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Yer nine-and-twenty, and a laird. Yer life is in constant peril, how long did ye think ye had?
Gritting his teeth at the traitorous thoughts, Connor guided his steed up a path that ran up the hillside behind the carriage, curling over rough, pebbly terrain, past the various pools up where a line of waterfalls edged the border of his territory. Though it was heading to winter, the waterfalls still flowed heavy and it was a very hazardous part of his land that he always took caution with when crossing, as there were times the land slipped and mountains of mud would roll down the slope.
As they came around a corner—a whistle was in the air and then…the carriage driver lurched off the seat, a bright red arrow protruding from both ends of his neck. Instantly, Conner leaped down from his stallion, sword drawn.
Then—war cries. Men called out with threats of death and charged forward on their horses. Even with the wind whipping his hair into his eyes, Conner counted five descending on him. “God’s teeth! Protect the carriage! Me wife is in there!”
The men called out and charged forward on their horses. The wind whipping his hair into his eyes, Conner glanced back and counted five in pursuit. “God!”
His attacker drew almost even with him on the left and Conner parried the blow, thrusting his sword at the man’s belly in a quick, precise stab and yanking away while blood spurted out in an arc. Another raider growled an oath and lashed out with his sword. Conner dodged away, ramming the hilt of his sword into the man’s back, causing him to spin around—where Conner’s blade then made a quick swipe across the reiver’s neck.
He spun to the carriage, as he had to make sure the lass was secured, only to see Olivia flying out of the carriage, her hand shooting up—and air whistled inches by his face. A thud behind him had him spinning and a man dropped dead, a dagger embedded right between his eyes.
She can throw daggers?
He spun just as another man slashed and thrust, throwing Conner off his balance and stabbing a knife in his hips. The pain blinded him and he scrambled out of the path of another attacker only to see Olivia’s knife slammed up under the attacker’s ribcage, sending him reeling backward.
Her right fist struck out and slammed into a third’s jaw, the force of it sending the man spinning. Conner’s fingers fastened around the bone handle of the knife embedded in his hip and he yanked it free. With frightening speed, he twisted, rolling to his feet and grabbing for his sword.
Olivia moved faster. She dove for it, her fingers grabbing it firmly around its worn leather hilt. She lunged at the last man and thrust the blade into the base of his neck. Conner could not believe what he was seeing—his left knee gave out from under him while she stood there, the wisps of her braid flitting in the wind and her face streaked with blood, the sword right through the man.
The attacker gave a choking, gurgling noise and fell to his knees. He stared at her, his pale blue eyes widening in shock, but Olivia stepped closer still and drove the blade deeper, killing him in an instant.
“Ye scourge,” she whispered hoarsely.
She yanked his blade out, the wicked steel dripping red while she stood like an avenging angel in a mound of dead bodies. One of his men rushed to his side while Olivia turned, and he saw her generous bosom heaving.
“Get him into the carriage,” she ordered, tugging the dagger out from the middle of the dead man’s head. “Take him home. That wound needs a healing paste or it needs to be burned shut.”
Utterly astonished at her, Conner took the blade from her, “Cathaí…” Warrior.
She tipped her head up as his men helped him into the carriage, “I’m hardly one, but thank ye for the compliment.”
When he was inside, she joined him and he sat, surprised, as she tugged another dagger from her boot to rip a part of her cloak into strips and began to bind his wounds. “It might nay be much, but it will hold the blood flow until ye can get to yer healers.”
Conner’s eyes roamed over her face, to the splash of blood down one cheek that she, oddly, did not seem to realize was there and he lifted his hand to swipe the splatter off. “…How often do people underestimate ye?”
Her lips ticked, “Far too often.”
Tugging his hand away, he dropped his hand to his lap and clenched his teeth against the stinging pain in his hip. It was not the first time he had been stabbed and it would not be the last, but this attack was not one he had expected—not on this day.
It was an ambush—a plan. But who is behind it?
The moment he found who was behind it—they would soon be begging for death.
Chapter 2
Ó Riagáin’s head was lolling back, his eyes closed while his cheek occasionally jumped with the pain of his injury. Olivia held her dagger, crusted with blood, in her hand and gazed out the window as the gently rolling hills receded, and a majestic castle was revealed.
The castle appeared to rise from the base of the mountain, nestled in its protective embrace. It was dark gray stone, worn by wind and rain, with turrets and towers, and a massive wall surrounding it, protecting the inner courts from invasion.
She watched as they followed a smooth pathway that snaked up the hillside and passed two towers with guards pacing and stationed on the turrets above. Then, they were into the outer court, and she gazed upon a castle with two stories on the outer wings. It had a taller keep peeking from the far left, and the turrets on each corner made the fortification loom over them and carried a daunting intimidation with it.
The frantic beating of her heart—starting the moment the attackers had come—had slowed and she suddenly felt fatigued and depleted. When Conner’s men came to open the door and take him out, Olivia stepped out as well, but her knees gave out from under her.
Arms circled her waist and she found herself in Conner’s arms, who, while he looked as fatigued as she was, still held her up. “Easy there,” he murmured while his golden eyes pierced right though hers.
Then, nodding to another man behind her, he said, “Take her to her quarters, and send up a healer and her maid after,” then to her, he added, “Thank ye, lass.”
