Chapter Twenty-Six
Cyrus prayed Elspeth was not about to make a foolish move with Dalacroy's knife a hair's breadth from the delicate skin of her throat. But he knew that wink had been a signal.
Before he could say a word, she lifted her bound hands, gripped Dalacroy's forearm and shoved it forward while also ducking her head.
Dalacroy scrambled to snatch her back into position while Cyrus launched himself forward. He grabbed the whoreson's wrist and hand while tackling him to the ground and shoving the dagger upward. Elspeth rolled away, and the blade stabbed into Dalacroy's neck. He shrieked but Cyrus didn't let up.
Teeth clenched and abject fear radiating off him, the knave eyed Cyrus at close range. He knew 'twas the end of the road.
"You made a fatal mistake when you threatened her life," Cyrus growled.
Dalacroy's eyes closed. He soon went limp and gave up the ghost. Cyrus stood to see that the two guards had been captured and tied up, along with Talbot, after they had surrendered.
Finding Elspeth standing close by, he tugged her into his arms, holding her fiercely to his pounding heart. Dear God, he had come so close to losing her twice over. He could not believe the gratitude rising within him. "Are you well?"
"Aye. Thank you for coming after me," Elspeth breathed against his chest.
"No need to thank me. I cannot believe you took such a risk." Cyrus pulled back to gaze down at her, a fierce scowl upon his face.
Wishing he would relax, Elspeth reached up and smoothed his troubled brow. "I wasn't going to allow him to dictate my future, nor my son's. If the knife was away from my throat, I knew you could defeat him."
His expression easing, Cyrus nodded. "'Twas a brave move. And I appreciate your confidence in me. Do you hurt anywhere?"
"My knee and my neck." Both still throbbed—a dull ache in her knee and a sharp pain in her neck. She was certain her knee would have a large bruise on it. Her face might, too, considering how hard that blasted guard had slapped her.
"Let's get you inside." Startling her, Cyrus picked her up into his arms and carried her through the portcullis, which had been raised moments earlier. When she noticed Rebbie and Dirk grinning in their direction, heat rose to her face.
"I can walk," she whispered, not wanting to draw attention.
"Nonsense. Your knee is hurt, and I don't want you to injure it further," he grumbled. "Mistress Almsly should still be here taking care of my injured men."
"Aye. I'm sure she can make a poultice for my knee."
He carried her across the bailey, activity all around them. "How did you hurt it?"
"When I was trying to get away from them, I landed on it."
"What about your neck?"
"I was fighting the guard. He slapped me and wrenched my neck."
"Which guard?" Cyrus demanded.
"The big one named Campbell."
Cyrus jerked around to glare at the man in question. Jenkins and Norval were escorting him toward the dungeon. "I'll make sure and slap him down."
She tried to shake her head, but her neck hurt too much. "There's no reason to now."
"The knave had no reason to abuse you, either," he muttered, carrying her up the steps and into the castle's great hall, which was mostly empty.
"'Tis over now. I will be fine soon enough." She stroked his massive shoulder, wishing she could calm him.
"Thank God you were unharmed in the fire. How did you get out of the house?"
"Through the kitchen. I'm so glad your friends kept you from going back into the blaze."
She glimpsed the latent flash of anguish in his eyes.
