Page 212 of Wicked Highland Heroes

The men reached them and two of the guardsmen met their steel with ferocious swings of their swords. One of St. Claire’s men landed a blow to his opponent’s neck that sent the man flying to the ground. Hope surged through Rhoslyn, but in the next instant, another half dozen enemy riders poured from the trees. She glanced at Andreana. Her step-daughter stared wild-eyed with fear. One of the riders bore down on them. Rhoslyn scanned the road. The fighting surrounded them. They wouldn’t ride ten feet before an enemy caught them, but they had to try.

“Ride!” Rhoslyn hissed.

Lady Isobel gave a sharp nod.

Rhoslyn tightened her grip on the reins. “Andreana,” she began, then broke off when St. Claire shot into view, sword raised.

One of the men bearing down on them jerked his head in St. Claire’s direction, but too late. St. Claire swung his sword and slit his throat in one clean cut. Blood spurted across his arm in the instant before the man toppled from his horse.

“Sweet Mother of God,” Isobel breathed.

St. Claire turned his horse, leaned forward in the saddle and galloped after the second rider. The man glanced over his shoulder, then veered right, narrowly missed two fighters and headed toward the trees.

Rhoslyn’s horse sidestepped, bumping Andreana’s horse. Rhoslyn tightened her grip on the reins, her gaze fixed on St. Claire as he swung his sword in an arc that caught an enemy warrior across his back. The man’s scream rose above the clash of swords. Her heart raced. The rumors of St. Claire’s ruthlessness in battle were true—and more. Ice did flow through his veins.

He whirled his horse toward one of the guards who was losing ground to his opponent, reached the fighters, and drove his sword through the attacker’s ribs. The man’s head snapped around and he slashed at St. Claire’s midsection St. Claire’s sword descended upon the man’s wrist, severing his hand.

“We must ride,” Rhoslyn shouted.

St. Claire’s horse skittered aside, and St. Claire turned him full circle. “Rhoslyn,” he shouted, “stay here. Others may be waiting in ambush.” He whirled back to the fight.

Panic caused her heart to race. St. Claire felled another warrior, then another. Rhoslyn gasped when one of the enemy landed a blow on his arm. St. Claire jabbed with his blade, piercing the man’s mail. The warrior retreated, tried to parry St. Claire’s assault, then wheeled his horse and raced down the road.

St. Claire shot past one of his warriors and drove a fist into the side of his opponent’s face as he raced by. An enemy warrior dashed through an opening between their guardsmen and Andreana. She shrieked. Lady Isobel forced her horse up beside them and lashed at the man’s face with her reins. He backhanded her across the cheek. She jerked to the side, but stayed on the saddle.

Rhoslyn kicked her mount’s ribs and the palfrey lunged forward. She did as Isobel had and lashed her reins across the man’s face as he grabbed Andreana’s arm. One of their guardsmen whirled and plunged into the circle and slashed at the man’s face with his sword.

A hand seized her arm and yanked. Rhoslyn’s grip on her pommel slipped. She snapped the reins across her attacker’s face. The leather cracked like a whip and blood sprang up in a line across one cheek and eye. He howled, and his grip loosened.

Rhoslyn kicked her horse’s belly and the beast lunged forward. She dodged left to avoid one guardsman, but slammed into an enemy’s horse. Rhoslyn jarred, and began falling from the saddle, but hung on. The enemy warrior retreated in his parry against one of the guardsman, and the guardsman drove his sword into the man’s neck. She turned her horse around and gasped when another man came up behind Andreana and grabbed her.

“Andreana,” Rhoslyn shouted.

St. Claire shot into view, sword slicing across the back of the man’s neck. The man toppled to the ground and seconds later, the last of the enemy raced away from them.

Andreana burst into tears. Rhoslyn urged her horse past the guard, dismounted, and helped her from her horse. The girl collapsed into her arms. She held Andreana close while Isobel knelt beside one of St. Claire’s men.

Rhoslyn glanced around at the fallen men. At least two dozen of the enemy lay dead or wounded. Not wounded, she realized. If any of the fallen men lived, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

* * *

When Rhoslyn entered their private solar, Talbot shifted his attention from Seward. The shock had disappeared from her expression, but her eyes were drawn at the corners. Seward stood, and she crossed to him without a word and nearly fell into his embrace.

“Stay strong, lass,” he said after a moment.

She nodded and pulled back. He led her to the bench near the fire where Talbot stood and they sat together.

“Did the hunt fare well?” she asked.

“Lord Kinnon shot a deer,” Seward replied. “And there is the boar. Mistress Muira is looking forward to carving him up.”

Rhoslyn gave a small smile. “’Tis a shame ye lost your wager with St. Claire.”

Seward cut him a glance. “Your life is worth the loss of my sword.”

“I did not win the sword fairly,” Talbot said. “We will save the wager for another day.”

Rhoslyn looked at him. “How far do ye think your brother is willing to go in order to have me?”