Pain darkened Alesone’s eyes.
“Drop the blade, Your Grace!”
His sword half raised, the duke angled a step toward the back of the chamber, forcing the man to turn away from Thomas to keep the noble in his sight.
Thomas withdrew his bow, nocked an arrow.
Sadistic pleasure rode the warrior’s expression as the duke lowered his weapon, then he lowered the dagger. “Now I will—”
Without warning, Alesone dropped her full weight. Free of her captor’s hold, she withdrew hersgian dubh, twisted to her feet and slashed his throat.
Shock widening the warrior’s eyes, he stumbled back. Blood streamed through his fingers as he clenched his throat then collapsed.
On a rough breath, Thomas lowered his bow. “Remind me to never upset you.”
Alesone whirled, her fingers still clenching her blade. Eyes wide with disbelief softened, and she sheathed her dagger. “Thomas!”
He stepped forward, and he crushed her against him. Love for her swamped him, and he pressed his face against her hair. “Thank God you are okay.”
“I w-wasna sure if you had made it out,” she whispered, “or if you would return in time.”
His chest aching, he brushed a lock of hair from her dirt smeared face. “Naught would stop me from reaching you.” Movement at the entry had him glancing toward his men. However much he wished to remain, the stronghold must be secured. “The castle’s status?”
“Bruce’s knights have squelched the last of the resistance,” Aiden replied.
With a nod, Thomas faced his father. “Are you hurt?”
The duke scoffed. “Naught that willna heal. Did you see your broth—”
“Halt,” a Knight Templar at the door warned as he raised his blade.
“Thomas, tell your knight to bloody move,” Donnchadh roared from outside, “or by God I will move him!”
A smile touched Thomas’s mouth at his brother’s threat to his warrior. The Templar could disarm Donnchadh before he realized his intent. “Make way, Cailin, ’tis my brother.”
His face smeared with blood and sweat and worry, Donnchadh strode inside. He glanced from Alesone to his father, then his body relaxed. “Thank God you are both alive.” He met Thomas’s gaze. “What of Comyn?”
“When he saw his forces were routed,” he replied with disgust, “he and a sizable contingent fled on horseback. I have sent men to follow them and, if nae capture them, ensure they have left.”
His brother nodded. “Excellent.”
“And the Bruce?” his father asked?
“He remained in camp,” Thomas replied. “Though weak, he has begun to recover and is making plans for an upcoming attack. Information I will share once all is secure.”
His father glanced at Donnchadh, Alesone, and then back to Thomas. “We can rebuild the castle. That you are all safe is what matters.”
Donnchadh scowled at the dead men. “I thank you, Father, for keeping her safe.”
Pride shone in the duke’s gaze. “The lass defended herself.”
Warmth filled Alesone at the pride in the duke’s voice as he explained to his son how she’d killed the assailant.
“I commend you, Mistress Alesone,” Donnchadh said. “You are an extraordinary woman.”
Humbled by his compliment, heat stole up her cheeks. “I did naught but what was necessary.”
“Necessary,” the duke scoffed. “The lass is a fierce warrior.”
