He braced for the pain of death. In his lifetime, he had felt anguish and loss and gut-wrenching pain often enough to welcome it gladly if it meant saving his love. He waited for the soldier, any of them surrounding his forces, to jump on the opportunity he was providing them. There was no doubt that Dudley had offered them a grand reward for the man capable of felling Laird Kincaid. And he was giving them that chance, offering it on a silver platter.
So there he lay, waiting for death to claim him.
22
BY THE WORD AND THE SWORD
Sorcha had never seen anything so awful and so beautiful at the same time. A silent scream left her open mouth as she watched Lachlan throw himself down, becoming armor for his wife. His injured wife.
Aila’s blood was oozing onto the ground beneath her. Lachlan’s large body pressing on her, keeping her from being able to do anything to staunch the bleeding.
Perhaps more shocking, was the fact that the man Aila had been fighting, the man who still had his sword lifted in the air overhead, ready to swing down on Lachlan’s neck, was frozen. Shock, disbelief even, was written on his face. Sorcha would have felt the same thing had she not been witness to the deep love Lachlan had for Aila developing and growing over the past couple of years.
“Yer quarrel is with me,” she heard Lachlan say, as he craned his neck to glance over his shoulder at the Englishman. “Take me and leave her be. Let them all go. I will take whatever punishment the Baron sees fit for my crimes. But please, I beg ye, dinnae make my family suffer anymore. They are undeserving of his wrath.”
Sorcha finished off her opponent and crept closer to her friends, readjusting her grip on her sword, readying herself to use it should anyone be foolish enough to do as Lachlan wanted. From the corner of her eye, she watched Oliver do the same.
One by one, the fighting around them slowed. Men lowered their swords, each studying how fervently Lachlan tried to protect his wife. It was a moving sight, regardless of whose side they were on.
Daring to hope that this could be the end of the fighting, the end of the bloodshed, Sorcha locked eyes with Oliver. To her horror, he was slipping his dagger back into its sheath, using the now empty hand to fish something out of his pocket. His eyes stayed on the enemy lines, scanning for faces he recognized, she was sure.
“What are you all doing?” a booming voice shouted, echoing through the nearly still courtyard. “Finish the job!”
When no one moved to heed the man’s orders, the man moved forward with a scowl.
“Fine. I will do it myself.”
Shoving his shoulder into the soldier standing over Lachlan, the man tried to lift his sword, but Oliver darted in front of him. With a quick flick of his wrist, he had the commander disarmed and fuming.
“If you value your life, you will all put down your swords and walk away,” Oliver spoke through bared teeth, eyes on the commander, though he spoke to everything.
“Ha!” the Englishman barked out. “It is because I value my life that I am here, following orders. Or do you not know what it means to be loyal to your own kind?”
Sorcha’s temper flared at the accusation against Oliver. She knew it was one that struck him deeply, but he did not flinch.
“Is that any way to speak to a member of the Crown’s nobility?” Oliver sneered, using his title as deftly as a weapon.“Allow me to inform you that you are addressing Lord Blackwood, Marquess of Dunhaven and a close, personal friend of the king.”
It was a skill Sorcha had never seen him wield before, one that she knew cost him greatly. But it was effective in silencing the man.
“A-apologies, my lord,” the Englishman stammered out, ducking his head in a slight bow.
“I have here,” he said, speaking as though the commander had not, “irrefutable proof that the man you have all followed here today, Lord Dudley, has committed treason.”
He paused, letting his words absorb into the crowd.
“Treason?” a harsh voice called. “What kind of treason?”
Pasting on a diplomatic grin, Oliver held up the letter for all to see.
“I am so glad you asked. The Baron has been stealing from the crown for over two decades. Embezzling funds, forging documents, seizing land that is not his to claim, as he is trying to do here, today. All hangable offenses, I might add.”
“You will forgive me, my lord,” the commander said through gritted teeth, “if I do not take your word for it. You are, after all, fighting with the enemy today.”
“Read them yourself,” Oliver offered, handing over the documents to the man. “These are merely copies of the information.”
The battlefield waited with bated breath as their leader read the letters. Letters that Laura had fled for her life with to bring to them.
While the commander read, Oliver reached down to Lachlan, offering a hand. The Laird rose to his feet, immediately turning to gather Aila into his arms, cradling her against his chest.
