The pair hit the ground hard, but Arthur did not pause. The second his body smashed into the earth, he scrambled forward, launching himself on top of Eric’s supine form.
The man beneath him groaned. Drying blood covered the bottom half of his face, staining his teeth as he bared them at Arthur, despite his half-lidded eyes.
“She isnae yer wife,” Eric spat, blood trickling from the side of his lips.
“She will be in three days,” Arthur said, quickly casting a glance around.
The sight of Eric with his hands on Marissa had driven him into a blind rage, thinking not of the sword that he had gripped in his hand but of the fists that he’d wanted to drive into the man’s body. And as he’d hurled himself through the air, the sword had been knocked from his grip.
A glint of metal in the soft sunlight caught his attention, and his gaze flew to it. It was only a few inches away. He reached for it.
Eric, seizing the moment, bucked his hips, throwing Arthur off balance. He fell forward, his hands hitting the ground with a thud.
Sticks and leaves bit into his palms, but Arthur didn’t notice the pain as he turned his attention back to the sword. His hand grasped the hilt, and a wave of triumph shot through him.
But in the split second that it had taken him to balance himself, and with the small gap that Eric’s bucking had caused, the bastard had found the space and the time to shimmy himself out from beneath Arthur.
The man was spry, Arthur would give him that.
Both men sprang to their feet, glaring at one another.
“Ye think that ye can best me?” Eric yelled, spittle flying from his lips. “Ye think ye can win against me when it was God himself who sent me here to claim the woman I am destined to be with?”
Arthur laughed—a cold, mirthless sound. “Ye’d think if God intended ye to win,” he taunted, “then He would have not allowed me to kill nine of yer men. Do ye think I will have trouble with ye when I handled them so easily?”
Eric shook his head. If Arthur had thought the man looked deranged before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. His eyes were wide, almost feverish in their intensity.
“Nay,” Eric said. “I think He saved ye for me. I think God kens that the only way Marissa will see that I am the right man for her is if I kill ye meself. I can see it now. It’s all so painfully clear.”
A bubble of manic laughter flew from the man’s lips. If Arthur had not been filled with a rage that drowned out everything else, the sound of the man’s laughter would have sent chills down his spine.
But, as it was, Arthur did not feel anything except for the need to drive his sword through the man’s belly.
Arthur did not wait for Eric to move. Eric’s sword was still sheathed at his side, and Arthur did not want him to have the opportunity to draw it.
With a mighty, ear-splitting battle cry, Arthur swung his sword above his head. Eric was reaching for the sheath at his hip, his hand finding the hilt just as Arthur swung down with both his hands.
The sound the sword made as it buried itself in the man’s skull was one that Arthur would never forget, the sickening squelch calling out his victory.
Eric did not die immediately, not as the blade buried itself in the center of his head. Instead, there was a split second where a shocked, haunted look crossed his face. Blood trickled from the wound, dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.
The hand that had started to grip his sword went limp, and slowly, ever so slowly, the man who had caused Marissa so much strife fell to the ground.
Arthur spared no time. He walked forward, kicking Eric’s body over to make sure that he was well and truly dead. The man’s eyes were still open. Wide, but undoubtedly lifeless.
With a sigh of relief, he turned, his eyes scanning the small patch of forest for Marissa.
She’d been standing right with Eric when he had come barreling from behind the tree. So, he was shocked when he didn’t find her standing there, watching the entire thing unfold.
Did me killin’ all those men scare her off? Has she run off?
Just as those thoughts began to take over his mind, a flash of dark blue caught his eye. There was a small thicket of high weeds that he believed to be near where he’d first jumped out to attack Eric. And dark blue fabric was jutting up from beneath the leaves.
Marissa had a dark blue sash around her waist when they’d been at the loch earlier that day.
Panic surged through him as he rushed forward.
Sure enough, Marissa was lying on the ground, her body supine and unmoving. One arm had been thrown over her face, so he could not see her expression.
