Thomas clenched the hilt of his short sword, glancing warily around at his attackers. Some of McCade’s men were trying to sidle around them to flank them, and he caught Dominic’s eye.
“I’m not here to die,” he said aloud, holding McCade’s gaze and hoping he wouldn’t notice Dominic and their three men surreptitiously spreading out, preparing to rush their attackers. “I’m here to take back the woman ye stole from me.”
McCade beamed. “Ah, sweet Emma. She’s a pretty wee thing, make no mistake. Ye know, when she worked for me, I wouldn’t let any of the men touch her, as she was such a skilled healer. Didn’t want the goods damaged, ye know? Looking back, I wish I hadn’t been so soft about the whole thing. She’d have made me a pretty packet of money.”
Thomas had heard enough. He launched towards McCade, his sword drawn from his sheath in the blink of an eye, out andswinging. McCade paled, backpedaling rapidly. Two of his men came together, shoulder to shoulder in front of him, and their weapons rose up to meet Thomas’s instead. One man used a short sword—a clever choice—and the other wielded a heavy axe. The instrument looked blunt, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t do damage.
Around him, chaos erupted. Dominic gave a cry, and he and the men dived forward to meet McCade’s gang. Swords clashed, men grunted, and bitten-off shouts echoed through the air. Some of McCade’s men had chosen long swords, which stuck in the ceiling when they tried to swing their blades in an arc. On the other hand, Thomas and Dominic’s men had short swords and knives easier to maneuver in such a small space.
They were outnumbered, true, but for the first time, Thomas felt that there was hope.
The two men who’d protected McCade seemed to be the best trained of them all—which was probably why he’d chosen them as his personal guard—and Thomas was beginning to feel the strain. It had been a long time since he’d fought in a melee. He’d kept up his training, of course, but there was a big difference between a civilized, friendly match between two friends on the walls of the Keep and a mad fight for survival in a claustrophobic, smelly little pub.
There was no time for fancy footwork or clever parries here. Sweat poured down his face as he tried desperately to fend off two men at once.
They bared their teeth, moving in unison as if the whole thing were rehearsed, and he felt himself being shoved slowly but surely back. The center of the fight was behind him, and he was likely to be accidentally stabbed or bludgeoned by his own friends if he wasn’t careful. He caught sight of Dominic in the corner of his eye, taking a vicious sword slash to his thigh and going down on his knee with a gasp.
“Dom!” Thomas cried, shouldering sideways to knock Dominic’s attacker off balance.
It worked. The man stumbled, giving Dominic the crucial half-second he needed to recover.
While he was distracted, though, Thomas caught sight of a silvery blade arcing down towards him. He blocked it, but as he did so, the second man swung the axe at his side. Thomas dodged as best he could, but the blow still glanced off his side. He heard ribscrack, and pain arced through his torso.
A lightning-hot pain ripped through his arm, and he glanced down to see a line of blood trail down his forearm. He was lucky, the blow could have cut off his arm if there was room to swing in this place.
Movement beyond the men’s shoulders caught his eye, and he spotted McCade sidling back towards a small office room at the back of the building.
The wretch is escaping.
Thomas bared his teeth, throwing himself forward with renewed energy.
The man with the axe lifted his weapon again, but this time, Thomas ducked under it, slicing forward with his sword and running his opponent through the heart. The man dropped his axe with a scream, clutching his chest and crumbling to the ground.
One down.
The second man gave a cry of rage and rushed forward, trying to use his superior weight and height to force him backward.
In a small space like this, though, height and strength were only a disadvantage. The man’s reach was longer than his, so Thomas darted back and forward, ducking and weaving between the sword slashes and thrusts.
Swordplay was a tiring business, and the man soon began to grow tired.
Thomas pushed in for the kill. He ducked underneath a vicious overheard arc that missed the ceiling by a hairsbreadth and sliced at the man’s arm. The man dropped his weapon with a cry, and Thomas cut at the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees.
With a smooth, powerful swing, he sheared the man’s head from his shoulders, and the man collapsed, lifeless on the ground beside his companion.
Everything went quiet. All Thomas could hear was his own labored breathing. The pain in his chest and arm throbbed like it had its own heartbeat. Dizziness and exhaustion washed over him.
I’m not done yet.
He glanced around, taking in the scene.
All of McCade’s men were dead or dying, sprawled on the floor. Only one of Thomas’s men was injured, a youngish man with a mop of red hair. He was sitting propped up against the wall, attended by his friends. Dominic was streaked with blood and sweat, his sword hanging loosely from his fingers.
“Ye were in the thick of it, I think,” Thomas commented.
Dominic winced. “Aye, but ye fought the two best men. Now what?”
Thomas bit his lip, glancing around. “McCade has barricaded himself in a room back there. I didn’t see a window, so it looks like he’s trapped. You two break down the door. I’d do it myself, but my ribs are bust. Dominic, go fetch Flora, she needs to find the hidden doorway, then check on the men who were sent round the back. I’ll deal with McCade.”
