She made him feel vulnerable in a way that he’d never felt before.Bàs roimh Gèill. Death before surrender, the motto of the Highland Guard. He’d never thought he would question it. But he would surrender a thousand times before he let anything happen to her.
He didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it was significant. In the heat of danger, in the face of an attack, he wasn’t thinking about Bruce, Stewart, an unfinished castle or his responsibility to his clan, he was thinking about her—her safety was all that mattered, and it wasn’t just because of the mission.
Steeling himself, he turned to face her. But nothing could have prepared him for the fist that wrapped around his heart and tugged when their eyes met. He could see the fear, but also the trust that no matter how desperate it might seem, he would protect her. It moved him. Humbled him. Nearly brought him to his knees with the force of an emotion he’d never felt before. God, he—
He didn’t finish the thought.
But nothing could stop him from reaching out to cup her face. She nuzzled her cheek into the leather of his gauntleted hand, burrowing right into his heart.
“We have to run,” he said, his voice unrecognizably tender.
She nodded. “I can do this.”
He believed her. She was strong and determined. And for the first time, he realized that he wouldn’t want it any other way. He’d never thought of a woman as anything more than a bed partner or the keeper of the home and hearth. A delicate, fragile creature whom it was his job to protect. A necessity, but never someone to stand by his side, to talk to and argue with—not to mention drive him crazy. But Janet made him want all those things.
He swept his thumb over her mouth tenderly. “Don’t stop, no matter what you hear. I will find you.”
The small smile that curved her mouth stole his breath. “I know.”
And so they ran. Ran as fast as he could push her into the snow-covered moors and mist-shrouded hilltops that loomed in the distance. Bruce’s army had taken refuge in them many times before, but it would be too much to expect to find anyone this near to the village. It was up to him and Sutherland to get them out of this. They wouldn’t be able to outrun their pursuers, not on foot, with dogs and horses chasing them.
They didn’t have as much time as he’d hoped. The shadow of the fort behind him in the breaking dawn had yet to fade when he caught the first glimpse of horses.
“The river!” he shouted over his shoulder to Janet. “A few hundred feet ahead through the trees. Follow it until you reach the edge of the tree line and then into the hills. Remember what I said. Don’t stop. No matter what you hear.”
Her face was flushed from the exertion of running, but he thought she paled. “Ewen, I—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Go!”
He couldn’t hear it. Not now. He waited until she’d disappeared into the forest before turning to Sutherland. But the newest member of the Highland Guard had already anticipated him. “The pass?”
Ewen nodded. The deep, narrow valley of the glen would slow the horses down and give him and Sutherland time to get into position.
But there wasn’t time. The enemy was already breathing down his neck. He turned and drew his sword right as the first mailed arm came swinging down toward him. He blocked the blow of the poleaxe with a quick twist of his sword that send the Englishman’s weapon flying from his hands. A moment later, Ewen’s sword struck down hard on the rider’s leg, nearly severing it.
He heard the man’s startled cry before he toppled to the ground, his life’s blood pouring from him. A quick glance told Ewen what he needed to know: a dozen men-at-arms, one knight, de Beaumont’s arms, two dogs barking wildly.
No sooner had he apprised himself of the situation than the next rider was on him. He felt a roar of energy surge through his blood as the rush of battle crashed over him. He held his sword in two hands over his head and brought it down against the other man’s blade with enough force to knock him from his saddle.
One by one he and Sutherland struck down the enemy, working in tandem as they moved the attacking Englishmen into position in the narrow pass.
Just like that, the battle shifted. The horses couldn’t maneuver. Instead of the aggressors, the English knight and his men became like herring trapped in a barrel. With Ewen on one side and Sutherland on the other, there was nowhere for them to go. They were forced to abandon their horses or die.
They died anyway.
The loud clash of battle began to dull as the English fell beneath their swords. The barking had stopped. One of the dogs appeared to have been trampled by the fleeing horses, and the other…
Ewen swore, shaking off some of the sweat that had gathered beneath his helm to clear his vision. Where was the other dog?
While fending off blows, he scanned the area around them, grazing over the bodies of the men and horses that had fallen alongside them. No second dog.
A chill raced through his blood as he realized there was a man missing as well.
There were still four soldiers left. Three of them had converged on Sutherland, hoping to overpower him, while the other tried to keep Ewen from helping him. Sutherland didn’t need help. And neither did Ewen. He exchanged blows with the man-at-arms, a thick-necked, barrel-chested brute, who managed to land a solid blow of his sword on Ewen’s shoulder before the edge of Ewen’s blade could meet his neck.
Sutherland had realized what had happened. “Go!” he shouted between swings of his sword. “I’ll finish them off.”
Ewen didn’t hesitate. Jumping on one of the remaining horses, he tore off in the direction he’d told Janet to run.
