He kicked the man he had been fighting and looked through the chaos, trying to find his family. He saw Logan and some of the clansmen pushing Keira and Grannie Ava behind them, but he couldn’t find Violet.
His panic flared at the thought that she might be lying on the ground hurt somewhere, and that dark voice began screaming in his mind again.
Ye have failed to protect yer family again.
Usually, he would give in to the despair in those dark words, but this time, he was filled with anger and a desperation to prove the voice wrong.
He heard Violet’s scream and turned to see Westall dragging her behind him. Red filled his vision.
“Violet!” he bellowed.
When her eyes met his, she struggled even harder to escape.
He tried to move towards her, but a slash at his back made him turn to find an Englishman behind him. Their fight was short as Ruaridh, filled with rage at Violet being harshly dragged away, swung his sword in a wide arc, severing the man’s arm.
Down the bastard went, cradling his arm as he screamed, but one of his clansmen silenced him with a blade through the heart.
Now unencumbered, Ruaridh moved towards Violet and Westall purposefully, kicking down anyone in his path until he was close enough.
“Westall!” he yelled. “Let Violet go!”
Westall sneered at him, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pulled Violet against him and lifted his blade to her neck.
Ruaridh felt his heart sink as Violet’s face became pale with fright.
“Do not come any closer, Laird McLeod, or else…” Westall’s voice faded to the background.
Ruaridh’s gut twisted with dread. Violet’s eyes were wide with worry as she looked at him, stiff in Westall’s grip. He tightened his grip on his sword but didn’t move, trying not to let his worry show. He could not afford to act irrationally.
Westall’s smile grew wide with glee at his hesitation.
“What is it, barbarian?” he taunted, leaning in to nuzzle Violet’s cheek with his nose. “Are you too much of a coward to save her?”
Ruaridh risked a step forward, but the sight of the blade pressing harder against Violet’s throat made him pause again. He couldn’t let his anger at seeing the man touch her be the cause of her death. He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to her.
He cast a glance around, feeling helpless.
What can I do?
“You will never have her, brigand,” Westall sneered. “She is mine now, and I intend to erase whatever hold you have on her.”
Like a ray of hope, Ruaridh spotted the youngest member of his clan, Willie, creeping up behind Westall. The stable lad held a dagger in his hand, taking care to keep his steps light.
Ruaridh didn’t want the lad dirtying his hands with blood, young as he was, but he needed the opening. If he kept the man talking, he could rescue Violet soon enough.
“Ye underestimate her strength and her hatred of ye, Westall,” he snarled, ensuring the Baron’s eyes stayed on him.
“What would you know of her strength, brigand?” Westall growled. “She is nothing more than a woman too weak to make decisions for herself. Her own father said so. What makes you think otherwise? Does it take rolling in the hay to make you know her strength?”
Anger surged in Ruaridh’s blood, but the thought that he would soon make the man pay for his hurtful words had him tamping it down.
“Ye’re so blinded by yer own weakness that ye fail to see strength when it is right in front of ye,” he said with a smile. “That is why ye will die today, and no one will grieve ye.”
Before Westall could respond, Willie drove the dagger into his back.
Ruaridh moved right as the bastard roared, releasing Violet. Westall whirled around with his sword to attack Willie, but the little lad was nimble and had scampered out of harm’s way just as quickly.
“I told ye ye would die today, Westall,” Ruaridh said, pulling Violet behind him as he circled the man.
