He slid down off his horse and stepped up to Darlei, looming oversized in the gloom. “Ye ha’ cost me a great deal o’ trouble.”
The words were accompanied by a blow, one Darlei only half saw coming. The shock of it kept her from feeling immediate pain, but rocked her on her feet. “Cost me a good pony.” The second blow did knock her down. The pine-needle-strewn forest floor rushed up at her. Blood started at one corner of her mouth.
The place Deathan had so often kissed.
She could fight. She was a Caledonian princess. But if she fought, he just might beat her to death.
Mayhap better dead. Better than what would come.
MacNabh seized her bodily and, with a grunt, threw her up onto the back of his pony. He mounted behind her and spoke into her ear.
“Run fro’ me again and I will mak’ ye regret it.”
Again, she believed him.
*
Deathan heard thewhistle just as he entered the woodland. He had run as far as he could and now paced quickly, following the sounds of the party ahead.
Why would MacNabh whistle?
The way through the trees was mercifully clear. Boughs and fir needles lay underfoot. His sodden boots made nothing of them.
Ahead lay a stream. On the other side of it, a clutch of figures. How many? Three ponies. Men on foot. Another, smaller form.
He halted, drawing his sword from the loop at his belt.
If he had to fight for Darlei, so be it. If he had to fight three of them, he would. If he had to die for her…
Before that happened, he must make certain he freed her.
He stepped forward just in time to hear an angry voice. To see the smaller figure fall to the ground.
He leaped the stream. He could see two of MacNabh’s guards, still mounted. The man himself on his feet. He watched MacNabh grab a woman—Darlei—up from the ground and toss her onto his horse.
Och, by the gods, by all the gods, he had to—
MacNabh mounted and turned his pony. Deathan drew breath to call out. To challenge the man. They would finish what had started in the stable.
He stepped out in front of MacNabh’s pony, his sword raised. The man’s horse reared and MacNabh drew it around with acruel hand. He stared at Deathan as at a ghost before crying to his mount and charging by.
Darlei, clutched hard in MacNabh’s grasp, saw him.
She saw him.
A world of communication lay in her gaze, as if she’d cried aloud to him. Caution. Fear. Love.
Do not come after me. Do not try to fight for me. Do not risk yourself for me.
How could he do anything else? He lived for her. Breathed for her. In this life and any other.
MacNabh’s two guards passed him with startled looks. He thrust his sword back into the loop at his belt and followed after them.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
MacNabh dragged Darleiinto his house by the hair, much as he might drag an errant hound by the scruff of the neck. Her knees hit each of the stone stairs, and when he threw her down in the hall, the flagstones come up to meet her with force.
She lay there face down for a moment, wondering if she had the strength to rise. To face what must come.
