Thomas slashed his dirk across the attacker’s wrist. Blood spilled to the frozen ground, and he pushed the warrior back. Wind-whipped snow battered his face as the crack of blades vibrated against smithed iron.
Inch by inch he and his knights edged closer, the clash of swords in their wake diminishing as King Robert’s troops continued to surge into the baily and overwhelm the enemy.
“Halt,” Thomas called as they neared the steps. “Aiden and Cailin, when I give the order to lower the shields, use your bows to take out the men holding the battering ram.”
“Aye,” his knights replied.
Thomas nodded. “Now!”
The melee swam into view. Arrows hissed past.
Men’s screams rang out.
“Another volley,” Thomas yelled.
Arrows whooshed into the snow-laden sky.
Screams sounded, and the men holding the battering ram toppled, the thick log crashing atop their unmoving bodies.
Thomas cursed as at least twenty of Comyn’s knights bolted inside. “Follow me!” He shoved his sword into an attacker ahead of him, withdrew his blade, then jumped over the man’s falling body and bolted inside.
With a roar, three of Comyn’s men charged.
Thomas slashed the first man’s throat, drove his dagger into the next, and kicked the third man back before a slash ended his assault.
A scream rang out from down the corridor.
His blood iced. Alesone! “Follow me!” Damning each second lost, with each swing, each scrape of steel, Thomas carved his way through the chamber, the Templars fighting by his side.
Men’s yells filled the chamber in his wake.
Thomas whirled.
A fresh wave of knights poured into the chamber, all wearing Bruce’s colors.
Confident they’d seized Dair Castle and naught but a handful of resistance remained, he drove his blade into the aggressor who stood between him and the woman he loved.
“Release her!” Thomas’s father ordered from an open doorway.
Heart pounding, Thomas shoved the man aside, and ran down the corridor. Through the open doorway, he saw a knight jerk Alesone against him with a harsh pull.
“Dinna move,” Comyn’s man warned Thomas’s father, who stood paces away.
The duke’s face paled.
Eyes hard, the warrior pressed his blade against her throat. “Sheath your blade or die.”
Her eyes widened.
The grating of blades and screams of pain blended in a lethal backdrop as Thomas waved his men to halt.
Torchlight glinted across the duke’s sword as his gaze flickered on him, returned to the enemy.
At his father’s covert acknowledgment, Thomas narrowed his eyes on the intruder.
The noble scowled. “Let the lass go and you shall be allowed to live.”
“You dare much to threaten me, Your Grace,” the man scoffed, “when ’tisyouwho are now my prisoner.” With the knife still flush against her throat, the aggressor jerked her captured arms higher up her back.
