Page 49 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance (Highland Revenge Trilogy #3)

R oland stepped closer, his breath ragged, a smear of dried blood across his jaw. “Don’t scream,” he warned. “I’ll cut you if you scream, try to run, or don’t obey my every word.”

Esme’s heart thundered as she simply nodded.

One step and he was on her, the cold press of steel meeting her side as he grabbed her arm and forced her down the stairs.

“Move,” he ordered.

She stumbled forward, nearly falling, the edge of the stone step slick with snow, if it wasn’t for his hand like a shackle on her arm.

“You’re going to be the price,” he hissed against her ear, “for all of it.”

She didn’t answer. She would not give him the satisfaction of showing fear.

Ryland still battled, believing her safe in the keep.

She had been foolish. She should have listened to him.

He would not know she was gone before it was too late.

She had no choice. She had to find a way to escape.

She had told him to survive, and she needed to do the same.

Enough snow covered the ground keeping them moving slowly as Roland dragged her around the side of the keep.

They crossed the frozen garden path, heading for the stone wall that lined the rear courtyard.

The woods loomed just beyond that, and she feared once they entered there, she might never escape him.

She glanced back over her shoulder, just once, hoping, but no one followed. She truly was on her own.

But someone saw them, a shadow watching.

Roland didn’t notice. He shoved her forward again toward the woods cursing under his breath as he slipped on a patch of ice.

He tightened his grip each time she tried to slow her steps, his fingers dug into her arm, forcing her to match his pace. The cold bit through her shoes. Her toes ached. But her mind raced faster than her feet. If she didn’t act now, she’d lose her chance.

Just before they reached the edge of the woods, Esme wrenched her arm hard to the side and kicked at the snow-covered ground. Her foot struck a buried stone, and she stumbled, falling hard onto her side.

Roland snarled and lunged for her.

Esme scrambled, slipping, gasping, and surging up, bolting toward the keep. If she could get around the side?—

A hand snared her cloak, yanked her backward, and before she could scream, she was slammed against a tree trunk, bark scraping her back through her garments.

“I said don’t run,” he growled, voice low, breath steaming the air between them. “I should cut you like I said I would, but that will come later. For now?—”

He backhanded her.

Stars burst behind her eyes, and her cheek felt like it was on fire, but she didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t give him that. She would not tremble in fear or plead for mercy. She would fight.

Once again, his fingers dug into her arm as he dragged her into the woods. “You’re going to beg for death before I’m done with you.”

The forest swallowed them, and Esme nearly lost all hope but the thought of never seeing Ryland again filled her heart with such pain that it revived her courage, her hope, and she kept alert, her mind turning with ways to escape and a silent prayer on her lips.

A voice suddenly rang out, sharp and sure. “Let her go.”

Roland froze and Esme along with him.

From the shadows stepped Hakon, tall and broad-shouldered, his expression cold as ice, and a large axe angled low at his side.

“Let her go. Or die where you stand.”

Esme’s breath caught, her legs nearly giving out with relief.

Roland let out a cold laugh and turned, dragging her partially behind him as he faced the northern chieftain. “You came alone, then?” He cast a hasty glance around, then grinned. “Brave, but foolish.”

“I came to end this,” Hakon warned.

Roland laughed and lifted his chin. At his signal, eight men stepped from the trees behind him, Rennoch warriors, hard-eyed and armed, fanning out like wolves circling prey.

“You’ll be dead before your blade swings, Northman.”

Hakon didn’t move, didn’t show an ounce of fear. “She’s not yours to take.”

Roland pressed the dagger to Esme’s side again, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “And yet I’ve taken her.”

Hakon’s grip tightened on the handle of his axe.

And just behind him, deeper in the woods… another shadow moved.

Roland’s blade pressed harder to Esme’s side, just enough for her to feel the threat behind his grin. “Nine against one,” he said with a shrug. “That’s poor odds, Northman.”

Hakon didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on Roland, unreadable. “I agree. It is poor odds… for you.”

One of the Rennoch warriors shifted just enough to draw attention, then lunged.

Hakon turned and swung, catching the man in the side with his axe before he could complete his swing. But the move exposed him for a single heartbeat.

A second Rennoch warrior darted in from behind.

A flash of movement, a quick jab to the neck, and the warrior staggered, then dropped.

Behind him stood Una, dagger in her hand, blood dripping from it. Her eyes never left Hakon as she muttered, “You’re welcome.”

Hakon grinned. “I knew you’d make a good wife.”

“In your dreams,” she called out as they both turned to face two more warriors.

Esme tried again to twist free, but Roland held fast, using her like a shield. “Kill him,” he spat to the others, eyes darting, calculating. “And her, whoever she is.”

A roar split the trees.

One of Roland’s men spun, too slow.

Dru flew through the air like a hawk diving on prey, her arms snapping around the warrior’s neck, legs locked at his waist. He shouted, flailed, and stumbled backward into a tree as she tightened her grip, fury in every muscle.

Esme gasped. “Dru?”

The warrior slammed against the trunk, trying to dislodge her, but she held on, growling, “You’ll not get my brother’s wife!”

Another warrior turned to rush her?—

A vicious roar echoed through the trees.

Knox barreled in from the side, sword high, eyes wild. He cut the first man down with one sweeping blow, then ducked beneath the second’s swing to drive his blade into the man’s ribs.

“Dru!” he shouted.

She released the warrior with a final jerk of his neck, and he collapsed. Dru dropped lightly to the ground, winded but grinning.

Knox delivered a fast blow to a warrior who stepped between him and Dru while Hakon and Una saw to the last two.

“Did I or did I not order you to remain home?” Knox said annoyed as he stepped over the fallen warrior toward his wife.

Dru rested her hands on her hips. “Sounds like you don’t know for sure what you told me. So, it’s a good thing I followed you.”

Knox shook his head and grabbed his petite wife around the waist to haul her up against him when a shout rang out and he turned with her in his arms.

“Enough!” Roland’s grip tightened on Esme.

Hakon went and stood beside Una and saw that her hand bled.

“You are hurt?” he asked.

“A scratch,” she said, her eyes on Esme and yelled, “We won’t let you take her.”

He dragged her backward, panic beginning to slip into his voice seeing his men had fallen around him. “I’ll kill her. Don’t think I won’t.”

A voice, deep and deadly calm, rang out. “You won’t get the chance.”

Esme’s heart lurched.

Ryland stepped from the trees like a shadow given form, his sword already drawn, blood staining the blade from the battle. His gaze locked on Roland, dark and merciless.

Roland’s smirked though it faltered.

“I should’ve cut your throat the day you attacked me at the celebration,” Ryland said.

“You would have if you were Torrance. I didn’t understand your generosity that day, though I appreciated it, and I understand it now, Ryland .

” He continued to grip Esme, keep her close, keep the dagger pressed against her.

“Clan Glencairn belongs to me. With Torrance dead, it left only you and Esme to kill. I was thrilled to hear earlier that you made it that much easier for me with Torrance dead.”

Ryland stood still, his eyes locked on him, wanting to keep him talking until he could figure out a way to get Esme free of him without her being harmed.

“What makes you think you have a right to rule Clan Glencairn?” Ryland demanded.

“I am a distant cousin to Torrance’s father. With Torrance gone and you, too make sure you were no threat to my claim—no relationship—which it appears you are, I would be heir to Clan Glencairn. But if I cannot have it, I won’t let you have what you obviously want.”

Roland moved the blade to Esme’s throat.

Ryland raised his hand. “Stop! Fight me for it. Win, and Glencairn is yours. You have my word on it and those around me witness to my promise. You will rule and Esme will return with me to Clan MacLeish.”

“And you will claim allegiance to me for all to hear,” Roland said as if he already tasted victory.

“Aye. You have my word,” Ryland confirmed.

Roland didn’t hesitate. With a forceful shove, he sent Esme tumbling away from him.

Roland roared, his eyes wild with fury as he charged at Ryland.

Their swords clashed with a jolt that rang through the trees, steel scraping as they locked and shoved. Roland fought with brute strength, pressing forward fast and hard, trying to overwhelm. Ryland didn’t back down. He fought with the strength of two men.

Blades sang again.

Esme got to her feet, her heart pounding.

Snow churned beneath their feet, their breaths harsh in the winter air.

The others stood firm, Knox keeping Dru locked against him, worried she would dive in and help her brother.

Una stood beside Hakon, both watching every twitch of Roland’s blade, but no one dared interfere.

This was Ryland’s fight, and he had given his word it was to be a fair one.

Roland struck low and Ryland blocked him.

“You never belonged here,” Roland snarled, lunging again.

“I always belonged here,” Ryland said, slamming his hilt into Roland’s ribs.

The man grunted, stumbled, but recovered quickly.

A flash of his blade caught Ryland’s side—too shallow to slow him, but it drew some blood.

Roland grinned, tasting victory and lunged.

With skill and speed, Ryland sliced across Roland’s shoulder, blood blooming.

Roland roared and came in swinging, reckless and wide.

A quick duck under the blade and a pivot, had Ryland driving his shoulder into Roland’s chest, sending him sliding back across the snow. Roland tried to recover, lifted his sword—but Ryland was already there.

Steel met steel one final time.

Ryland twisted his blade past Roland’s pitiful attempt to strike him, stepped in close, and with a swift, brutal motion—drove his sword through Roland’s gut.

Roland let out a sharp gasp, then a strangled breath. His sword dropped from his fingers, hitting the snow.

With the force of his blade, Ryland held him upright. “Your fatal mistake was taking the woman I love.” He yanked the sword free.

Roland crumpled to the ground, the snow catching his fall and turning red beneath him.

Silence settled over everyone, their eyes on Roland, all except Esme.

She stood frozen, breath visible in the cold, Ryland’s name soft on her lips.

He turned to her, his chest rising, blood on his tunic and he held his hand out to her.

She ran to him, and he caught her in his arms, hugging her tight.