Her heart wrenched in her chest as he turned, his angry gaze on her. “Wot are ye doing ye witch?” he said, advancing toward her. Bridget swallowed hard as she saw the blood dripping from his sword, her mind going to whose blood it could be.
Her family. They were killing her family.
“Ye dinnae scare me,” she forced out, tightening her hands around the rake.
He sneered, his eyes raking down her body. “I will.”
Before she could react, a sword pushed through his stomach from behind, and he bellowed in rage, turning to find out who had stabbed him. Bridget’s stomach turned as the sword was removed and blood poured from the wound, causing the warrior to let out a cry as he tried to hold the blood in.
Bridget didn’t wait for him to fall into the snow, her eyes traveling to who had saved her life.
It was Malcolm.
“Are ye alright, lass?” he asked, pointing his sword to the ground.
“A-Aye,” she stammered, clutching the rake to her chest. “Wot are y-ye doing here?”
“I’ve asked mahself the same question,” Malcolm muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Irvine wouldnae go home until he was certain that ye weren’t in danger.”
Bridget’s heart softened somewhat to the Scot despite what had happened between them. He had stayed behind to ensure their safety.
She wasn’t certain what that meant, but it had to be a testament to his character.
“Where is he?”
Malcolm shrugged, but before he could respond, a warrior descended on them, and his attention was taken away from her.
Bridget stepped back quickly so that she wouldn’t get in his way and hurried to help one of the tenants on the ground.
“Bridget...” Toris, one of their younger tenants, groaned, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers, and she grimaced, reaching down to tear a strip of cloth from her skirts so that she could bind his wound.
“Get tae the wood,” she told him quickly, tying it tightly against the wound. “Find the cave and hide there.” It was where she had directed as many of the tenants as she could, at least those that weren’t trying to fight the warriors and protect their farm.
He groaned, but she was able to help him out of the snow and watched as he hurried away.
Once he was, she moved to the next person on the ground, tears welling in her eyes as she realized that the person was gone forever.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were peaceful people, only wanting to be their own people and not under a laird ruler.
How could this be happening?
Everything had happened so fast. She had stripped herself of her clothing and donned her nightgown with the intent of going to bed early. Her father had done the same, and Bridget had almost been asleep when the first alarm of fire had rent the air. Leathen, being the leader that he was, had dressed quickly and gone to investigate the source.
When the first scream happened, Bridget was quickly dressing and hurrying out of the hut, expecting to see that someone was trapped in the fire.
It hadn’t been that. It had been a vicious attack from a group of warriors, and she could only think of one person that would want to send them to their farm, to prey on innocent people as they were now.
“Och, a pretty lass.”
Bridget whirled around to find a warrior behind her, dwarfing her in size. His leering grin caused her to feel sick to her stomach, and Bridget held the rake out before her. “Dinnae come any closer.”
He laughed, eyeing the rake. “Wot are ye going tae do with that?” he challenged, his bloodied sword at his side. “Tell me, lass, that ye dinnae think ye can best me with that tool!”
Bridget gulped. “I will fight ye with it.” She was no match for his sword, but at least she could try to save her life. While Bridget doubted that he genuinely wanted to kill her, the things he likely wanted to do were far worse. “Or ye can leave.”
The warrior started toward her. “I think I will take ye back with me tae warm mah bed instead.”
Bridget’s skirts were weighed down with moisture as she attempted to move away, and he captured her easily, grasping her arm in his hand until pain shot up into her shoulder.
