The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(117)

“I said I would come to you, and I shall,” Kenneth responded. He hadn’t said anything about surrendering. If Felton wanted him, he was going to have to take him.

But first, Kenneth was going to ensure Felton didn’t change his mind and go after Mary.

Holding the torch in front of him so they could see him, Kenneth walked toward Felton. He stopped about ten feet away, making sure he was between Felton’s men and the bridge. He glanced down, seeing the thin line of black powder between his feet—unnoticeable, unless you were looking for it.

He sure as hell hoped this worked. He wouldn’t have long once he lit the fuse, so to speak.

“Toss down the torch,” Felton ordered.

Kenneth did as he ordered, making sure the torch was close enough to his feet to maneuver toward the powder when he was ready.

“Seize him,” Felton ordered the two men closest to him. Kenneth let them approach, then grab him from either side. “You five,” he pointed to a group of men at his right, “go after the lady.”

David gasped behind him. “But you gave your word to let her go.”

Felton’s gaze turned to the young earl’s. “This man is under arrest; he is in no position to bargain.”

Fortunately, Kenneth had expected Felton’s breach, even if young Atholl had not. With a roar, he attempted to break free of his captors, lifting and wrenching his arms at the same time that he kicked the torch across the line of powder.

It didn’t catch.

“Hold him!” Felton yelled. “Quick, get something to secure him with.”

A few more men rushed forward to do his bidding.

Kenneth knew he was going to have to improvise. He needed to get that powder lit, but the two men holding him were strong and proving surprisingly capable. With his arms secured, he had to use his feet—and quickly, before the other men were able to restrain him with the chains.

He used the heel of his boot to kick one of the men’s legs, and then immediately moved that foot behind the weakened leg to knock him completely off balance. The soldier went down, dragging Kenneth and the other soldier along with him. Taking advantage of their surprise, he wrenched his arms free before he hit the ground. His gauntleted fists wouldn’t do much lasting injury to the mail-clad soldiers, but a few well-placed blows and kicks kept them out of his way for now.

He needed his sword. But first he reached for the torch, still near his feet, and set the flame directly to the line of powder. This time, it took.

A ball of bright yellowish-orange fire and billowing smoke started to race toward the bridge. He tried to follow it, but Felton’s men anticipated him.

There were enough of them to slow him down, especially since he was unarmed. He dodged more than one deadly swing of a sword.

He wasn’t able to reach his sword before the night exploded—or more accurately, the half-dozen bags of Sir Adam’s black powder that Kenneth had packed under the bridge exploded. The blast of the fire pushed them all back.

His plan had worked exactly as he’d hoped, except for one thing: he was supposed to be on the other side of the bridge. The powder had exploded too quickly.

Bloody hell, he couldn’t have actually expected this to be easy!

It appeared he was going to have to fight his way out. Him against … he counted eighteen men. Unfortunately, his sword was now out of reach, engulfed in smoke. A problem he was able to rectify when one of Sir John’s men came rushing toward him, sword high above his head. Kenneth kept his eye on the blade, waiting until the man was fully committed, before spinning out of the way at the last minute. The momentum of the soldier’s blow swung him around and Kenneth took advantage of his unprotected side, pummeling him in the lower back, kicking his feet out from under him, and then stomping on the wrist that held the sword to free it.

Armed and better able to defend himself, he took position near the burning bridge and let Sir John’s men come. At first, it was one at a time, but with one after another of the men ending up at his feet, they increased their numbers, sending two, three, and then four at once against him. Yet with smoke and fire at his back, they could not circle around him.

Kenneth fought like a man possessed. His sole focus was ridding himself of these men, getting on the other side of the river, and catching his wife before she sailed away without him.

He was well on his way to joining her. There were only a half-dozen men remaining, not including Felton and young David.

Felton was furious. Kenneth could hear him screaming at his men, ordering them to keep attacking, to take him, to kill him.

Felton must have saved his best men for last. The six came at him at once—as a unit. Kenneth tried to fight them off, but they were pushing him back. He was getting closer and closer to the edge of the river. He picked up a pike from one of the men who’d fallen at his feet, using it to keep the men far enough back. They weren’t attacking, they were pressing. He waited for a hole, but they weren’t giving him one.

Damn it. He swore, knowing he had to think of something fast. It was like a wall of steel coming toward him, and he had nowhere to go. He needed to break their formation. Choosing the second man from the left, he threw the pike at his head with enough force to knock him back. He feigned in the opposite direction, giving the attackers an irresistible opening. One took it. The moment he did, Kenneth reacted. He swung his sword in a deadly arc, cutting the man off at the knee—literally. With a big enough hole to slide through, Kenneth was able to maneuver out of trouble.