The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(122)

How long before they realized she was gone? Would someone miss the serving girl? Had she tied the bindings tight enough?

So many things could go wrong. She prayed for a miracle.

Instead, a few hours later—thanks to an inquisitive kitten with the loudest meow she’d ever heard—she was discovered. She kept trying to shoo the pesky ball of fluff away, but it kept coming back. A soldier saw it and decided to investigate when the kitten refused to heed his bidding.

Wrenched from her hiding place, she found herself facing a young knight. Short and broad-shouldered, he had a flat face and crude features, but his eyes gleamed with intelligence. Unfortunately, he hadn’t drunk nearly enough wine.

“What are you doing, hiding in the dark?” he demanded.

She struggled to come up with a plausible explanation while her heart was pounding in her throat. “I …” She forced an innocent smile to her lips and batted her lashes. “I’m meeting someone.”

The feminine ploy failed miserably. His gaze sharpened. “Who?”

“Edward,” she said quickly. Surely, there had to be an Edward? People always named their children after kings, and Edward Plantagenet had been king for more than thirty years.

“Edward who?”

Nettles! Of course there had to be more than one. When she hesitated, he dragged her out to the torchlight and called out to the three other soldiers stationed at the gate. “Do any of you know this lass?”

One of them did. A soldier who’d been on the galley with her said, “She’s the lass we captured. Fraser’s gel.”

No! She’d come this close; she couldn’t bear to think that she wasn’t going to make it. This was her only chance. Next time, her keepers wouldn’t be so lax. She tried to pull away, but the soldier’s hand was like a vice.

“Please,” she begged, “I need to get back to my duties—”

A terrifying cry pierced the blistery night air. They all turned in the direction of the motte and tower house.

She sucked in her breath.

The soldier dropped her arm.

But she moved back toward him, instinctively shirking something far more terrifying than English soldiers.

Hell had opened its gates and unleashed a demon army. The four warrior wraiths descending on them were the fodder of nightmares. Covered head to toe in black to blend into the night, supernaturally tall and muscular, they tore down the stairs, swords raised, ready to wield the devil’s own fury with each swing of the fearsome blade.

Instead of tabards and mail they wore black war coats and dark plaids belted around them in a strange fashion. Even their faces beneath the ghastly nasal helms were covered, not in the blue woad war paint of the ancient Gael, but in ash. Only a flash of white pierced the darkness.

Dear God, the fiends are smiling!

Her gaze was riveted on the fearsome warrior leading the lightning charge. There was something …

A whisper of awareness slid down her spine. He was virtually unrecognizable, but she knew him. Her husband had come for her.

The English didn’t know what to do. The soldiers stood there stunned, as Christina, mindful of the danger, slid out of the way of the charging warriors. She’d barely taken a few steps before pandemonium exploded around them—literally.

A series of loud booms shattered the night, horrible sounds that struck terror in their wake. She’d never heard anything like it. It sounded like thunder and lightning, but the sky was perfectly clear.

She heard the whiz of arrows fired over her head, and the four soldiers guarding the gate fell in quick succession. A moment later a warrior with a bow slung over his back jumped from the stable roof, the gate was opened, the drawbridge was down, and more of her husband’s men were storming into the chaotic bailey.

Men were running everywhere, pouring out of the barracks and tower house above to see what was happening. Tor and his warriors fought like men possessed, cutting down all who stood in their path. The speed and ferocity of the attack was incredible. The stunned Englishmen didn’t stand a chance.

Christina saw the cruel captain who’d killed Tor’s men and captured her nearly cut in two by one powerful slash of her husband’s great sword.

She turned away, having no stomach for death even when it was warranted.

The sky lit up as fires broke out all around them. Animals joined the human menagerie looking for escape. She was very nearly trampled by a horse, but a firm hand plucked her out of harm’s way.

Tor. Before she could throw herself into his arms, he spun her to the side and with one hand hacked down a soldier who’d come up behind her.

But the chaos was dying down. Her husband and his men had already dispatched most of the soldiers in the bailey. A new wave of Englishmen tried to storm down the stairs from the tower house above, but as they crossed the bridge over the ditch, Tor’s men were waiting to cut them down one by one. Realizing what was happening, someone—probably Lord Seagrave—gave the order to retreat to the tower house. The men outside were left to their fate as the door to the peel closed behind them.

Christina threw her arms around her husband, burying her face against his chest, too relieved to care about the mud and grime covering him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come in time.”

He pulled her back, cupped her chin in his gauntleted hand, and gave her a kiss that was so fierce and desperate it left her breathless and momentarily stunned. She dare not allow herself to hope.