Page 135 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Greg's voice cut through the chaos. "Tavish! Finish this! More reinforcements coming!"

Indeed, Tavish could hear shouts from the castle. MacEwan guards responding to the sounds of battle. They'd be here in moments.

Time to end it.

Tavish pressed his advantage, driving Keir toward the garden wall with a relentless series of attacks. High strike, low strike, feint left, thrust right. Keir's defense crumbled under the onslaught.

"Ye cannae win," Tavish said. "Yer men are dead or fleeing. Yer ambush failed. And ye'll never, ever touch me wife."

"I'll see her widowed first!"

Keir made one last desperate lunge, throwing everything into a wild overhead strike meant to cleave Tavish in half.

Tavish stepped inside his guard.

The world slowed. He saw the opening clearly, saw exactly where his blade needed to go. His sword drove forward with all his strength behind it, punching through leather, through flesh, through bone.

The point emerged from Keir's back.

Keir's eyes went wide. His mouth opened in shock. Blood bubbled at his lips.

"Ye lose," Tavish said quietly.

He yanked the blade free. Keir staggered, tried to raise his sword, then collapsed to the stone path. His body convulsed once, twice, then went still. Dead eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.

Tavish stood over him, breathing hard, his sword dripping blood.

Around them, the last of the fighting died. The surviving Sinclair soldiers saw their laird dead and broke, fleeing toward the garden's edge. Greg's men pursued, cutting down those who were slow.

Silence fell.

Tavish spun, searching. "Maighread!"

"Here!" She emerged from behind a hedge, her dress torn, blood on her hands, but alive. Whole. His.

He crossed to her in three long strides and pulled her against him, one hand cradling her head while the other wrapped around her waist. She came willingly, her arms circling his neck, holding just as tightly.

"Are ye hurt?" His voice was rough.

"Nay. Ye?"

"Scratched. Nothing serious."

They stood like that, clinging to each other, while around them MacEwan guards poured into the garden. Greg appeared beside them, breathing hard, his sword still drawn.

"Everyone alright?" Greg asked.

"Aye." Tavish reluctantly released Maighread enough to check her over properly. No wounds, just blood from the men she'd killed. "We're fine."

Greg clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Hell of a fight, braither."

"Ye arrived just in time."

"I heard the clash from the battlements. Brought every man I could grab." Greg's gaze swept the garden, cataloging bodies. "Keir?"

"Dead."

Maighread pulled back slightly, looking up at Tavish. Her face was pale but her eyes were fierce. "Is it over? Truly over?"