Page 20 of Beloved Enemy
“Christ,” he muttered, and faced Charlotte again, glancing back and forth between her and the coming party, trying to determine if she were safe here or not. He wrapped his hand around her neck and brought her forward. “Move cautiously around the tree as they near,” he said against her hair at her ear, barely above a whisper, “moving with them, to keep yourself always hidden.” She nodded jerkily and glanced up at him—he thought waiting on some assurance that all would be well. But he drew her near once again, her sweet-smelling hair brushingagainst his lips. “Nae matter what happens, dinna let them see ye. Dinna cry out. Dinna run, nae matter what. Stay low and still.”
Another shaky nod answered and as he slowly backed away and released his hold on her neck, she whispered frantically, “Please be careful.”
’Twas an odd request. Fights were not made carefully, certainly not ambushes. They were brutal and required swift, ruthless action.
But then, no one had ever asked that he take care of himself in such a manner, and he was rather astounded by his own reaction to it. Her concern for his safety stirred something unfamiliar within him—an unexpected warmth and a greater sense of responsibility. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had expressed genuine worry about his well-being. His reaction was short-lived though as he believed he understood her underlying concern; as he had reason to keep Charlotte O’Rourke close, hoping she might be useful in discovering what had become of Marcus, so too, she likely had need of him.
I thought maybe because you had some experience in this phenomena, that maybe you would or could be helpful.
Little time did he have to dwell on her statement, though. The slowly moving party was creeping closer.
Reid turned his attention to the riders approaching through the woods. Nine in total, he counted now, they suddenly paused, their eyes scanning the dense forest. Reid suspected they’d noticed one of the Nicholsons or their horses, betraying their presence.
Deciding that this was the closest they would get without being fully discovered, he launched the attack with a sharp, guttural command. His men, twenty in total, erupted from their hidden positions, a coordinated burst of ferocity. As he raced toward the closest mounted reiver, he shouted for Artur tosound the horn so that an attack was made at the same time on the camp further ahead.
The forest was suddenly alive with the clash of steel and the shouts of combat and the dull shriek of Artur’s horn blow. Reid’s men descended upon the reivers with ruthless efficiency, though under less than desirable circumstances, giving up their position before it was ideal. Reid himself engaged two of the riders with deadly precision. The second one made the mistake of launching his own attack against Reid rather than riding away to save his life.
In the chaos, six of the reivers fell quickly to the onslaught, their cries silenced by the swift blows of Nicholson blades. Three more, seeing their comrades cut down, spurred their horses and fled, disappearing into the forest's depths.
It was over as quickly as it had begun, taking not more than two minutes.
“Eoin! Neil! Loys! Run them down!” Reid shouted, referring to the escaping reivers. “Seumas, ye and yer men with me!” He raced back to where Charlotte and his destrier were, untying the reins swiftly and vaulting into the saddle.
“Stay!” He commanded Charlotte, ignoring her fright-stricken green eyes. “Wait. I’ll nae be long.”
The destrier lifted his front hooves and pawed the air at Reid’s urgent command and sharp turn, but then they were off, headed to where the rest of the Nicholsons battled the six waiting reivers half a mile away.
Before he’d gone very far, he was visited by a moment’s regret for his error, for supposing that Charlotte actually would wait, that she would still be there upon his return. She might decide she’d seen enough of this century to be thoroughly terrified, imagining herself better off without him, especially since he had admitted he had no idea how to help her with her predicament. He cursed violently at his mistake, fearinghe would lose any opportunity to find Marcus if Charlotte disappeared, desperate to escape the trauma she’d endured—trauma for which he bore some responsibility.
It took longer than expected at the reivers' camp. Tavish and his men had slain four thieves and were now questioning a fifth, who was too badly injured, soon to be dead, to offer much useful information. Blood drooled from his open mouth as he stared at Tavish with contempt.
Neil had suffered a grievous wound, which required attention, and Reid did not return until Lachlan had come and the gash in Neil’s thigh had been properly attended. He waited until all were ready and Neil was helped into the saddle, wanting to keep this party together now, before returning to the site of the first skirmish, where he’d left Charlotte.
Dread sat heavy in his stomach as he rode, guilt gnawing at him for not having given more thought to Charlotte as a means to find Marcus. He expected to find nothing but an empty spot and possibly his discarded plaid where he had left her. And initially, that was what he discovered, no sign of her peeking out from beyond that oak tree.
“Charlotte,” he called loudly.
He understood that in all good conscience he couldn’t let her go off alone. He would be compelled to fetch her to ensure her safety.
But then a face peeked out from behind the tree a moment before he came abreast of it. Bright green eyes brimmed with relief.
“Oh, thank God. I couldn’t see who was coming,” she said, slightly breathless. “I thought you were the bad guys.”
She moved away from the tree, stepping over and around the brush and bracken to reach him.
“Is it done?” She asked and then glanced behind him, at the small army in his wake. “And everyone is all right?”
Reid nodded curtly. “Few scrapes and cuts,” he answered mechanically. “Neil suffers a deep gash, bound to cause him pain, but aye, nae one lost.”
Relief washed over him, but he didn’t know why he felt it so strongly. It confused him, this unexpected emotion. He prided himself on being pragmatic and unemotional, a leader who didn’t let personal feelings interfere with his duty. Yet, seeing her there, unharmed and waiting for him, stirred something inside him. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she had listened to him, had trusted him enough to stay put despite her fear.
She offered a wobbly smile, cocooned yet in his breacan. “That’s good news,” she said.
It was then, when she was but a few feet away that he noticed how pale she was, and how her gaze continued to flit nervously, on and off him. Remnants of what seemed raw fear tightened her expression, making it abundantly clear that she had been terrified while he was gone, and that her relief now was genuine and profound.
“I kent ye’d have run off,” he admitted quietly. “To have done with...all this.” He waved his hand in an arc, to indicate those dead bodies that were visible even as the shadows deepened as evening set in.
Wordlessly, she tapped her breacan-enclosed fingers against her chest, as if to say,“Me?”
