Page 68 of Kilted Seduction
No one noticed her flight as she slipped away, blending into the wild, twisting shadows. No one, save one pair of very familiar eyes, watching her from nearby, amid the dense foliage. Thora made her way toward them.
Aedan stepped back as she joined him amid the heavy branches of ivy hanging nearby. “Ye did it.”
“Nae just yet. We’ve escaped our bonds, but we’re nae safe.” Thora took his hand. “We need tae get out o’ here, see if we can find Mac.”
Together, the two of them edged around the camp, toward the road that they hoped would lead them back toward the town and Castle Cameron, if they travelled hidden alongside it.
No one seemed to pay heed to them. They made it to the outer edge of the fire light from the camp. Thora felt the first stirring of hope.
Then a trio of shadows emerged from the flickering light, and Lachlan Ross stepped into their path, a cruel grin on his cold features. “I thought I saw ye. And now, I’ll make sure ye cannae escape again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Aedan stared at Lachlan Ross and felt true hatred stirring in his heart. The man who had nearly destroyed his clan and left it destitute with his machinations, and who had attempted to take Thora. Even if she was not his wife, he not only cared for her deeply but she was also her own woman, and he knew that Lachlan Ross would have claimed her, with or without her consent.
And that Lachlan Ross would have betrayed him and sent his warriors against him, regardless of their alliance. The man was a snake, through and through. Aedan wasn’t sure he would even heed the commands of a king. Far more likely, he’d try to find a way around them.
Aedan was no longer certain he was willing to wait for honorable and peaceful means.
Lachlan laughed. “Ye’re outnumbered and outmatched, Laird Cameron. But if ye leave the lass with me and swear yer fealty, then I might let ye live.”
“I’m nae of a mind tae dae either.” Aedan growled the words.
“Then ye’ll die here.” Lachlan raised his blade, and his men began to close in around them.
Aedan looked around and tried to count his opponents, but there were too many and they were moving too quickly to be able to do so. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, the twinge of anxiety at realizing all odds were against him being diffused by the intense rage bubbling up from inside of him.
He struck out his arm and started turning on the spot, observing each and every man that was threatening him. His heart was beating fast but he was determined to save Thora from that man and to avenge his clan. He then raised his sword when he saw one of the men preparing to strike.
Just then, the sound of pounding hooves split the night. The next moment, several riders thundered into the clearing. One of them was a familiar figure wearing Cameron tartan. The others wore the colors of Clan MacLeod.
“Thora!” The man in the lead dove from the saddle and stormed forward, knocking men aside like saplings.
“Domhnall…” That was all Aedan had time to hear Thora say before Lachlan lunged at him. Steel crashed on steel as he parried Lachlan’s blow.
The laird of Ross clan looked maddened, his face twisted with fury. “How dare ye! Ye betrayed me!”
“I didnae, but I ken that ye intended tae betray me. I heard the words ye spoke outside yer library. Ye impoverished me clan, and ye would choose tae bring war tae us, unless I crawl at yer feet. I’ll nae permit that fate fer meself or me clan folk.”
Lachlan lunged at him again, and Aedan found himself locked in combat with the older laird for the second time in as many days. And at a disadvantage. Lachlan was not nursing cracked ribs, nor a sore head, and he hadn’t suffered from being tied to a tree.
Even so, Aedan was faster, and he was no longer constrained to fight with the courtesy of a ‘friendly match’. He was free to match Lachlan blow for blow, and strike for strike.
Lachlan feinted high, then swung low to try and cut him off at the knee. Aedan dodged the low blow and responded with a stab of his own. The two of them locked blades, then disengaged and began to circle.
Dimly, Aedan was aware of Mac and the other men striking down Lachlan’s warriors. He was aware of one of the men in MacLeod tartan going to Thora’s side. That was all he had time to be aware of, before he had to focus on Lachlan and block an overhand strike that would have split his skull if it had landed.
He blocked, struck back, and locked blades with Lachlan again. He kicked out at Lachlan’s knee, mimicking the trick Lachlan had used on him during their last match, but the older laird waswise to it and avoided the blow, while responding with a second strike that thudded against his already bruised ribs. Aedan grunted and reeled away.
Lachlan tried to follow up with a stab to eviscerate him, but he dodged and struck back. They clashed again, blades ringing against each other.
In better circumstances, he might have triumphed more easily, but he was wounded and weary, and it was a telling handicap. Still, Aedan refused to let himself be daunted. He refused to yield. He poured all his fury, all his regret, all his frustration and all his love into his blows.
And Lachlan faltered. It was just for a moment, barely more than a breath, but Aedan had been waiting for such a break in his concentration. He drove forward, batting aside Lachlan’s sword arm with one fist. The laird dropped his weapon, an expression of surprise combined with anger on his face and lunged at him. But Aedan was close enough to strike him and drove his own blade home. The sword punched into Lachlan’s chest and shredded his heart before exiting his back in a spray of crimson.
“Ye bast–”
Lachlan Ross collapsed to the ground, dead before he even fell.
