“Aye, and mayhap it’ll shame a few other lairds into doin’ the same,” Declan said.
The men chuckled as they cleaned up the camp, the air filled with the clatter.
Howard came forward, bowing his head.
“Ye’ll always have shelter here, me Laird. The people of Woodgreen owe ye much.”
Declan clasped his forearm firmly. “Keep yer guard sharp, Howard. If the roads grow unsafe, send word to me at once.”
The man nodded, eyes full of loyalty, before stepping back to watch them depart.
They rode through the fields, the morning sun breaking through the mist, painting the wet grass in gold. The men’s spirits were high, laughter trailing on the breeze.
Killian rode up beside Declan, his grin wide. “A fine day for a ride, eh? Almost makes a man forget he’s got duties waitin’ back at the castle.”
Declan smirked. “Aye, if only duties could forget about us as easily.”
The jest hung in the air for only a heartbeat before it was shattered by the whistle of an arrow.
It struck the ground near Declan’s horse, the shaft quivering in the mud.
“Ambush!” Declan roared, drawing his sword as figures burst from the treeline, bandits clad in ragged leathers, their faces smeared with grime.
The air filled with the clang of steel as the men drew their blades and charged.
Declan kicked his horse forward, meeting the first of the attackers head-on. His sword flashed in the morning light, parrying one strike and swinging low to take the man’s legs out from under him.
“Hold the line!” he bellowed, his voice thundering above the chaos. Steel clashed against steel, horses reared, and the ground churned beneath their boots.
A bandit lunged from Declan’s left, his dagger glinting wickedly. Declan turned just in time, but the blade scraped across his chest, cutting through the fabric and grazing the skin beneath.
He hissed in pain, blood welling but not deep. The sting only fueled his fury.
“Ye’ll pay for that, bastard,” he growled, bringing his sword down in a swift arc that sent the man crumpling to the dirt.
The bandits faltered under the McCallum men’s counterattack, their courage wavering as bodies hit the ground. One by one, the bandits broke ranks and fled, vanishing into the forest like frightened deer.
When the last of them was gone, the men stood breathing hard, mud and blood streaking their armor.
Declan wiped his blade clean and looked down at his torn tunic, the shallow gash beneath already drying.
Killian approached, his expression both amused and weary. “Ye’ll live, me Laird ,” he said with a grin.
Declan gave a curt nod, though his thoughts were already turning homeward.
“Aye, I’ll live,” he murmured. He mounted his horse, staring toward the horizon where the spires of Castle McCallum would soon rise in view.
With a sharp whistle, he signaled the men forward. “Let’s go home, lads. We can visit the rest of the villages tomorrow.”
And with that, they rode on, mud-splattered, battle-worn, but victorious.
Declan didn’t glance back. His mind was already with Isabelle, wondering if she’d be waiting at the gate or if her heart was still locked tighter than the castle doors.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The candles had burned low, their golden light flickering across the chamber walls as Isabelle fought sleep’s heavy hand.
She had sworn to herself she would not close her eyes until Declan returned… if he returned since he didn’t the night before.
