Page 96 of Blood & Claw

Something burst from the mist to her right.

Rùn, who grazed a few yards away, squealed in warning, but Ailsa and Dale were already moving. They rolled in opposite directions, the firewood and the half-plucked grouse forgotten.

The rasp of iron against leather followed as Dale rolled swiftly to his feet and faced his attacker. There had been no time for him to draw his sword. The weapon still lay sheathed in its scabbard by the fire, so he drew a long-bladed dragger instead.

The smell of leather and stale sweat hit Ailsa an instant before the blades clashed.

The man was built like an ox. A leather vest encased his massive chest, leaving his arms bare. Coils of woad tattoos wrapped around bulging muscles. He moved fast for such a big man, wielding two long blades that sliced through the damp air. And each swipe came perilously close to sinking into Dale’s flesh.

Drawing her own blade, Ailsa readied herself to spring before checking herself. This man was dangerous. She had to be careful.

Just as well her bodyguard handled himself well.

Dale dodged each vicious strike and countered with his own. Savagery twisted his face as he fought.

Even so, his adversary was relentless. Almost frenzied in his attack.

Ailsa tracked every movement, her gaze narrowing. This warrior was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. He hadn’t been with those she’d seen in that ale-hall in Farnoch, she was sure of it.

Maybe he was the one left behind to watch over Kayla.

And, just like the man who’d attacked them by Loch Lethe days earlier, this attacker was wholly focused on Dale.

It was as if he hadn’t even seen her.

Heat flared under her ribs. Did these warriors think she wasn’t a threat?

She stared at him, and the fire and mist vanished.

Even Dale faded into the background.

There was only the space between her and the assassin now—and she was going to cross it.

She was going to end this fucker.

She had to get her hands on a bigger weapon first. She wanted Dale’s sword, but it was too close to where the two men were fighting—and she’d never wielded a broadsword before. Instead, she slid her knife back into her boot and scooped up a heavy branch that Dale had dragged up the hill to feed the flames later, and skirted around the fire.

She swung it hard at the warrior’s head.

He saw her coming and ducked, bringing his left fighting dagger up to ward off the blow. It did, but only partially, and he reeled back, his blade spinning out of reach.

Dale was on him in an instant, his dagger driving downward. The big man rolled, just as the dagger stabbed into the pebbly ground.

With a roar, the attacker lunged to his feet, drawing another blade.

In response, Aisla’s belly swooped, and she leaped forward once more.

Suddenly, she and Dale were a team, each taking turns to strike at him, moving around the warrior like dancers around a fire at Bealtunn.

Iron rang against iron and wood.

Every shift of the warrior’s weight tugged at her. His feet skidded on gravel, his body twisted, and his blades flashed.

Ailsa tracked every movement, anticipating them.

Until she realized she was smiling. Casting aside the branch, she whipped out her knife once more.

Meanwhile, Dale’s eyes gleamed gold in the firelight.