The way he disposed of each of them was as if those lives meant nothing to him. She had heard of his skill behind a sword,but it was quite another thing to be faced with it so blatantly and so brutally with no warning like this.
Blood bloomed over the fabric of his shirt as he finally pushed her before him, driving her back towards the road, where the guards were dispatching the last of their attackers. She stumbled forward, shock and panic still coursing through her like the most potent of poisons, as Tavish strode out to finish the last of them off.
She watched in horror as the final attacker, who had been knocked to his knees, gazed up at Tavish in panic. The expression on his face told her that they had not expected it to be him who answered their attempts on the carriage. They had likely seen her running through the woods and thought that it would make for an easy robbery. She had heard of bandits doing such things up and down these parts, though she had never encountered them herself.
However, now that she saw them in the light, they did not look much like bandits. There was something more to them; tartans wrapped around them to keep out the cold. She squinted at it, trying to make out who it might have belonged to.
Was that… MacCairn tartan?
Tavish did not give the man a chance to catch his breath before he took the dagger he had stolen from his last victim and drove it into the throat of the man before him. He tipped over sideways to the ground, scrabbling for his throat, gasping and wheezing as blood pooled below him.
She stared, hardly able to take her eyes off it. She had never seen such death before, let alone delivered with such nonchalance, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Perhaps, she supposed, to Tavish it was.
But to her, it was nothing of the sort. Sickness twisted in her guts, her knees weak at the sight of so much blood, somuch death. She had seen her fair share of hunts over the years, rabbits carried back on racks to the kitchen, but this was different. These were once men who’d had their lives snuffed out in a matter of moments, their glassy eyes staring up at the sky above, praying that the heavens would reach down and take them.
And she was to be married to the man who had left them in this state. Married to the bloodthirsty killer who had executed them with no trial, no warning, no regret, not so much as a second thought?—
“Lass,” he muttered, catching her hand. “Ye’re pale as the moon…”
She looked over at him, the concern on his face, and it struck her that he did all this to save her. Not as some murderous death knell to send out across the county, but because he had wanted to keep her safe.
“I’m fine,” she replied, doing her best to make her voice sound certain.
He didn’t look convinced, but he did not argue with her, either.
“Ye’ll ride wi’ me now,” he told her, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I cannae trust these men with what’s mine,” he finished up, firing a furious look at the guards before he climbed back on to his horse.
And, deciding it would have been foolish to make him wait any longer, she hurried to his side, wanting to put as much distance between herself and this carnage as possible.
Chapter Four
As they rode hardtowards the MacDonald Keep, the wound on Tavish’ shoulder continued to bleed.
Ailsa, at first, tried to ignore it. What did it matter to her if this man was hurting? He had hardly cared for her comfort when he had demanded her hand in marriage with no warning, anyway, and she could see no reason why she should play along.
But, while they closed the distance between themselves and the Keep, she could feel his body growing heavier and heavier in the saddle. She was leaning up against him, arms wrapped around him, as he had insisted when she had climbed on to the horse with him. She had tried to protest, tried to tell him that she’d be fine riding side-saddle and holding on to the stiff nub that stuck up from the back of the tack, but he had simply shaken his head and told her that, the way he rode, she would not last long in such a pose.
So, she had done as she was told, deciding it was best not to anger him after what had happened. He rode out ahead of his men, the carriage trundling, empty, behind them, and she was glad at least for the chance to breathe fresh air.
They followed a small burn for a while, the twists and turns mirroring those in the road, and the trickle of water soothed hersomewhat, even if it was not enough to allow her to forget her fate entirely.
She could sense that he didn’t want to show any weakness in front of his men, but she could already tell they were terrified of him as it was. She hadn’t realized how deep the wound in his arm had been. His reaction when he had brushed it off had led her to think it was nothing more than a flesh wound, but now, she could see it had not stopped bleeding.
He let out a slight grunt of discomfort every time he pulled the reins one way or the other, the muscle flexing painfully with every movement, until she could take it no more.
She squeezed tight around his waist, trying to get his attention.
“Ye must stop.”
He ignored her. At first, she thought he hadn’t heard her, but when she caught a look at his face, she knew he was simply choosing to pretend not to.
She tried again, thumping his side lightly. “Tavish, listen to me,” she demanded. “Ye must stop! Yer wound willnae stop bleeding, and if ye leave it untouched?—”
“No’ long till we get back to the Keep,” he growled at her. “It can wait till then.”
“How far?”
