Page 80 of Ella’s Desire

It would be far more dangerous this time running through the valley with four of them instead of two. Especially with Lark as frightened as she was. If she startled, if she screamed, it could be the death of them all.

“You must remain perfectly quiet,” Bronson instructed. “Even if you get scared.”

Lark pressed her lips together hard, as though she could seal them shut. He smiled his approval, trying to keep his expression easy, to prevent her from seeing the extent of his worry. With a gentle nudge to her back, he encouraged her to walk to the door and slip out.

Outside, the air was clean and fresh, a mind-clearing reprieve from the heavy odor of death. There were more reivers about now. None nearby, but their figures dotted the landscape in the distance. Ella led their party, moving swiftly in the shadows but more slowly through the lighted ground they crossed. Any abrupt movement, such as running, would call attention to them. Bronson followed at the rear of their small group to ensure the girls remained safely between he and Ella.

A reiver rounded the corner of a tower suddenly. The moment he caught sight of Ella was apparent in the stiffening of his body. Bronson knew what he saw—a woman clad in a gambeson and drenched in blood.

Before the man could move, Leila sent a dagger flashing in the moonlight with lethal speed. He fell forward, silent and dead. A quick glance around confirmed there was no way to easily hide the body. Not like there had been with the others.

“We’ll have to think of somewhere to put him,” Ella whispered

“Make him appear drunk.” Lark bent and retrieved the tankard the man had dropped when he fell.

It was a simple plan, but a brilliant one. Aye, someone might check on him, but a man sleeping off his ale might also be left perfectly alone. Bronson propped the body against the wall of the tower and curled his hands around the tankard. He stood back to assess the dead reiver’s appearance.

Aye, he looked thoroughly sotted with the shadows hiding any visible spots of blood oozing through the dark gambeson.

They had only two more towers to pass before the most treacherous part: the run back to the abandoned stone building. After that, their passage would be easy and quick. They would be back at Werrick Castle well before dawn broke.

They made their way to the final tower without issue. However, they were met with several voices, loud and raucous. The sounds of men who had been drinking heavily.

Ella pressed herself against the wall, with the rest of them doing likewise. But there would be no other way out but beyond the tower. Lark’s small chest rose and fell quickly with her rapid breath. Bronson put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently to convey that everything would be well.

One of the reivers spoke, something Bronson couldn’t understand. If he made it out of this bloody mess alive, he swore he would have Ella teach him Gaelic the first chance they got.

A man appeared suddenly, working at his hose beneath his filthy gambeson as he staggered. He propped himself on the wall beside Ella and a steady stream of liquid splashed against the stonework. Lark crushed closer against Bronson as Leila and Ella tried to edge away.

The man grunted and gave a little bounce as he tucked himself away. He pushed off the stone and staggered back several steps. That was when he looked up, and the bleariness in his eyes from drink cleared for one awful moment as he saw all four of them against the wall.

Before even a single dagger could be thrown, the drunkard charged forward to attack and cried out.

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Shouts of alarm came from nearby, followed by the hissing of blades being pulled from their sheaths. Bronson stood in front of Lark and ran the reiver through with his blade.

The other men all charged. Bronson tensed for battle. He and Ella had come too far to lose everything now.

“Use that dagger if you have to,” Bronson hissed through his teeth at Lark. “Better their life lost than yours.”

He did not see if she acknowledged his order, for the men attacked then. Six in all, four with swords, one with a mace, another with an axe. Bronson was at Ella’s side when their opponents first swung their weapons.

The reivers were sloppy in their attacks. The odor of alcohol clouded around them like a fog. Ella was able to easily take down the first two while Leila and Bronson each felled a reiver. Only two remained alive.

One darted off in the opposite direction. No doubt to notify someone of the attack. Ella sprinted after him, her axe poised to strike. The final man brought his blade down on Bronson, but he blocked it before it could hit. Bronson shoved his attacker back and thrust his sword into the man’s soft neck.

Ella hefted her axe and threw it at the one fleeing, the same as she had back at the tower. Her weapon hit its target perfectly and the reiver fell to the ground.

Bronson pulled his sword free and glanced at Leila and Lark. “Are either of you injured?”

“Nay,” Leila said. Lark simply shook her head, her gaze fixed on the reiver whose throat lay open and spurting with blood.

A man on the ground behind Leila moved, one they had assumed dead. He drew his arm back and something glinted in the moonlight. A dagger.

Bronson rushed into action, covering Leila with his body to prevent her from being struck. Pain lanced up his side as the weapon plunged into his torso.

Bronson groaned at the injury but turned his attention to the bastard who had just thrown the weapon. He lay still once more, a hilt jutting from his bloody chest. Neither Ella nor Leila stood beside the body.