Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(48)
Time slowed into a series of split seconds as he analyzed the tense scene. A body lay near the back entrance of the monastery. A brown-robed monk yanked a sword from the chest of a falling man then spun, charging two others. The monk’s wild-eyed glare flicked between the soldiers as he growled, his rabid spitting snarls forcing the pair to spread wide. The last behemoth warrior, who stalked toward the stables, turned back to face Robert. A deep, puckered scar marred his sinister face, running from his left temple, through his bushy eyebrow, and along a crooked nose, ending in a split at the corner of his sneering lip.
“Broc.”
The MacEalan laird grunted as he unsheathed his sword, squaring off with Robert.
With instant deduction, Robert realized the body near the monastery door was Dougal’s, but the cutting disappointment was brief. The satisfaction of killing Susanna’s lifelong tormenter would be reparation enough.
Time to even out the fight.
Robert never broke stride, sprinting through a smoke-filled area between the two buildings as he arced his weapon back and around. Broc’s soldiers glanced at Robert racing by, but the monk seized on the ideal distraction and lunged, running his sword through one unlucky man.
Broc was ready for Robert’s intentionally telegraphed attack and blocked with his sword. Unkempt, curly hair swirled behind the tyrant’s shoulder as he turned and arced around a blow of his own.
Robert blocked the expected strike. Blade quivered against blade, sending vibrations into the bones of his arm and a deafening ring reverberating into his ears.
Broc backed away and circled around. His narrowing gaze judged Robert, assessing the worth of his unforeseen attacker.
Robert’s innate observation skills, honed with a lifetime of training, translated Broc’s every habitual weight shift and muscle twitch, recognizing favoritism in movements as hidden weaknesses to be exploited. “Your reign as abuser ends now.”
Broc’s arrogant smile stretched appallingly wide on his ugly face, a twisted laugh preceding his graveled voice. “Who are you to say?”
Robert snorted and grinned, slowly lowering his weapon as he took measured steps toward his nemesis. Noticing Broc’s muscles relax infinitesimally and head tilt slightly, he teased further curiosity from him by relaxing his stance and titling his head, mirroring Broc.
One step away from deadly reach, Robert held his ground to deliver the delightful news. “I’m Susanna’s husband.”
Broc subtly leaned back, his jaw dropping a fraction.
Robert sprang forward, closing the distance during Broc’s last heartbeat, and thrust the cold steel of delivered vengeance through his callous heart.
In a last reflex with shock-widened eyes, Broc dropped his sword and gripped the edges of Robert’s blade. His lips formed a tight open circle as if a word hung there, frozen in time.
As the life faded from his rightfully tortured eyes, Robert spoke the last words Broc would ever hear. “The beginnin’ of Susanna’s life will now be celebrated. Yours is already forgotten.”
*
Susanna remained frozen in place behind the stable door, her breath held until pain forced her to suck air into her lungs, the occasional clang of steel and muffled grunts elevating her anxiety. She guessed the monk had engaged her father in battle, but even if he’d managed to steal Dougal’s sword, he still stood against four ruthless warriors. She made a silent prayer for the monk who’d shown surprising ability with a blade.
As quickly as the commotion began, it ended. After waiting but hearing nothing, she put her ear against the roughhewn surface of the door and closed her eyes in concentration.
A distant low mumble.
The crunching of snow.
Silence.
Solus nickered softly. She swallowed hard.
A pound on the door vibrated against her cheekbone and into her ear, and she jumped, startled. She glanced back at the grime-covered window and the tinder-dry walls of her hiding place, grimacing. Images of the fire she’d barely escaped threatened her without a single flame.
Determination rose up within her like no other force she’d ever known. Memories of Mama and Robert flashed into her mind. Good memories. Fragments of stolen time had brought her brief moments of happiness in a tragic life—and yet, they were enough.
She had lived and she had loved...and she’d been loved.
A lone tear drifted down her cheek as she remembered Robert staring down at her with the emotion blazing fiercely in his eyes. Her breath caught as she focused on his image, making certain Robert’s face was what she held onto until the bitter end.
She took a deep fortifying breath and shouted, “Set the place afire! I doona care. I’ll burn alive in here before I go anywhere with you!”
Another snow-crunched step. A single soft thud on the door.
“Susanna. Let me in.”
She gasped.
Robert!
“I promise not to take you anywhere, but please let me in. If you’re going to burn alive in there...let my body be the one to shield you and set you ablaze.”
Her throat seized at his words. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she struggled to move the first board aside. It fell to the earthen ground with a hollow thud. She kicked the other one aside, impatient to free the door.
She grasped the iron handle and yanked the door open. Robert’s forehead rested on the door, and he stumbled into her open arms.
“My father? Dougal?” She leaned to the side, glancing around, trying to see beyond him.