She struggled and fought against Paden, hindering his movements deeper into the trees. If she could do anything to halt him, to give Reade the advantage, she would. Paden fought back, clenching her harder and cussing into her ear.
Reade pushed past a bush to where Paden held Blair. His eyes burned toward them, and his entire body seemed larger, thicker, as if his fury increased his strength and presence. Paden stopped moving and spun them around to face Reade.
“What are ye going to do, MacDonald? Ye and your injured arm? Are ye truly going to attack a man who holds yourwife?”
Blair didn’t miss the emphasis on his final word, as if calling her his wife was a taunt, and she had a moment of stark realization. Reade could let Paden take, probably kill her, and he would be relieved of the obligation his father embroiled him in. Their brief marriage would be at an end. He was injured — why risk his own life to save hers? And she hadn’t provided the MacDonalds any information they needed. Reade had no impetus to keep her alive, to rescue her, to stay married to her.
Her value to the MacDonalds, and to him, was naught.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Reade spun aroundafter Maddock had stepped in, his gaze swung wildly around the trees. Had he really seen Blair atop Maddock’s horse? Why would they bring her here, into this dangerous fray? Was that how they found him – had Blair told them what happened and led them here?
He didn’t see Paden at all. That scoundrel had slunk away when his men closed in on Reade. A scream pierced the air before being cut short, and Reade whirled around to find Paden deep in the thicket, his flabby arms tight around Blair.
Touching his wife.
His right hand was losing its grip on the hilt of his sword, but his left arm was unscathed. As much as handling a claymore with one hand was nigh impossible, wielding it with one’s weaker arm was even more problematic. Few men could wield it one-handed at all, let alone with their cack-hand, yet when Reade saw Paden dragging a struggling Blair away, his left hand clenched the sword tighter.
Reade was not one of those men. He had practiced and trained to wield a sword, even one-handed when necessary, either hand if called for. His right arm bled dreadfully, staining the entire sleeve of his tunic, and for most men, that meant sheathing the sword and grabbing thesgiun-dubhknife.
However, as he had instructed Conall, Reade trained with his weaker hand, so the muscles of his left arm were just as strong, just as equipped to wield the immense sword.
This was something that Paden didn’t know. If Reade’s arm was not throbbing so hard, he would have grinned to himself. Instead, he focused his glare on the man presently accosting his wife,his wife,and concentrated on him. Keeping the sword steady in his left hand, he worked his strategy for killing Paden while ensuring no harm befell Blair.
She had been injured enough in this lifetime — Reade would do everything in his power to make sure she never felt a single ache again.
His eyes locked with hers, which were wide and frantic, blue skies before a storm.
No more storms for ye, my love,he thought as he approached Paden. That scoundrel spun around to face him, using Blair as a shield.
Exactly as Reade thought he would.
“What are ye going todo, MacDonald? Ye and your injured arm? Are ye truly going to attack a man who holds your wife?”
Reade’s gaze was that of a predator, intent and unwavering, his prey in his sights. He had to forget Blair was there, ignore her frightened eyes and struggling body, and completely train his eyes on Paden.
