Her gaze shot to the last place she’d seen him. He’d been standing between her father and Dougal on the other side of the priest near the church door as she started to say her vows. She could see Dougal and Duncan with their swords drawn standing before the door, but neither the boy, the priest, nor her father were with them.
Eoin must have realized her father wasn’t there as well; she heard him shout an order to one of his men to find MacDowell. He likely would have done so himself, except that he was fending off a threat from Sir John.
“You should have stayed dead, MacLean,” Sir John said in a menacing voice she’d never heard before.
“And you should have found a bride who was not already married,” Eoin replied. “But I did not come here for you—or her,” he added with a scornful look in her direction. “None of your guests needs to be hurt. I want MacDowell. Do not interfere, and I’ll write to the pope myself. I’m sure my wife can think of dozens of reasons why our marriage could be dissolved.”
Margaret didn’t miss the dig about the conversation with Tristan that Eoin had overheard all those years ago, nor was his obvious eagerness to be rid of her not without a painful pinch or two (or handful) in her chest, but her focus was on her son.
Where was he?
She tried to peer over the crowd, but there were too many people in the way—including Sir John and Eoin. She had to get around them. Sir John had pushed her behind him against the church, thinking he was protecting her, but now she was stuck.
“Writing to the pope won’t be necessary,” Sir John said meaningfully. “Not when I’m done.”
He punctuated his words with a crushing swing of his sword, which Eoin deflected with his own. The clash of battle sent a wave of panic shooting through the crowd, and a woman screamed.
Sir John’s act had snapped the unspoken standoff and the clash of more swords followed.
Margaret cursed, knowing that spilling of blood was inevitable. But damned if she would allow her son to be caught up in the mess. This was everything she’d hoped to avoid. But her husband had brought the war to their doorstep. She would curse him—after she found Eachann.
Assuming Sir John didn’t kill Eoin first. Her erstwhile bridegroom was one of King Edward’s best swordsmen. But a quick glance at the men exchanging blows of the sword told her that Sir John was the one she should be worrying about.
She’d never seen Eoin fight before, and the primitive fierceness of it both shocked and unsettled her. She hadn’t expected him to be so skilled with a blade. He deflected the blows effortlessly—almost as if he were toying with the powerful knight. When Sir John grew impatient and moved in too close, Eoin didn’t just use his sword, he used his elbow to smash into Sir John’s nose and his foot to twist around behind the other man’s ankle and drop him to the ground.
He lay there so still Margaret prayed he was just knocked out.
She would have gone to him to make sure he was all right, but Eoin had given her an opening. She darted forward toward the church where her two eldest brothers had just defeated a few of Eoin’s men and were in the process of urging her younger brothers inside. Did they hope to take refuge in the church? For some reason, she doubted Eoin and his men would heed the laws of sanctuary.
Duncan had caught sight of her and motioned her forward. “Hurry, Maggie, there isn’t much time.”
“Where’s Eachann?”
“Safe,” Duncan said. “Father has him.”
Margaret let out a huge sigh of relief and muttered a prayer of thanks. Following her brother inside, she immediately realized it wasn’t sanctuary they were seeking. The church had a back door.
Always be prepared, Maggie. Always have a means of escape.
How many times had her father told her that over the years? He had avoided capture all these years by following those rules. Today was no different. The rear of the church was where they’d put the horses.
Her father had just mounted a horse and pulled Eachann up behind him when she and the rest of her brothers poured outside. There were only a handful of horses so a few of them would have to ride tandem.
“Father, wait!” she cried. She wanted her son with her.
He turned and met her gaze. “I have him. Go with Duncan. Hurry.”
He assumed she would leave with him. Is that what she would do? What about Eoin?
She didn’t have time to think about it. Her father’s gaze shifted behind her, and when his face darkened with anger, she knew it was too late for her.
In a panic she started to cry for her father to wait—to leave her son with her—but he’d already turned away. Gathering Eachann closer around his waist, her father snapped the reins, and clicked his heels. The horse shot off like an arrow, tearing across the yard toward the trees.
She heard Eoin’s voice shout from behind her. “Shoot him, now, damn it. He’s getting away.”
Margaret’s face drained in horror. She turned around and saw Eoin and another man a few feet away.
The other man was holding a bow, with an arrow pointed at...
