Page 77 of Ella’s Desire

Bronson’s mouth still tingled where Ella had kissed him. He allowed his mind to linger on it briefly, relishing the tenderness, the significance of her taking the precious moment to do it. Mayhap he had not lost her, after all. There might be a chance to reclaim the heart of the woman who had claimed his own.

God keep them safe, indeed.

The rain had finally ceased. And while Bronson’s garments were still damp from their earlier travels, it was a relief to not be weighed down by icy, sodden clothes anymore. But it was more than comfort that left him grateful for the clear skies. A nearly full moon shone brightly overhead, lighting the valley for them to pick through it with ease.

The closer they got, the more intensely his thoughts focused on Lark, on Leila, on being prepared for the rescue. Ella crouched behind a bit of brush and Bronson sank down beside her while they stared out at the valley before them. Only a couple men could be seen in the distance, but the area looked remarkably empty otherwise. The scent of rich food hung in the air and suddenly he understood why the timing was ideal. The men would be preoccupied with eating their supper.

Towers rose throughout the land, jutting up from the earth in powerful stone columns.

“Pele towers,” Ella said quietly.

Bronson nodded. He’d heard of them before. A tall, narrow structure with at least two levels, the first of which held livestock and horses. The upper levels were where clan members slept and lived, accessed by a ladder pulled up to keep the people within safe.

Leila and Lark were no doubt in one now, held aloft and difficult to reach in such a fortress.

An impossible task that would have to be made possible.

Ella rose from her crouching position and waved for Bronson to follow as she slipped into the shadows. They moved quickly and silently, her steps confident with whatever connected her to Leila.

Ella sucked in a breath suddenly and pushed at his chest, flattening him against the wall of the tower they were beneath. She hid herself likewise beside him.

The timber of men’s voices sounded nearby. The indecipherable Gaelic of Scotsman. Ella narrowed her gaze, her expression focused. It had never occurred to Bronson that she might speak the foreign tongue. Footsteps sounded and carried the Scotsman away from them.

Bronson relaxed and released his hand from the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t even realized he had reached for his weapon until then. Whatever instinct had made him do it, he was glad for it now.

Ella glanced side to side and then sprinted across the open area to the next pele tower. Bronson did the same.

Sounds of laughter came from within, mingled with the chatter of a multitude of conversations. This would most likely not be where the girls were kept. Ella glanced pointedly toward one particular tower not too far away. She nodded and his pulse leapt.

They were close.

Voices sounded nearby. Ella stiffened, but it was too late. The reivers were already rounding the corner. Quickly, Bronson pushed himself in front of her and pressed his mouth to hers with an exaggerated groan. She drew her leg up to curl around his hip, immediately catching on to what he was attempting.

A man laughed several paces behind them. Ella gasped as though in pleasure and rolled her body against his, a perfect mimic of their shared intimacy in the past. Except while it appeared that she was enjoying being taken against a wall, her hands were moving at her waist, drawing free her dagger.

One of the reivers said something Bronson couldn’t understand, and Ella squeezed her leg more tightly around him. “They’re coming over here,” she muttered against his lips.

A hand clapped on Bronson’s shoulder and tugged him away from her. Three men faced him, grinning with excitement as they stared at her. The bastards.

Ella threw a dagger into the neck of the reiver closest to him and drew up her axe. Blood poured from his wound in a great gush and he collapsed to the ground. Acting on instinct, Bronson pushed his blade into another man’s throat as Ella brought her axe down on the remaining reiver’s head. The three were dead before they could even cry out.

Bronson’s heart raced with such force that it made his head feel too light, airy almost.

“We have to hide them.” Ella glanced to a stack of barrels near a wall. “Shift those about. We’ll put them behind there.” She glanced around. “Hurry.”

Bronson grabbed two of the men and dragged them with him. The barrels were light, nearly empty of whatever liquid was in them, and easily moved. The men were hidden quickly, and Ella resumed leading him through the maze of towers and toward the one that held Leila and Lark.

They crept over the lush grass, silent and under cover of the shadows. Finally they stopped at the tower Ella had indicated previously. The lightheadedness Bronson had experienced immediately cleared and all his focus directed on the weather-darkened stone rising above them to the glow of light at the second floor. An iron-banded door blocked their way from entering.

Ella held up her hand. Bronson froze, waiting. His pulse thundered in his temples. He wanted nothing more than to break through the damn door, to kill every man who dared to stop him, and to bring Lark and Leila to safety. Energy roared through his body and left every muscle tense and ready.

After another glance around, Ella crouched to the ground in front of the door with a long slender pick in her hand. She paused a moment and then twisted the device about. A metallic click pinged.

She waved as she pushed open the door and entered the tower. Bronson followed quickly, his feet sinking into thick black soil on the ground within. Light filtered down from the upper floor and shone on a room full of cows. The one nearest Bronson cast him a bored look as it worked at a bit of straw jutting from its mouth.

Ella grabbed his arm and pulled him with her behind a stack of hay just as a reiver came out from around a column. Bronson crouched deeper in an effort to stay hidden. But even as he kept out of sight, he gazed up at the second floor, straining to make out anything that might resemble a small face peering over at them. Nothing.

Anxiety wrestled his heart with a strangling grip. Were they in the right place? Had Ella been correct?