Chapter Seventeen
Instinctively, Landyn whirled at her cry, bringing his sword up and blocking the small dagger.
Boucher pulled back in angry surprise and lifted his hand for another strike.
Lunging forward, Landyn shoved his sword up beneath the chainmail shirt into Boucher’s stomach.
The dagger froze in midair, and Boucher’s hand trembled. His mouth hung open in disbelief.
Landyn yanked the sword free.
Boucher’s fingers loosened, and the dagger dropped to the floor, landing with a dull clank. He toppled, grabbing hold of Landyn’s shoulders, staring at him with horror.
“That’s for all the defenseless people you killed,” Landyn growled. He stepped back, shrugging free of Boucher’s grip, and let him fall to the floor.
Time seemed to stop for a moment as Landyn stared down at Boucher. He lay on the wooden planks, face down. Landyn couldn’t believe it was finally finished. All his days since Boucher had killed Viola had led to this moment. His hand squeezed the handle of his sword, now back with its rightful owner. It was only fitting that the first blood it tasted since being returned to him was the man who had taken it. A fulfilling tiredness eased through him.
Raven stepped up to Landyn, inspecting his torso with her eyes. Then, her fingers swept over him like little butterfly kisses. “Are you well? Did he cut you?”
“No,” Landyn answered. He turned his full attention to her. “Raven, I’m sorry for not telling you—”
“You did,” she replied, her hands lingering on his chest. “You have told me the truth since the first day I met you.” She reached up to trail her fingers across his cheek. “About Boucher. About the treasure. About my father.” She swiveled her face to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “There isn’t anything else, is there?”
Landyn chuckled softly. “No.” His gaze traveled down to her lips as if beckoned.
Suddenly, she stepped away from him and hurried into the hall. “Where’s Rolf?”
“Don’t worry. I found him tied in one of the rooms. The man guarding him is dead. Rolf is safe,” Landyn said and brushed by her to lead her down the corridor. “This way.” They rushed to the room with an open door.
Rolf sat on the bed, leaning forward, his head in his hands. His fingers moved over a old, ragged scar on his grizzled cheek. His gray hair was cut short, and he wore stained brown breeches and a tunic. His wife stood over him in a cream shift, rubbing his back.
The guard lay dead at his feet.
Empathy filled Landyn. He understood how Rolf felt. These mercenaries had invaded his inn, and he had been unable to defend and protect his family.
Raven’s eyes widened. She squeezed Landyn’s arm. “I’ll be back.”
He nodded, watching as she raced down the stairs. He walked into the room.
Rolf looked up with haunted eyes and rose. “I thank you for freeing my wife.”
“It wasn’t me. Raven freed her,” Landyn replied.
“Raven?” Rolf asked, a scowl crossing his brow. “Hawke?”
Landyn nodded.
Rolf glanced toward the door. “Where is she?” he asked hopefully.
Landyn was amazed how her name could provoke such hope in the man. “You know her?”
Rolf nodded. “Aye. Her family occasionally stops here.” His shoulders sagged. “I wish they had been here when these knaves arrived. They would never have allowed them to…”
“Father! Mother!” A boy raced into the room and embraced the woman.
Rolf’s eyes brimmed with tears as he fell to his knees, hugging the two of them.
Raven entered after the boy. She grinned at the reunited family.
