. There is nae better sword maker in the whole of Scotland, and I will use me old sword that ye made for me when I was still dear to yer heart, and if it falls apart, I will ne’er wield a sword again.”
Rannoch laughed. “We cannae let that happen.”
A scream from the right caused both men to stop. They paused again and listened. The scream had sounded like that of a woman.
When the scream came again, they turned their horses to the source of the noise. It was a woman’s scream, and her distress was clear.
When they arrived at the spot, what he saw made his head boil. There were six men—nasty-looking ruffians, four of which had pinned a helpless woman to the ground. She was crying and pleading, but the men would not even listen.
“Shut up, ye whore!” the man closest to her face said and then struck her.
Torcall flew off his horse, followed closely by Rannoch. He pulled the first man off her and drove his fist into the man’s face. The force of his fist broke his nose, and blood spilled from it. The man fell back, screaming and holding his nose.
The second man put his hand on Torcall’s shoulder to pull him to himself, but it was a wrong move. Torcall met his stomach with his elbow. Repeatedly, he drove his elbow into the man’s gut and jumped in the air, turning with a spin, landing a kick on the third man’s jaw, knocking him out. He went back from the second man and pulled him to his fist, punching his stomach until blood spilled from his mouth. When the man fell dead, he turned to his cousin and found him on the ground between two men.
His blue eyes took the shade of the sea, and he cracked his knuckles. They had chosen death.
Chapter Three
Torcall reached for his dagger in his hidden sheath. Like a panther with eyes on the prey, he stalked the men gently. His steps were quiet, and with each one he took, the sound of the punches that landed on Rannoch’s body maddened him further.
They would regret ever crossing paths with him. They wouldnae get away—nae this time.
Only a short distance apart, Torcall launched the dagger right at the first man’s shoulder. His scream of pain rang on, alerting the other man that something was wrong. The brief pause was all that Torcall needed. He rushed to the men and grabbed the second man by his neck. The man threw a punch at Torcall, but it was useless. Torcall grabbed the man’s fists, then drove a punch into his arm, right at the elbow, causing immeasurable pain. While squeezing the life out of him, he pulled the man to himself and stabbed his elbow into his nose repeatedly. He would not kill them yet—it was too soon. They would suffer first.
