Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Why would he?” Esme asked. “She was nothing but a mere servant to him and his mum’s servant at that. He probably didn’t even know her name.”
“Quiet,” Ryland urged with a hush.
How his body tensed more than it already had puzzled Esme and frightened her. Something was wrong and she watched as he tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, as if he was straining to hear something.
Ryland slowed the horse, his voice a quiet warning. “We dismount. Now.”
Fear rippled through Esme as he called out to Brack while he drew his stallion to a stop and nodded at him.
Brack acknowledged his nod with his own and silently alerted the men.
She tensed, her stomach tightening, and dread filling her. Ryland swung down off the horse first, then reached up for her, settling her quickly to the ground behind him. He moved her toward a pine tree.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “Keep the tree to your back, and if things turn badly... run.”
She went to argue, not willing to leave him, but thought better of it and nodded, worry flaring in her eyes.
Brack hurried toward them. “What is it?”
“We’re not alone,” Ryland answered, drawing his sword.
An arrow struck the tree beside them.
“Ambush!” Brack shouted, drawing his blade as men burst from behind the trees.
They came fast—mercenaries by the look of them. Ragged, armed, and intent on blood.
Ryland waited, sword ready. He would not go far from Esme. The first attacker lunged and was met with a brutal strike to the chest that sent him staggering back. Another followed, slashing at Ryland’s side. Ryland ducked and countered, his blade slicing clean through the man’s thigh.
Brack fought close to Ryland, covering his right flank. “Too many to be coincidence,” he spat, parrying a blow. “They were waiting for us.”
Ryland grunted, felling another man with a savage thrust. That meant that someone alerted another to their plans, or they were being watched.
Steel clashed and shouts filled the air as the battle bloomed. Ryland fought with grim efficiency, always aware of Esme’s position behind him. He adjusted his stance to always keep himself between her and the fight, forcing attackers to face him head-on.
One mercenary broke past Brack and charged toward Esme.
Ryland’s rage surged and he released a terrifying roar as he threw himself into the man’s path. He caught him mid-lunge, blade striking hard enough to break through bone. The mercenary dropped, gurgling, to the forest floor.
Brack shouted, his voice raw. Ryland turned just in time to see Brack take a blade to the shoulder. He staggered, barely keeping his grip on his sword, but didn’t fall.
Ryland was beside him in an instant, taking the man down with one swing.
“Bloody hell,” Brack growled, his shoulder bleeding freely and though his movements were hampered, he stayed upright, fighting.
Ryland fought with the fury of a skilled and seasoned warrior, but still men kept coming, a steady stream of them. His warriors fought bravely, some falling never to rise again and others continuing to fight though wounded. It was like the battle with Clan Glencairn where the mercenary warriors completely flooded the battlefield. He didn’t even have a chance to turn and see how Esme was, blades swinging all around him.
Esme watched with horror, one hand clenched around a fallen branch. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. There were too many of them. They would not survive the battle. She did the only thing she could… she prayed for help.
It came quicker than she expected, a roar from deeper in the woods.
A troop of warriors thundered through the trees, Torrance’s colors flying on their sashes.
The mercenaries faltered at the sight of the warriors charging, and within moments, the tide turned. The clash of swords rang louder, and cries of pain followed as the attackers were cut down or fled into the woods.
Ryland spun, chest heaving, eyes sweeping the clearing. “Esme?”
“I’m here,” she called, rising unsteadily. She stared at the blood, the bodies, and then at him—unharmed, fury and worry in his eyes. She dropped the branch and ran to him.
His arm reached out and scooped her up around the waist, her arms going around his neck as he hugged her tightly against him. She felt his heart pound against her chest, though it could have been her heart it hammered so heavily. But it didn’t matter. They were alive, they survived.
Esme gasped, catching sight of Brack leaning heavily against a tree, his hand clamped over his shoulder, both covered in blood.
Ryland turned lowering Esme to the ground as he did. He took her hand, and they hurried to Brack.
Brack grimaced as he tried to stand straight.
“Stay as you are,” Ryland commanded.
Brack sagged against the tree. “I left orders for a sizeable troop to follow if we hadn’t returned by a certain time. If all went well, I intended to send a message to rescind the order, but seeing how things were going, I thought it wise to leave it stand.”