“I ken.” Blake nodded as he pushed forward, claiming the right of first duel. None of the others challenged him as he guided his horse toward Oran’s.
Oran Murray screamed something unintelligible and swiped blindly at his adversary. His fear seemed to have robbed him of any battle skill or sense he might have possessed. Blake didn’t even have to lean back to avoid the blow, while his own horsedanced backward in rising panic. It was a miracle, so far as Reyna was concerned, that he managed to stay in the saddle.
Quick and clean, Blake drew his horse to a stop, drew a single blade from his belt and flung the dirk across the intervening space between himself and his enemy laird. Oran Murray never saw it coming. He crumpled out of his saddle with scarcely a gurgle, the knife in his throat. He was dead before he even hit the ground.
The soldiers of Murray clan broke and fled. Blake turned to address his own. “Stand down!”
Ewan shouted similar orders to his own men.
The battle was over. Reyna felt her knees weakening as the truth filled her mind.
Oran Murray was dead. With no heir, there was a chance they might be able to have peace with whoever claimed his clan. But even if that wasn’t the case, it would take time to name a new laird, and Clan Murray would need to rebuild.
Her family was safe. And by the time there was any danger, her brother would have a newborn babe. And she... she would have...
Blake slid out of his saddle and turned to face her. “Reyna…”
Relief and joy overwhelmed her. With a soft cry, Reyna raced forward and threw herself into his arms, heedless of the bloodand dirt that covered him. She hugged him until her arms were sore and she had to let go so they both could breathe.
Blake smiled, a soft, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. With a gentle movement, he raised her necklace and lowered it gently over her head once more. “Thank ye love.”
She wrapped her arms around him again. Then Blake lowered his head and claimed her lips with his own in a searing kiss that made her feel as if there was no one else in the world. Sweat and blood and dirt flavored it, bringing with it the relief of a battle won and their newfound freedom. Reyna melted into his arms and his kiss, prepared to sink into his embrace forever.
She could feel the heat of him, the growing passion that was replacing battle weariness, and her own rising to match it. Her hand reached to pull on the ties of his shirt...
Laughter and a plaintive question broke them apart as her father addressed them. “Reyna, lass... what is the meaning o’ this?”
Finlay was still chuckling as he answered. “Och, Faither, dinnae pretend I didnae tell yet that Brutus Murray is actually Blake Sinclair, tae jest her.”
“Aye, and these two scarcely encountered each other again afore they were back in love and closer than ye’d think possible.” Preston added. He was grinning as well.
Reyna blushed.
Blake managed to look sheepish, despite his bloodstained clothing and scarred countenance, as he moved forward. Reyna went with him, torn between hiding her face in his arm and giving her father an exasperated look. “I believe I need tae speak with ye, Laird Gregor, about formalizing a betrothal tae yer daughter…”
