Page 12 of Leila’s Legacy

A frantic glance to find a place to hide returned nothing but straw-like wheat-colored grass covering swells of hills. No forests, no trees, not even any large bushes to crouch behind. She was vulnerable on this landscape; exposed.

Her options would be to try to outrun them, which was impossible. Let them catch her, which surely held an unsavory outcome, or she could turn and fight. After all, she had been well-trained with her sisters. She would not go down easily.

She pulled on the reins to stop the aging horse and turned to face the men. Icy winds stung at her cheeks and made her eyes water, but she threw off her cloak anyway. The bulk of the garment would slow her down and could cost her life. Warmth was not worth the risk. She slipped the first set of her daggers free from her belt and tensed for battle.

If they were going to capture her, she would at least put up a fight.

Niall wasn’t at all surprised when the witch stopped to face them. He turned to the ten Armstrong clansmen with him and looked pointedly at Alban. “We’re taking her alive.”

The reivers following Niall nodded while Alban simply stared forward.

Niall returned his attention to the road in time to catch her drawing her arm back. The low afternoon sun flashed on a blade.

“Mind her weapons,” Niall called out.

She launched her first dagger, sending it flying in Niall’s direction. Except he was still riding; a moving target was much more difficult to hit, especially with a thrown blade. He leaned hard to the right, avoiding a direct hit. Regardless, the blade glanced off his left arm. Only a nick.

Not that it mattered. They were nearly to her now. “Prepare the ropes,” he cried out above the galloping of their horse’s hooves.

Niall and his band of men approached quickly, ropes ready to sling around her, weapons drawn for protection. She didn’t cower. Instead she reached for another one of her blades and launched it in Alban’s direction. He tried to move, but the dagger slammed into his left shoulder. He jerked back with the impact as he howled in outrage and drew his sword.

Niall’s men were near enough to toss their ropes at Leila. The first one missed. The second one, thrown by Niall’s most trusted guard, Brodie, landed perfectly around her torso. Before she could tug it off, the rope yanked taut and she was pulled from her horse. She grunted at the impact and struggled, flailing on the ground.

Nay, not struggling. The lass was working her dagger at the length of rope with frenzy in an attempt to free herself. Alban charged his horse directly at her.

Niall edged closer to the lord’s son with his attention fixed. “I order ye to let her be.”

Alban didn’t slow. He continued toward Lady Leila where she lay on the ground trying to free herself from the rope. Once he was nearly upon her, he pulled back his sword and swung it toward her.

“I said to stop.” Niall arced his sword to block the blow that was meant to kill the English witch. “Ye will listen to me when I give ye an order.”

Alban’s horse came to an abrupt halt and Alban jumped to the ground, undeterred. The witch was furiously sawing at the rope with her dagger.

“Get another rope around her, now!” Niall said to his men.

They rushed to do his bidding, looping another rope about her even as she writhed to free herself of the first. As they worked, Niall approached Alban. “She will have a trial where they will determine if she is guilty. Then she will be punished accordingly. Ye are no’ to judge her.”

Alban’s eyes blazed with bloodlust, the hilt of Leila’s weapon still jutting out from his left shoulder. “She threw a dagger at me.”

Niall moved to stand protectively in front of her. “She is to live so she can have a trial.”

Already, Alban had too much say in how the capture had taken place. It had been his decision to use the little girl to lure Leila to them, an idea that Niall had adamantly protested. He didn’t like the child being exposed to the village with the pestilence. It had been too dangerous for the girl, who did it only for a bit more coin in her pocket.

But Alban had gone to Lord Armstrong with the idea and the earl had issued the final say in the matter. Lord Armstrong was not here now, and Alban had to obey Niall’s orders, whether he liked it or not.

One of the men exclaimed in alarm. Niall spun around in time to tense as Leila launched herself at him, her daggers locked in both fists. She slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. She lifted her daggers and brought them down with the intent to kill. Niall pushed his hips up in an attempt to throw her from him. She stayed in place, but her aim went astray, and the dagger slammed into the frost-covered grass directly beside his face.

The guards were on her immediately, grabbing her arms and pulling her off him. She fought like a warrior. Nay, like a hell cat. Her legs kicked out in those fitted red trews, catching Niall’s men wherever she could: in the face, the neck, the stomach, wherever she could reach. She was disarmed quickly before she could do any real damage and the blades fell uselessly to the wheat-like grass, no longer a threat. Even then, she used her fists, pummeling and striking until one man bellowed in pain and blood gushed from his nose.

He held his hand over his face and stepped back from the fray. “The witch broke my nose.”

“Still think ’tis a good idea for her to go to trial first?” Alban stopped prodding at the blade in his shoulder long enough to give Niall a smug smile.

Irritation spiked through Niall. Not only at the bastard’s snide attitude, but at this woman who had complicated what should have been an easy capture.

The witch still struggled with the remaining men struggling to hold her in place. She threw a punch at one of the shorter reivers, a man closer to her own height than the rest. Niall shot forward with the speed of a striking snake and caught her wrist. “Stop.”

She fixed her attention on Niall and drew back her free hand. He caught that arm as well and held her thus, clasping her wrists. They were delicate against his large fingers, slender, dainty things that did not appear capable of the fight she put up. He held her as firmly as he dared, fearing accidentally injuring her.