Their blades collided again as Walter lunged forward.
“And what is the fool's name?” Ian sneered.
“Why would that matter?” Walter said.
“I want to ken the name of the man I am about to strike down,” Ian growled.
“Name’s Walter,” he added proudly as their swords scraped together. “Leader of the finest band of raiders these Highlands have seen in years.” Walter circled him slowly, blood dripping from his wounded shoulder.
“I've heard of yer work,” Ian said.
“Have ye?” he mocked. “Then ye ken we’ve taken much from these lands. McGuire cattle, McDonald horses, grain from every clan between here and the coast.”
Ian struck suddenly, forcing Walter to stumble back. Walter grinned through blood-streaked teeth.
“And more men join me every season,” he boasted. “The Highlands are full of hungry blades looking for coin.”
Ian’s gaze flicked briefly around the camp. His warriors now stood among the fallen raiders, blades ready and grim expressions on their faces.
“Look around ye,” Ian said quietly.
Walter followed his gaze. Several of his men lay dead near the fire while others had fled into the forest.
Ian stepped forward. “I have cut down yer numbers quite well tonight.”
Walter’s grin faltered. Then fury twisted his face again. He lunged forward with a furious shout. Their swords clashed in a violent exchange of blows. Walter fought with desperate strength, striking wildly despite the blood loss weakening him. Ian remained calm.
Each movement was precise and controlled, his blade turning aside every attack. Walter swung again, slower this time. Ian saw the opening. With one swift motion, he knocked Walter’s sword aside and drove his own blade deep into the man’s chest. Walter gasped.
For a moment, the raider leader stared at him in disbelief. Then the light faded from his eyes. Ian pulled the blade free. Walter collapsed heavily to the ground. Silence slowly settled over the camp as the last of the fighting ended.
Behind Ian, Arianna exhaled a shaky breath of relief.
Flynn approached, wiping blood from his blade. “Well,” he said with a crooked grin, “that went rather well.”
Ian barely heard him. His attention remained fixed entirely on Arianna.
She is alive. She is safe. She is mine.
And she was in his arms once more. For Ian, nothing else in the world mattered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The gates of Castle McGuire opened at their approach, torches flaring as men rushed forward to welcome their Laird home. Arianna barely had time to take in the familiar stone walls before Ian lifted her effortlessly from the horse, his arms closing around her with unyielding strength as though he had no intention of ever letting her go again. She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek as he carried her across the courtyard, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his tunic as a deep sense of relief began to settle within her.
“Ye’re safe now,” Ian murmured against her hair as he strode through the great doors. “Back where ye belong.”
Arianna did not argue, though her voice softened as she said, “Yer castle.”
Ian glanced down at her, something fierce and tender flickering in his eyes. “Our home,” he corrected quietly, and the words stirred something deep within her chest. He carried her throughthe corridors and into her bedchamber without pause, kicking the door shut behind him as the warmth of the fire wrapped around them.
He set her gently upon the bed, though his hands lingered at her waist as though reluctant to release her.
The rabbit hopped over to her feet.
“Oh, me pet,” Arianna said. Her eyes were watering. Ian lifted the bunny and placed it in her arms. She held the creature close for a few moments before setting it down again.
Ian continued attending her wounds.
