Page 77 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Ceana felt her heart skip a beat.

Her mother’s sleeves were dark with blood, and loose strands of hair clung to her face. She looked across the orchard, spotted Ceana behind the wall, and gathered her dress.

“Maither!”

A defender reached for Heather as she came through the side door. She pulled free and ran into the exposed corridor. Another wave of Gilmore men surged again at the western line. One broke past a MacKane shield and drove toward the gap.

“Stay here, me Lady,” the nearest guard ordered.

However, Heather was still several feet from shelter. One of Ceana’s guards tried to reach for her cloak, but she was already over the broken wall and running.

The guard’s sword rang behind Ceana as she reached her mother. Her mother caught her by both shoulders and searched her face and then her gown for blood.

“Where are ye hurt?”

“Nowhere. Where is Faither?”

“Alive. He is in the inner courtyard directing the defense.”

Ceana’s knees wobbled. She pressed her forehead against her mother’s and drew in a full breath. Her grip then relaxed on her mother’s sleeve.

Heather turned at once and pulled her toward the lower side door.

“Daphne!”

Ceana blinked.

Dear God.

“Daphne, is that ye?” Bryce’s voice called again from the western reserve.

Ceana looked across the lane and found him staring at her through the smoke. His eyes held furious recognition, and she could see it in the way he moved. For now, the smoke and distance between them concealed the absence of Daphne’s freckles, but the loosened hair around her face was much like Daphne’s.

At that moment, a riderless horse bolted from beside the burning pyre. Men scattered away from its hooves, opening a gap between the Gilmore reserve and the broken orchard wall. Bryce left his command position and drove straight through it.

One of Ceana’s guards ran to intercept him. A Gilmore soldier caught the guard before he crossed the lane, while a second forced his way through the men behind her.

Heather shoved her toward the side door and snatched a fallen sword from the ground. She then placed herself in Bryce’s path.

“Maither, ye need to move!” Ceana shouted.

Heather swung at him, but Bryce struck her wrist with the hilt of his blade, sending her sword clattering across the ground. His hand then closed around her shoulder.

Ceana drew the knife from beneath her cloak. The wool caught around the hilt, and her damp fingers slipped once before the blade came free. As Bryce raised his blade toward Heather, Ceana slashed across the back of his hand.

He recoiled with a curse and released her mother. The cut opened through an old, blood-stained bandage, but his fingers stayed closed around his blade.

He rounded on Ceana. The hilt of his blade struck her wrist first, and her knife fell into the mud. He then seized her upper arm, dragged her against him, and locked his other arm around her ribs. The pressure knocked the air from her lungs.

“Ye come to Angus now,” he grunted. “Morrag has bled enough for yer refusal.”

She wheezed. “I am nae Daphne.”

If he had heard her, he said nothing about it. Instead, he hauled her toward a waiting horse near the edge of the reserve.

She tried to hook her heel behind a stone, but he dug his arm beneath her ribs and yanked her forward. Running out of other options, she stamped on his foot. His steps faltered long enough for Heather to catch her sleeve.

Bryce swung his blade at her, but Ceana caught his injured wrist with both hands and pulled on it with her whole weight. The blade stopped short of Heather.