Page 71 of The Beast's Bride
Dropping her sword and shield, Rhona flew at him. One hand fastened around Dughall’s thick wrist, while the other grabbed a handful of hair near his brow-line and yanked, hard.
Dughall reared back, letting go of Taran. He and Rhona toppled backward onto the ground. He would have landed on top of her, if Rhona hadn’t twisted at the last instant. Still, the impact jarred her shoulder and hip.
Recovering swiftly from her attack, Dughall MacLean turned. When his gaze seized upon Rhona, and he realized who’d attacked him, a wild grin split his face.
Panic jolted through Rhona. There was madness in his eyes. He’d kill her, and then he’d finish off Taran. This was his revenge on them both for slighting him.
But to Rhona’s shock, he tossed the dirk aside. “MacLeod bitch,” he panted. “Ye have had this coming.”
And with that, he lunged for her, his big hands fastening around Rhona’s throat.
She reacted instantly the moment his fingers crushed her windpipe, driving her knee up into his cods.
Dughall let out a strangled cry and released her.
Rhona twisted out from under his heavy body and clawed herself away from him. However, he recovered from the blow to the groin faster than she’d anticipated. He landed upon her, flattening Rhona, face-down, to the ground. Air gusted out of her lungs. Winded, she scrabbled against the damp earth and tried to escape from under him.
But Dughall had pinned her fast to the earth; she wasn’t going anywhere. His hands fastened around her neck, his fingers clamping down like iron claws over her throat.
Chapter Thirty-one
Shadows
TERROR REARED UP within Rhona. She would die here, throttled by her former suitor. She wanted to use one of the tricks Taran had taught her, but it was impossible, for Dughall’s heavy body crushed her into the ground. She kicked and dug her toes into the earth, trying to push up against him, but it was no good. Her legs were useless.
A pressure grew in Rhona’s chest, and her ears started to ring. Twisting her head to the side, choking as his grip tightened, she caught sight of the dirk Dughall had tossed aside.
It lay within arm’s reach.
Her hands had been clawing at his fingers, trying to pry them free from her throat. Now, she flung a hand out to the dagger. Her fingers grasped the bone hilt.
She drove the dagger back, feeling it bite deep into flesh.
Dughall’s roar deafened her, but at that moment the iron band around her windpipe released.
Rhona drew in gulps of air. Her lungs burned. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly. That was because Dughall was still sitting on her back, crushing her against the earth.
And then, suddenly he wasn’t. The weight upon her chest lifted.
Still choking, Rhona rolled over.
Taran stood over them. His face was ashen, his eyes shadowed with pain. The short blade he held dripped with blood.
Dughall MacLean lay on the ground between them, thrashing as death came for him. His hands grasped around his ruined throat.
The hilt of the dirk Rhona had used against him protruded from his right thigh.
A sob rose in Rhona’s chest as she struggled to her feet. Too close. Moments more and Dughall would have choked her. Rhona’s legs trembled. A sob rose in her throat.
She tottered forward and collapsed into the cage of Taran’s arms.
Crows circled over the Vale of Hamra Rinner, dark silhouettes against a dull sky.
The dead lay scattered across the meadow, their blood soaking into the peaty earth. Chainmail glinted in the watery afternoon light. The MacLeods had won the battle. The Frasers had retreated, hauling their injured with them.
“I stuck that bastard,” Malcolm MacLeod announced. He limped toward where Rhona and Taran stood at the edge of the battlefield. Around them MacLeod, MacDonald, and Budge warriors combed the meadow for survivors and spoils of war. “May Morgan Fraser’s wounds fester before death takes him.” To emphasize his point, the MacLeod chieftain spat on the ground.
“Da split him open from hip to knee,” Iain announced. He followed behind Malcolm, his once shiny armor splattered with blood and gore. Rhona was impressed to see that her brother had proven his worth in the battle. He’d lost his sword though, and had finished the fight with a dirk. “He won’t survive such a wound.”
