Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(75)

She turned, fully intending to tell Graeme of her decision when a flash of movement caught her eye. She frowned and stared beyond Graeme to see a man on horseback coming just over the rise. He wore a helmet that made seeing his face impossible.

To her utter horror, he raised a crossbow and urged his horse forward.

She screamed a warning to Graeme, but he’d already heard the hoofbeats and turned rapidly, drawing his sword.

He yelled something. She could not see his lips, but the vibrations buzzed through her ears. Then he shoved her so she fell forward to the ground.

Eveline scrambled up, fearing the worst, her heart in her throat. The horseman pulled up a distance away and sent an arrow flying in Graeme’s direction.

“Nay!” she screamed.

Graeme flung himself to the side, sword still in hand, but the arrow caught him in the shoulder. He hit the ground with a thud and his head cracked against one of the jagged outcroppings that were scattered over the meadow.

She stood, terrified, staring at the horseman, knowing she could do nothing to prevent her own death. But her first instinct was to protect Graeme from further harm.

Screaming for help the entire way, she flew to Graeme, yanking at his heavy sword that now lay beside him. His eyes were closed and blood was smeared on the rock. The arrow protruded from his left shoulder and she knew it had nearly gone through because only a small part of the arrow remained outside his flesh.

Terror lending her strength, she pulled at the sword, managing to lift it high as she scrambled over his body to place herself between him and the intruder. The screams tore from her throat, painful and raw. One word over and over. “Help! Help!”

The horseman seemed spooked by her screams and he rapidly reined in his horse, turning him in the opposite direction, but not before Eveline saw the ornately decorated scabbard at his side.

It was unmistakable, the design that her father had commissioned for every senior Armstrong warrior. She went numb as realization barreled through her panicked senses. It was an Armstrong warrior who’d just attacked her husband, and he was even now riding as fast as his horse could run back toward Armstrong land.

CHAPTER 35

Eveline dropped the sword and turned to Graeme, who was still unconscious on the ground. She fell to her knees, hunched over him, unsure of what to do, whether she should touch him.

She put her hand to his head and gently turned it. All the breath left her body when she saw the gash where he’d hit the rock. Blood coated her fingers and she drew them away, staring in horror.

Oh God. Don’t die.

She wasn’t sure if she said the words or just thought them, but inside her head she was still screaming over and over.

What could she do? It was obvious no one had heard her cries for help. She looked back in the direction of the keep, but saw no one arriving to aid her. What if the archer came back? She couldn’t leave Graeme and yet she couldn’t lift him to get him back to the keep.

Her gaze lit on his horse, who’d evidently been spooked by what had occurred. He had run a short distance, but even now was making his way to his fallen master. His gait was agitated and he seemed nervous and wild-eyed.

The mere thought of trying to ride Graeme’s horse sent cold terror streaking through her veins, and yet she knew she had no other choice. It would take too long to run back to the keep. She couldn’t leave Graeme unprotected for that long. She had to bring help or he’d die here in the meadow.

Summoning every ounce of her courage, she ran toward the horse. But he shied and scrambled back a few paces as she approached, forcing her to slow to a walk. She held out her hand, murmuring soothing nonsense in an attempt to calm him.

After a moment she was able to draw close enough to take the reins, but he immediately shied again, and she nearly lost her grip as the reins sawed across her torn hands. Sheer determination enabled her to hold on when every instinct screamed at her to drop the reins and move as far away from the horse as possible.

“I need your help,” she said in a desperate voice. “Please, please let me mount.”

She knew her obvious fear wasn’t helping calm the horse any. Before he could bolt or she lost her courage, she grasped the saddle and swung herself up, her skirts tangling as she sought to right herself.

Grasping tight hold of the reins, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks and urged him forward. He rocketed forward, nearly unseating her, but she was determined to remain astride. Faster and faster she urged him, until they were streaking dangerously over the terrain and she was clinging to his back in a desperate bid not to fall off.

“Faster, please,” she whispered, her heart nearly bursting from her chest.

Never before had she been so terrified. Flashes of her last ride blew through her memory. The reckless fall she’d taken in the storm. Her terror at the idea of dying and never being found or of her kin coming across her broken body at the bottom of the ravine.

But she swallowed back her fear and focused on her goal of summoning aid for Graeme.

As soon as she neared the keep, she began yelling for Bowen and Teague. They’d help her. They’d not turn a deaf ear to her screams.

The gate, which had remained open because Graeme had been out riding, loomed, and she lowered her head until she was hugging the horse’s neck and urged him on faster, desperate cries tearing from her throat until each one sent agony through her vocal cords.

She thundered across the bridge and into the courtyard where Bowen, Teague, and dozens of other warriors had rushed upon hearing her cries for help. She knew not if the horse would even stop, and she realized that though she’d made it back to the keep, she could still die if the horse threw her.