Page 69 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Ride!" Tavish's voice cut through the chaos. "Maighread, ride now!"

But she couldn't. Two men blocked the road ahead, weapons drawn. Three more closed in from the right. The escort engaged, steel ringing against steel, but they were outnumbered.

Trapped.

A man lunged for her mare's bridle. Maighread kicked out, her boot connecting with his shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. Her horse reared, hooves flailing, and she clung to the saddle with white-knuckled desperation.

"Get back!" Tavish appeared beside her, his sword already bloodied. He drove the attacker away with brutal efficiency, putting himself between Maighread and the advancing threat.

"There's too many," she gasped.

"I ken. Stay behind me."

Two more men rushed forward, coordinating their approach. One went low while the other struck high, trying to divide Tavish's attention. He parried the high strike and spun, catching the low attacker with his blade before the man could hamstring his horse.

Blood sprayed. The man fell.

Maighread's mare danced sideways, panicked by the smell of death. She fought to control the animal, to keep from being thrown, while chaos erupted around her.

The escort had engaged the bulk of the attackers, but one man slipped through. He moved fast, dangerously fast, angling straight for Maighread with single-minded focus.

His eyes met hers. Cold. Determined.

He was going to reach her.

Terror spiked through her chest. She fumbled for the dagger at her belt, but her hands shook too badly to draw it cleanly. The man closed the distance in heartbeats, reaching for her leg to drag her from the saddle.

Then Tavish was there.

He intercepted the man mid-lunge, shoulder checking him so hard the attacker's feet left the ground. They crashed into the dirt together, rolling in a tangle of limbs and steel. Tavish came up first, his blade finding the man's throat before he could recover.

"Touch her again," Tavish snarled, "and I'll carve yer heart out through yer ribs."

The man gurgled something unintelligible and went still.

Tavish spun back to Maighread, his eyes wild. "Are ye hurt?"

"Nay. I'm fine. I'm⁠—"

Another attacker charged from the left. Tavish met him head-on, their blades crashing together with enough force to send sparks flying. The fight moved fast, vicious, each strike meant to maim or kill.

Maighread's escort had rallied, driving back the remaining attackers with coordinated strikes. Bodies littered the ground. The air stank of blood and fear and churned earth.

One of the mercenaries shouted orders to retreat. The survivors broke formation, fleeing into the woods as quickly as they'd appeared.

Maighread's hands trembled on the reins. Her breath came too fast, too shallow. She couldn't seem to pull enough air into her lungs.

Tavish appeared at her side, his hand gripping her calf through her skirts. "Maighread. Look at me."

She did. His face was spattered with blood, his chest heaving, but his eyes held steady on hers.

"Are ye hurt?" he asked again, slower this time.

"Nay. I'm... I'm fine."

"Ye're sure? He didnae touch ye?"

"Ye stopped him." Her voice came out thin, shaky. "Ye stopped him before he could."