Page 15 of My Scot, My Surrender
“An annulment is no longer an option.”
Coxley stopped his horse, and Malvern’s livid glare came back to rest on Brandt.
“Well then, Pierce, as you’ve already done your duty as husband, I will take pleasure in making my future bride awidow.” He paused, a slick grin thinning his lips, and then he repeated what he’d ordered earlier. “Take up a weapon.”
The man was tenacious, Brandt would give him that.
“Lord Malvern!” Gavin shouted from his saddle. “There will be no bloodshed upon sacred ground.”
Malvern’s men eyed one another, then roared with laughter.
“It’s an inn, not a church,” one of them shouted back.
Gavin extended his arm, an adamant finger pointing to the gray stone exterior of the building that flanked the other side of the stable yard. Brandt felt like clapping Gavin on the shoulder. “Thatis a house of the Lord, sir, and ye’re standing upon consecrated ground,” Sorcha’s cousin said, while Brandt’s eyes shot to the narrow opening between the stables and the corner of the church.
Quickly, while Malvern’s men shouted foul objections to Gavin’s claim, Brandt determined the layout of Selkirk’s village, its proximity to the nearest copse of trees, and the forested hills beyond. He had a brace of pistols, his boot dirk, and a sword sheathed in the harness of his saddle along with a quiver and two dozen arrows.
He could stay and fight Malvern, but his senses warned that there was absolutely no way for him to win, not here. Not on Malvern’s terms. If Brandt knew anything, it was to trust his instincts.
“You heathen bastards wouldn’t know God if he kicked you in the arse,” Malvern muttered, but he turned up his nose at Gavin’s pious claims and speared Brandt with a venomous glare. “Follow me to the paddock opposite the smithy.” His eyes flicked to Sorcha. “Leave the Beast here.”
Brandt held Malvern’s stare another moment and nearly gave in to the desire to ignore instinct, and stay and fight. He wanted to break every single tooth inside the man’s arrogant mouth. The marquess and his men turned and rode out of the stable yard. No doubt he was currently instructing his soldiers to circle the village to cut Brandt off should he cower and run.
Sorcha gripped Brandt’s elbow, and he could feel the tremor in her hand. Glancing back at her, he saw her eyes had rounded into alarmed orbs. Before, she had merely appeared paralyzed by frustration and disgust for Malvern, but now she suddenly seemed wary and afraid.
Forme, Brandt realized.
“What are you going to do?” she said. “You can’t mean to duel him.”
He shook his head. No, he didn’t plan on being so agreeable. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of Malvern’s men loosed an arrow straight to the middle of his back. His gaze slipped to the muscled gray stallion at her side. And he didn’t plan on losing his hard-won gains, either. He needed a way out of this stable yard—and he needed to take Sorcha and Lockie with him.
“Get on your horse,” he said as softly as possible. “Be ready.”
Obeying his command, Sorcha climbed into her saddle and wrapped her fists around the reins. He pulled himself up onto Ares’s back and met Sorcha’s wide, intense eyes.
“I need you to trust me, Sorcha,” he said, but before he could explain, Finlay rode to his side. Evan was busy riding between the other men, giving terse orders.
“He willnae let ye live, Pierce, ye ken,” Finlay said. “He’ll cheat ye.”
“I know.”
Finlay jerked his chin at Sorcha. “The lass will stay with me.”
“Like hell.” Brandt wrapped his hands around one of Sorcha’s reins. “I don’t know what Malvern did to crush your ballocks and your spine, but it’s clear he owns you. She stays with me.”
Finlay grit his teeth, his jaw muscles jumping, but Brandt didn’t have time to argue. “I’ll ride for the northern woods. If you want to keep your sister safe, we’ll need a distraction. A big one.Now.”
Brandt tugged on Sorcha’s reins and dug his heels into Ares’s ribs. His horse leaped in response, and with a yelp of surprise from Sorcha, they rode toward the narrow opening between the stables and the church. Once they cleared it, Brandt saw the side street was packed with market vendors for the festival. Ares and Lockie weren’t the only horses in the crowd, but they both stood out. Ares especially.
“What are we doing?” Sorcha asked, her voice rising.
Brandt hushed her before he darted his eyes up and down the street, searching for Malvern’s armored men. The paddock Malvern had indicated wasn’t far on the western side of the village, and well within view of the copse of trees into which Brandt was aiming to escape.
As they picked their way up the street toward a knoll of green grass and beyond that, a thick cluster of whitebeams, Sorcha tugged the rein he still had in his grip. “I can direct my own mount.”
“He’s mine, remember?” he replied with a sideways curl of his lips that made Sorcha growl under her breath.
“Yes, of course I remember,” she snapped. “We’re both your property now.”
