Page 24 of Deception of a Highlander

The horrific cries of battle faded in a distant echo as Mariel stared in horror at the body of her fallen comrade. Jane’s eyes fixed sightlessly at the sky above with her head cradled unceremoniously in the thick mud. An arrow jutted from the center of her throat in a wound glistening with blood that had not yet had time to dry. Fear clawed at Mariel, spurring her to fight a battle she already thought lost. Her fingernails snagged the slick leather of the saddle, but the merciless grip around her ankle was too strong and rendered her desperate effort fruitless.

A solid torso broke her fall, and her face shoved against a rough leine that choked off her scream with the acrid tang of unwashed body.

Something wrapped around her, securing her arms against her sides so she couldn’t move, couldn’t struggle. Her captor began to walk, and her feet swayed in time with his lumbering gait.

She wanted to scream and thrash in his arms until she caught Kieran’s attention, but to give in to the panic would only see them both injured if not killed. Mariel squeezed her eyes tight and struggled for control of her emotions. Her training pushed to the forefront of her mind, and the frenzied terror waned. She needed to appraise the situation and form a plan before her captor stopped. Her chest compressed, exhaling the fetid odor of the man, and she focused on her surroundings.

Her feet dangled from where she’d been pressed against his fleshy body. He was at least as tall as Kieran. She recalled the grip on her foot that unhorsed her. He was also just as strong.

Her stomach churned with disgust. Men pulled women from the battle for one reason, and it had little to do with her safety. She squeezed her eyes tighter to force her concentration.

The wheeze of labored breathing nearby suggested another presence. She had fought two men at once in her training, but never ones as large as her captors. Taking them on would be difficult, but not impossible.

“I like that ye dinna struggle.” Her captor’s breath fogged hot and sour against her neck. His hand slid against the curve of her bottom. The unmistakable scent of whisky grabbed her attention. If the other man was as drunk as this one, she stood a better chance at emerging unscathed.

“You don’t want to do this,” she warned in an acid tone.

His erection pressed into her belly. “I think I do.”

Revulsion burned the back of her throat and curdled in her stomach. Her hand clenched the handle of Kieran’s blade hidden within her skirts, and she took comfort in the knowledge that she could defend herself. The sound of Kieran and his men fighting could still be heard in the distance, but certainly, they were too far away to hear her screams over the battle.

Good thing she wouldn’t be screaming.

Her abductor slowed to a stop. If she did not do something now, she would lose the element of surprise. Her knee jerked up into the man’s crotch. His arms loosened, and he uttered a sharp curse. Mariel squirmed free of his hold, and a torrent of energy flowed through her. Acting on practice-honed instinct, she slammed her fist into the center of his neck and crouched low to dodge his awkward grasp. She whipped her leg at the backs of his knees, causing him to fall before he landed even a single blow upon her.

The other man lunged at her with his sword drawn, but she managed to evade his stumbling attack. She threw herself on the fallen man before he could rise again and plunged Kieran’s dagger into his throat. Surprise lit his dull brown eyes, and a sickening gush of warmth washed over her hands. A moment of shock pierced Mariel’s calm as the life drained from his body.

Pain exploded in the back of her head, and the forest blurred. She felt herself falling. Brilliant flecks of light clouded her vision, and her stomach churned. She gritted her teeth against the pain and focused on gripping the dagger. Her heart tripped with fear. The dagger that was no longer there.

She needed to get up. She needed to fight regardless. Mariel rolled onto her stomach and crouched into a low ball as a massive, two-handed sword sank into the soft ground where she had lain.

“I’ll be damned if I let a bitch best me,” the barbarian slurred. He yanked his blade from the wet earth.

He advanced toward her and swung his sword again and again with no real precision. Each wild arc easily missed her as she darted and leapt out of its path. She could not escape his sword forever, nor could she effectively attack without a weapon.

It was time to attempt a different approach.

Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she danced away from the swinging blade. “Please stop. I…I know it was stupid, but I had to do it.”

The sword jabbed in her direction.

“Please.” She hoped the flimsy excuse sounded reasonable in his drunken state. “It was you I wanted the whole time…I saw you during the attack, and you just…” She kept her tone low and sultry and met his bleary gaze.

The blade stopped. “Why did ye kill him?”

“He told me he was going to keep me for himself.”

Disbelief crossed the man’s ugly features.

“But I didn’t want him. I wanted you.” She took a confident step toward him and thrust her lower lip out in a seductive little pout. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

He gave her a slobbering grin, and his gaze shifted to her breasts. “I’m sure ye could find a way to make it up to me.” The tip of the blade dipped toward the ground.

“I’m sure I could.” Her eyes trailed down his body with slow purpose. No dagger clung to his belt, and none appeared to be stuck inside his boot. Did the man not have a single dagger on him? She would have to search his person.

Mariel choked back the urge to gag and took another step in his direction. “I was trained at Hampton court.” His waist was thick and soft beneath her hands as she skimmed the worn leather of his belt in a discreet search for a hidden blade. She found none.

“Trained?” His stare was still fixed on her breasts.