She wanted to attack Mr. Barrett. She bloody well hated the bastard now, but he was too far away. So when the nearest henchman hunched over her to see if she was dying, she surged upward straight into his face. Her forehead connected with his nose, and she heard the crunch of bone. He screamed and she added to it by punching him in the gut. But hell, he had a lot of gut. Her fist sunk in and lost power long before she hit his ribs. Which meant she had little strength left to grab his knife arm and twist it aside. She did it anyway, her side screaming as she fought as she’d been trained.
The man didn’t expect it, that was for sure, and she fought like a demon possessed, praying all the time that Connall was taking care of the others. She could handle one. That left four others for him.
She won in the end, slamming her elbow into the bastard’s throat. He went down choking just as she had, leaving her free to grab his knife as he went down. Then she spun around, looking for Connall and any enemy she could gut.
What she saw instead was a knife going deep, straight into Connall’s chest.
“No!” she screamed, seeing shock and dismay on Connall’s face. Three men lay beaten at his feet, but the fourth had gotten through and killed Connall.
Mairi surged forward, screeching like a banshee. She jumped on the bastard who had gutted her love. She stabbed down with all her might even as she jerked his head back. The bastard was wiggly, that’s for damn sure. She missed with her blade, but she got his head whipped around.
She clung to his back, screaming the whole time. Her knife was knocked away, but she was on the man’s back. She would not let him go near Connall. She would kill him with her bare hands. But damnation, he was twisting beneath her, teetering and clawing at her.
Then he got his balance under him. With more power than she expected, he spun around, and she was thrown off. There was only so much she could do with her side slick with blood. His hair was greasy and slid out of her grasp. Damn, damn, damn!
She flew backwards with a thump that jarred all the way up her spine.
Thankfully, all the screaming had done its work. Even while she was falling through the air, she realized others were running forward. Others were exclaiming in horror or crying out for help. They would see that the bastard didn’t escape. Or they’d be stupid gawkers. Either way, the attack was over. All she cared about was Connall. He would not spill his lifeblood now. Not here. Not before she said all she had to say to him.
“Connall!” she cried as soon as she had breath. Then she scrambled up onto all fours as she righted herself. “Connall, you bloody bastard, you’ll not die on me. Not before I say what I’ve got to say. Connall!”
She looked on the ground for his bleeding body. She twisted this way and that, seeing the unconscious henchmen scattered about. And then she finally, blessedly, found him, standing over Mr. Barrett with his fists clenched and a murderous look in his eyes.
He was alive!
She was just about to call out when she saw Mr. Barrett twist around on the ground. He had a pistol in his hand which he tried to aim straight at Connall’s heart. A pistol held in a steady hand that could not fail to miss.
“No!” It was all she could get out, but she needn’t have bothered.
Connall had seen the pistol and kicked hard at it. He missed the gun, but hit the hand that held it. And his motion continued on to slam into the bastard’s head.
Mairi heard a crunch of bone. There wasn’t even a gasp as the man tumbled backwards. Then she heard the gurgle. Not the death rattle. Not quite yet. But she knew the sounds of death and knew that Mr. Barrett would not live long enough to trouble them again.
She fell backwards onto her heels, her breath sawing in and out as her side burned from her wound. But all she saw was Connall as he dropped down before her and wrapped her in his arms.
“Mairi, love. Mairi,” he murmured as he pressed her to him. But a moment later, he pulled back, his hand slick with blood.
“He stabbed you,” she said, her voice tight with hysteria. “I saw it!”
She ran her hand across his chest, feeling for his wound. It had been fast. Battles always were. She’d been fighting herself, but she knew what she’d seen. The knife had plunged into his chest. She’d seen it…she’d seen…
“He missed me, Mairi.”
“No, I saw it—”
“I twisted. I caught the blade in my plaid.”
His voice was tight with fear or pain. She didn’t know what. He was hurt. She’d seen it. She searched his eyes. He looked pale.
“Mairi, you need to tell me what hurts.”
What? “I saw you stabbed.”
“No, love. I’m fine. You’re the one hurt.”
She was? She didn’t feel it.
He lifted her up, holding her close. “I’m going to take you home now,” he said.
“Stop! You’ll hurt your wound.”
“Hush, love. I’ve got you safe.”
“But—”
“I’ve got ye.” Then he carried her away.
