Deadly Dance
Kyla stood rooted to the spot, afraid any movement might cause her to tumble down the steep embankment. She stared in the direction the riders had gone, praying they would turn, but the dust slowly settled to reveal an empty horizon.
Her emotions were in turmoil. Her father couldn’t have been one of the riders. She’d wanted to believe he had miraculously appeared at the very moment she needed him, and her mind had played tricks with her eyes. Moreover, for Broderick to be the second rider—utterly impossible. She’d seen him succumb to the rising water.
“We’d best get these tools back to Smith,” Nicolson said. “I’ll wager yer father’s heading for Gretna.”
His words barely penetrated the fog in her brain—a new dust cloud on the horizon seemed to be getting bigger. Could it be…
She turned to her navigator. Adrian was helping him gather the tools. “Do ye truly…?”
The breath whooshed from her lungs when a man leapt from the very top of the curtain wall, yelling a battle cry. He landed on Nicolson. Sledgehammer, chisel, and pincers fell to the ground as the two men bowled Adrian over, then rolled down the embankment, locked in a deadly embrace, until they reached the ditch.
Kyla’s innards clenched when she realized the assailant was Corbin Lochwood.
Adrian lay in a stupor.
She looked off into the distance. The riders—if indeed they were headed toward Carlisle—weren’t close enough to assist. Nicolson was strong, but no longer a young man, and Corbin had obviously knocked the wind out of him.
A strange calm took hold when she accepted her fate. It fell to her to defend her navigator and deal with Lochwood once and for all. She drew Broderick’s dagger and rushed headlong into the fray.
*
When the castle came in view, Broderick’s gut clenched. A struggle was going on near the main gate. A man who might be Nicolson was out cold, lying in the ditch. Kyla was locked in a deadly dance with Corbin Lochwood. She was armed with a dagger, but Lochwood held her wrist firmly in his grip. One wrong move in the muddy ditch and either one of them could be impaled. He bellowed a war cry, frustrated that he was yet too far away to help her.
Darroch spurred his horse to go faster, and Broderick kept pace.
They reined to a halt a few feet from the melee.
Broderick leapt from his horse, only to come face to face with a grinning demon who held the dagger to Kyla’s throat, his other arm clamped under her chin.
Only her eyes betrayed her terror. Now it was up to him to give her courage, just as she had strengthened him when he faced death. There was no need for words. He looked her in the eye and hoped she understood his determination to thwart the maniac’s plans.
“Stay back,” Lochwood shouted, his face muddied, his hair an ungodly tangle. “Laird MacKeegan, what a surprise. Dismount and throw down your weapons.”
Jaw clenched, Darroch obeyed, but walked slowly to Broderick’s side. “If ye take my daughter’s life, I’ll hunt ye to the four corners o’ the earth,” he growled.
Lochwood sniggered, still gasping for breath. “Why should I kill her, when I have more pleasurable pursuits in mind?” he replied, stroking the point of the dagger down Kyla’s upper arm. “A little pain, perhaps,” he taunted as a trickle of blood stained her sleeve.
Broderick gritted his teeth. Adrian lay motionless in the grass at the top of the embankment. If Lochwood’s departure could be delayed long enough, the valet might regain his wits, though what a mere lad could do… “And how do ye hope to escape? The whole garrison is hunting ye.”
“Aha! They think I’m inside the keep, but as you see…Now, step away from your horses. My plaything and I have need of them.”
“I’ll nay go with ye willingly,” Kyla rasped, her eyes still locked with Broderick’s.
She clutched at Lochwood’s arm as he tightened his grip around her neck.
“Stop behaving like a strumpet,” he hissed.
Growling, Darroch took a step forward.
Broderick’s throat constricted when he risked another quick glance to the top of the embankment.
Adrian had disappeared.
Lochwood brandished the dagger at Darroch. “Step aside, lest you wish…”
His next words emerged as garbled drivel. His eyes lost their focus. His knees buckled. Darroch lunged to grab the dagger. With a startled cry, Kyla rushed into Broderick’s arms when her abductor pitched head first into the muck.
Swaying unsteadily, Adrian stood triumphant, sledgehammer in hand. “Teck that, ye miserable excuse for a laird,” he crowed before his legs gave way. He sat down on the slope and retched.
Broderick cooed words of comfort, stroking her back as Kyla trembled in his arms. “Ye’re safe now. I’ll ne’er let him hurt ye again.”
Darroch planted a foot on Lochwood’s back and chuckled. “I’d say my daughter does, indeed, love ye, Laird Maxwell.”
*
The realization her father had followed her from Skye confirmed what Kyla had always known. He loved her. She would throw her arms around him and weep—later.
She couldn’t yet let go of Broderick. The darling man she’d thought lost forever had been found, but she had to keep her body pressed to his, feel the strength in his embrace and inhale his unique scent in order to truly believe it.
It was his melodious voice murmuring reassurances, his teeth nibbling her ear, his fingers entwined in her hair, his male hardness tucked against her mons. Still she clung to him, lest he disappear and her trembling legs fail if she let go.
“Are ye a dream?” she whispered.
“Nay,” he replied with a chuckle. “’Tis Broderick Maxwell in the flesh.”
She lay her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—proof he was alive. “Dinna let me go.”
“Never,” he declared.
*
Broderick supposed he should be paying more attention to the dozens of soldiers who suddenly rushed out of the main gate and swarmed over the embankment. He was relieved Darroch had taken charge. Nicolson and Adrian were being tended to. Lochwood’s hands were manacled behind his back. He’d been hoisted to his feet, but appeared to be in a stupor, held up by two burly guards.
All that mattered was the trembling lass he held in his arms, a woman who’d become more important to him than life itself. He didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened had he and Darroch not turned around, or if Adrian hadn’t revived. His own knees went weak with relief when the tremors subsided and color returned to her cheeks.
The way ahead was clear. He was laird of a proud clan and it was past time he took charge of his own life and accepted responsibility for the wellbeing of his clan-folk. There was no one better suited to be Lady of Caerlochnaven than Kyla. He ought to ask her father’s permission but, in a way, Darroch had already given his blessing.
“I love ye, Mistress MacKeegan,” he rasped in her ear. “Will ye wed with me?”