Page 15 of Wolf Pack

If the Vikings did return, they would all be in danger. However, Alasdair wondered where the lass and lad had comefrom. One minute, the guard was leaning against the prow of the ship, and the next, the woman was cutting him down.

Alasdair’s foot pushed a rock loose, and it bounced against the cliff face all the way to the beach. Instantly, he stilled and so did every man descending the cliff with him. The roar of the waves hitting the beach must have drowned out the sound because no one reacted—not the guard or the prisoners.

All except the woman and her companion. Both jerked their attention from the guard to him.

Could they see Alasdair hanging on the cliff face, waiting to move again? Or the others with him, pausing to see if anyone reacted to the falling rock?

Then Alasdair continued the descent. It was too dangerous to be caught hanging there, should the Viking possess a bow and shoot him full of arrows. However, he seemed to be armed only with a sword and an ax.

A couple of the women prisoners were softly crying, and so was a young girl. They had to rescue them no matter what. Then he saw Rheba. Relief to see her alive washed over Alasdair, though he feared for her safety and the others should the Vikings return to the cliffs and their ships.

Alasdair and the rest of the men were climbing down far away from the prisoners so as not to alert them to their presence and cause an outcry, warning the guard of their presence. The scent of saltwater and seaweed mixed with the musky smell of sweat and fear filled the air. It was a familiar smell to Alasdair, associated with danger and adventure.

The rough rocks scraped against Alasdair's calloused hands as he descended the cliff. The cold, damp air clung to his skin, and the rocks were just as wet, making the climb even more hazardous. His foot slipped twice, and he lost his grip near the bottom, his heartbeat pounding even harder.

When he reached the base of the cliff, he crouched in the darkness and waited for the others to join him. The men moved in absolute silence, their feet making no sound as they carefully picked their way down the cliff. Their mission was urgent, their success a matter of life and death.

They had to kill the remaining guard, torch the ships, and get the villagers to the safety of his keep before the rest of their clansmen returned. But the one Alasdair wanted to take to his castle the most was the young lass with the gleaming sword, the most dangerous woman he’d ever seen.

Clouds covered the dark sky, and no moonlight shone through. Rain would begin soon. He could smell it in the air. Climbing the cliff would be even more dangerous, especially for the prisoners.

Alasdair and the rest of the men with him all focused on the guard. Like a silent predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike, Alasdair was poised to spring from the spot where he crouched. At least the giant of a red-bearded man wasn’t calling out to the other, to Alasdair’s relief.

Alasdair, Erik, and the rest of their men were still worried that the other marauders would return after discovering they couldn’t go after Alasdair’s people.

But earlier, one of Alasdair’s men had followed the marauders as a wolf and discovered they were attacking another town. He relayed the information to Alasdair. Hopefully, he and the others would have time to burn their ships and save the prisoners.

The guard detoured toward the hostages, and that’s when his side was to Alasdair rather than his face. Alasdair raced across the beach to kill him, his heart beating wildly.

At the last minute, the brigand turned and saw Alasdair, then pulled his shield. Quickly, Alasdair swung his sword across the guard’s throat, blood gushing from the wound.

His eyes wide with shock, the man covered his neck with his hand, the blood from his wound covering it, and swung his sword at Alasdair, but the damage had already been done. Alasdair was glad he wouldn’t live long. The guard staggered but tried to swing his sword again.

Alasdair knocked the sword from the marauder’s hand and stabbed him through the padded tunic all the way to his heart, then yanked his sword out. The man fell to his knees and then keeled over onto the beach dead.

Before Alasdair had even finished him off, Erik and the other men were cutting the prisoners loose—including the midwife in his pack, the only wolf among them—and moving them to the cliffs to begin the ascent.

Alasdair glanced in the sword-wielding lass’s direction, intending to bring her with them, but she and the lad had vanished.

Alasdair and Erik dragged the dead guard to the water and let the current carry him away. As weighed down as he was with his sword and an ax still tucked in his belt, he would sink to the bottom like the other guard would.

“Where is the woman and the lad?” Erik glanced around where they had seen them last.

“They vanished.”

Erik shook his head. “The fae.”

“Not after wielding her sword as she did.”

“The only ones I’ve seen who have wielded a sword like she does—” Erik said.

“Was a Viking shieldmaiden. However, this one was without her shield. She and the lad must have swum to the beach to reach the guard,” Alasdair finished.

“A rival clan?” Erik asked as he and Alasdair set the longships ablaze.

“Mayhap. Which means she would be our enemy still.”

As the bright orange flames licked hungrily at the longships, Erik and Alasdair quickly worked to set the rest of their captors free. The hostages were a mixture of ages and sizes, their clothes tattered and torn.

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