Page 39 of Desire's Ransom
His four fellow knights came roaring around the bend in the road on foot in a roiling cloud of dust, brandishing their broadswords like avenging angels.
For an instant, Temair couldn’t breathe. Like charging berserkers, they were bearing down on her with such force and fury that she’d be trampled in another minute if she didn’t move.
Beneath her fear was an awful sense of betrayal. Damn that knight. She’d believed him when he’d said he’d left his men behind. But it had been a trick. And now she wasn’t convinced it hadn’t been a deadly deception.
Outnumbered, all she could do now was surrender and hope for their mercy. She didn’t have a choice.
Or did she?
The moment she dropped her bow to the ground, the knight raised his arm, commanding the others to stop their charge. Still several yards away, they slowed to a walk and sheathed their swords.
It was then Temair pulled down her mask and let out a loud whistle of her own.
The knight frowned at her, and she gave him a smug smile.
No doubt he expected a handful of woodkerns to come flying out of the trees. He probably figured they could be easily dispatched by his four armed and armored knights.
Instead, two gigantic wolfhounds, all churning limbs and snarling teeth, came boiling out of the woods.
“There!” she directed them, hurling an arm in the direction of the four knights coming down the road.
The hounds bounded toward the men at such speed that the knights had no time to draw their swords. They shrieked and scattered, leaping into the trees to escape the snapping jaws of the wolfhounds.
For a moment, the knight stood dumbfounded, staring at his treed and trembling men with his jaw agape.
Temair felt a surge of heady triumph. She’d bested him again.
Shaking his head, the man gave a sigh of surrender and reached into his pack where he kept his coins. He pulled out a small parcel tied with twine and set it on the ground. Then he gave a loud whistle, a perfect imitation of Temair’s whistle.
The hounds, fooled by the sound, perked up their ears.
“Nay,” Temair breathed in disbelief.
The man untied the twine and opened the parcel. Inside was something that looked suspiciously like salted pork.
“Nay,” Temair said more loudly as the hounds abandoned their prey and began trotting forward.
“Look what I have for you, pups,” the knight cooed fearlessly.
“Nay!” she shouted. “Nay, Bran! Nay, Flann!”
“Come on, lads,” the man called out. “That’s it. I’ve got something for you. Something that tastes much better than an English knight.”
Temair bit back a scream of frustration. She’d never felt so betrayed. Her hounds were completely ignoring her. Distracted by the scent of meat, they only had eyes for that damned knight.
He used a dagger to cut the meat in half while the dogs waited impatiently, drooling and licking their chops.
“There you go,” he said as the two disloyal hounds nosed forward, gobbling up the meat as if they hadn’t eaten for days.
Then, just to salt her wounds, the knight gave her hounds a good scratch behind the ears. They returned his gesture of affection, licking his face as if he were their new best friend.
“Ye bloody traitors,” Temair muttered at them in disgust. “Ye should be ashamed o’ yourselves.”
The knight laughed as the gangly wolfhounds slobbered all over him, nearly knocking him over in their enthusiasm.
Damn the unfaithful hounds. Their magnificent breed was used as war dogs in combat. They were fierce and powerful enough to drag a man in full armor off of his horse.
At the moment, however, Flann and Bran seemed more inclined to lick the man to death.
