Page 12 of The Cursed Highland Bride

Dunn spun around to see a band of armed men closing the distance between them. He could not make out who they belonged to, but he only needed to guess. “What do ye ken o’ this?” he accused her.

“Nothing,” she answered, her eyes wide with fear.

Dunn studied her face for any sign of a lie. Finding none, he made a decision. Grabbing his wife around the waist, he set her down on the ground. “Hide,” he commanded, sending her toward the forest, then wheeled his horse around and charged to meet the enemy.

Tor and Dunn pulled their swords and dove in together, ferocious in their skill and intent. No one would deprive them of their lives or Dunn his new bride. All who tried would be cut down without mercy. Dunn let himself get lost in the violence of the fight, letting out all of his pent-up anger over the situation the king and Morgan had put him in. He drove his sword into the closest man and reveled in the jolting impact as it reverberated up his arm. The life left the man’s eyes, and Dunn turned to deal death to the next unfortunate soul.

Their attackers were experienced swordsmen. Though they did not wear the Morgan blue, their fighting style gave their identity away. It was a similar style to that of Dunn’s own men but not quite as effective. In spite of the fact that they were fierce fighters, the enemy soldiers were no match for the two brothers’ skill. They fought back-to-back until all challengers were brought to a swift and fatal end. Blood dripped from Dunn’s sword arm, running down his hand to slick the hilt. The smell of copper filled the air, enlivening the senses.

Coming to his senses, as if from a blood-fueled daze, Dunn turned to make certain that Tor was unharmed when a scream coming from the forest pierced through the remaining haze of battle. Katarina!

CHAPTER SIX

Dunn sprinted toward the forest with Tor hot on his heels. They ran, dodging trees until they came to a clearing where Dunn came upon a sight that immersed his blood into boiling rage. A man, dressed much the same as those they had just defeated, had Katarina bound and tossed over the back of a horse. There was blood on her face that appeared to be coming from her mouth. Dunn roared and crossed the clearing within three strides, bringing his sword down upon the man’s neck before he could realize what was happening. As he removed the blade for another blow, blood spurted everywhere covering Dunn, the horse, and Katarina. The soldier dropped like a stone to the ground, his eyes wide in shock as his last breath gurgled forth.

“Katarina!” he called out her name as he pulled her free from the horse and lowered her to the ground. Drawing his sgian dubh, he cut the leather bonds that held her hands. “Are ye harmed, lass?” He examined her face where a bruise was already beginning to form on her jaw. Lifting his shirt, he wiped her mouth clean of blood.

Tor handed her a flagon of water to rinse her mouth out, and she took it in gratitude. “I will go and retrieve the horses.”

Dunn nodded in acknowledgement, but his eyes never left her face.

“The others?” she whispered in question.

“Dead.”

“Who were they?”

“It truly was nae ye that did this?”

“How can ye think such a thing?”

“Yer faither killed my faither.”

“I have nae part in what Laird Morgan does.”

Dunn studied her face, seeing sincerity staring back at him. His heart did something strange in his chest. Unable to process what he was feeling, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips ever so gently to the bruise on her face. He moved to her neck, her shoulder, then back up to her lips. The kiss was gentle, and tender, nothing like his usual style. He was a conqueror in the bedchamber, but something about the way that she was looking at him in that moment made him want to be more.

“Katarina,” he breathed, his heart pounding in his chest. Lifting her up into his arms, he carried her out of the forest and back to their horses. Placing her gently on the back of his black steed, he climbed up behind her, careful not to cause her any more discomfort than she had already endured.

“Ye killed them all,” she observed, her eyes taking in the bloody scene before them.

“It was necessary.”

Something flickered in her eyes that he could not read. “Should ye nae have questioned one o’ them first?”

“There is nae need. I ken who sent them.”

“Ye are a brutal man, husband,” she stated in an observant tone but devoid of judgment whatsoever.

“Aye, I am. The other clans must fear us. For if they dinnae, then we will be subject tae their violent whims. I have seen it happen too many times tae leave such a thing as our clan’s reputation tae chance. Nae man wants tae challenge the beast o’ the Orkneys.”

“Nae man?”

“None but yer faither, that is,” he clarified.

Turning from the dead bodies that lay on the ground, she looked at the blood on her own clothing. The blue dress was ruined, but she did not care. “Thank ye for saving me.”

“From the looks o’ it, ye put up quite a fight yerself, lass.” He picked at the torn cloth of her dress where it had ripped at the seam of her right shoulder, then ran his finger down the length of her bruised jaw.