Page 32 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Ambush," he said grimly, loud enough for his men to hear. "It's a trap. They've been waiting fer us."

Even as the words left his mouth, the forest erupted in war cries as MacNab warriors poured from the trees on three sides, their weapons glinting in the afternoon light. They'd chosen their position well—the patrol was caught in the open with nowhere to run.

"Form up!" Ruaridh roared, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. "Defensive circle! Protect each other's backs!"

His men responded instantly, years of training taking over as they wheeled their horses into formation. But even as they moved, arrows began to whistle through the air, and Ruaridh felt one graze his shoulder, tearing through leather and drawing blood.

Dae the bastards want a fight? They'll get one.

"Fer MacDuff!" he bellowed, spurring his horse toward the largest group of attackers.

The battle that followed was vicious and desperate. The MacNab warriors fought with the fury of men who knew they were deep in enemy territory with no hope of retreat if they failed. Ruaridh's patrol fought with the grim determination of Highland warriors defending their clan's honor.

Steel rang against steel as Ruaridh cut down two men in quick succession, his horse dancing beneath him as he sought the next target. Around him, he could hear grunts and curses from his men, the screams of wounded horses, the wet sound of blades finding flesh.

A MacNab spearman lunged at his horse's flank, and Ruaridh leaned down to drive his sword through the man's chest. But as he straightened, pain exploded through his left side as another warrior's blade found the gap in his armor, sliding between ribs with burning precision.

God in heaven save us!

He stayed in the saddle through sheer will, turning to face his attacker even as blood began to soak his shirt. The MacNab warrior—a grizzled veteran with scars crisscrossing his face—raised his sword for another strike.

Ruaridh's blade took him through the throat before he could complete the motion.

"Sir!" Cormac's voice cut through the din. "Ye're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," Ruaridh snarled, though the wound in his side was sending waves of agony through his body with every breath. "Keep fighting!"

The battle raged on until the last MacNab warrior fell, while eight of Ruaridh's men remained standing, breathing hard and spattered with blood both their own and their enemies'.

"Casualties?" Ruaridh asked, fighting to keep his voice steady despite the pain.

"MacLeod took an arrow in the thigh, but he'll live," Cormac reported. "Brodie's got a nasty cut on his sword arm. Ye're the worst hurt, sir."

Ruaridh looked down at his side, where blood was steadily seeping through his torn shirt. The wound wasn't immediately fatal, but it was deep enough to be serious. "Any prisoners?"

"One, sir. Took a blow to the head and went down hard. He's breathing, but unconscious."

"Good. We'll take him back fer questioning." Ruaridh swayed slightly in his saddle, the blood loss beginning to affect him. "Can ye bind this wound well enough fer the ride home?"

Cormac's experienced hands were already working, tearing strips from a dead MacNab's shirt to use as bandages. "Aye, but we need tae go slow and careful. Too much jostling and ye'll start bleeding worse."

"Then we'd best get moving before—" Ruaridh's words were cut off as his vision blurred and the world tilted sideways.

Strong hands caught him before he could fall from his horse. "Easy, sir. We've got ye."

When his head cleared, he found himself propped against a tree with Cormac's concerned face hovering over him. The sun was noticeably lower in the sky, and the pain in his side had settled into a constant, throbbing ache.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Just a few minutes. But ye've lost more blood than I'd like." Cormac's voice was grim. "I've got the wound bound tight, but ye need proper care. A healer's attention."

Ruaridh tried to sit up straighter and immediately regretted it as fire shot through his side. "Can I ride?"

"Aye, but nae fast and nae far. And certainly nae all the way back tae the castle taenight." Cormac glanced around at the gathering darkness. "There's an old shepherd's hut about a mile north of here. We could shelter there until morning, give ye time tae rest and get yer strength back."

The thought of lying still for hours while Iona wondered where he was made Ruaridh's jaw clench. She'd be expecting him for dinner, and when he didn't appear...

She'll think I broke me word. Or worse, that something's happened.

"Sir?" Cormac was watching him with growing concern. "We need tae move soon, before it gets full dark. What are yer orders?"

Ruaridh closed his eyes briefly, weighing his options. Push through the pain and try to make it home, risking opening his wound wider and possibly bleeding to death in the saddle? Or accept that he was in no condition for a hard ride and spend the night in a drafty hut while his wife waited for him?

"The hut," he said finally. "We'll shelter there until dawn."