“Because she’s on a much-needed grand adventure,” Cecille reminded, her gaze pained when she looked at her daughter. “Or should I say, finally breaking free from all that held her back? Fighting her oppressors the only way she knows how?”
“Yet ye sit here so calmly,” he grumbled.
“You have no idea how I sit here,” Cecille’s voice wobbled with emotion. “All I know is Greer cannot go forward without going back. Nor can she free herself without facing her fears. Even if those fears are in the form of an uncle who’s but a fraction of the monsters she’s seen, yet a monster all the same.”
“Wise words,” Adlin murmured, listening to Alfred’s explanation that he got Greer away from the Scot, but it hadn’t been easy. The fighting had been overwhelming. He wasn’t sure who lived or died. All he knew was Greer wanted to flee, so he saw her safely here.
“For if ever a lass is facing her fears, ’tis your wife, Teagan.” Adlin nodded with approval. “Ye should be verra proud.”
He was, but that didn’t make this any easier. He envisioned Greer coming out of her shell as time went on, not thrusting her shell aside altogether and doing something so bold and dangerous. But then he shouldn’t be all that surprised considering how quickly she was blossoming. How eager she seemed to break free.
“So, you managed to break off from your mother and the Scotsman?” Randolph went on, responding to whatever tale Greer and Alfred spun. “Because they chose to fight Bartholomew when he came for you?”
“I tried to sooner.” Greer inhaled a choppy breath and staggered a little as though exhausted. “But that man…” She released a broken sob. “That Scottish beast was just as you claimed these Scots to be.” Another broken sob. “He did things to me…”
“Oh, goodness, child!” Randolph’s gaze skirted over his men, his worry clearly not for what she’d suffered but that her reputation might be tarnished. If that happened, she could no longer make a beneficial marriage.
“Come sit and rest.” Randolph urged her to sit beside him, coaxing her to say what he wished. To retell her tragedy to suit his needs. “Tell me what happened, dear niece. Tell me how these awful Scots nearly ruined you, but alas, did not have you in the end.”
Adlin snorted softly and shook his head at Cecille and Teagan. “He really is a bit of a nefarious character, is he not?”
“He is a bit of something,” Cecille replied, disgusted. “He’s a tedious, horrid man.”
“Well, of course, I fought them off before Bartholomew and his men arrived,” Greer said in response to her uncle’s statement about the Scots not ultimately having her. Her eyes widened, and her hand went to her heart. She sounded wounded and distressed. “Surely, such is not in question? Surely, you do not think I would allow one of these heathens to…” She squeezed her eyes shut as if truly pained before she looked at Randolph again. “I hope you don't think poorly toward my good honor?”
“Oh, but she is my daughter,” Cecille praised on a whisper. “Just listen to her.”
Teagan was. Closely. And was impressed.
Nevertheless.
Was Randolph buying it? Or was he biding his time? There was no trusting the man. He was an equally efficient actor. A genuine liar.
“’Tis going too smoothly,” Malcolm murmured, as though reading his mind. “I dinnae like it.”
“Nor I.” Teagan narrowed his eyes on the men surrounding Randolph, then those at nearby campfires. “Something is amiss.”
“’Tis,” Malcolm agreed. His gaze skirted the wood line, his instincts as attuned as Teagan’s. “What, though?”
“What indeed?” Cecille frowned. “Randolph seems quite taken by Greer’s tale.”
“He does,” Teagan eyed the Sassenach again, “seems that way.”
“I would never think any ill-will toward your good honor, my dear niece,” Randolph said, pulling them back to the ongoing conversation. “I would, however, wonder at the man who stumbled into my camp early this morn who told a different story entirely.”
Greer barely had a chance to look surprised before Randolph yanked her to her feet, put a knife to her throat, and narrowed his eyes on the dark woodland around him.
“Show yourself, sister,” he called out. “Show yourself, you traitorous bitch!”
“Here I am,” Cecille called back, standing without hesitation.
Teagan and Malcolm started in different directions, doing what they often did during war. Hoped for the best but prepared for the worst without saying a word.
While Teagan’s terror for Greer cut to his core, his instincts kept him moving. Thinking clearly. Covering ground stealthily. Quickly and without sound.
Randolph would never see him or his brother coming.
“I’m here, brother,” Cecille called out again, heading Randolph’s way. “Let her go.”
Her brother chuckled and eyed the forest, warning his men to be at the ready. They were likely surrounded, but not to worry, he still had the upper hand.
Meanwhile, Alfred went for his blade.
Randolph narrowed his eyes. “I would not do that.” His dark gaze flickered to his sister. “Tell whoever you have with you to throw down their weapons and step into the light, and I will let Greer go.” He pressed the blade tighter to Greer’s throat. “Otherwise, your daughter dies.”
“Dies over my dead body,” Teagan nearly ground out but bit his tongue and stayed to the shadows, drawing ever closer, just like Malcolm did from the other side.
“Throw down your weapons,” Cecille called out obediently, her voice shaky. Unlike Greer, she wasn’t acting, but he didn’t blame her. Randolph pressed the blade so tightly against Greer now, blood trickled down her neck.
The same delicate neck he’d worshiped the night before. The same soft, vulnerable skin. His heart slammed into his throat at the thought of never tasting her again. Never hearing her soft voice. Seeing the compassion in her eyes when she cried over his scars.
“Nay,” he cursed, unable to hold back anymore. Knowing, without question, he was losing control. But the thought of losing her made him physically ill. Lethally enraged. Unable to see reason.
Even as he knew full well he wasn’t close enough to them yet.
Nonetheless, he aimed his dagger, ready to throw, only for someone else to whip two of theirs first. Not Malcolm either. Nay, these were different, the marksmanship flawless. One pinned the exact spot just above Randolph’s elbow that made him drop the knife to Greer’s throat. The second sliced clean through the side of Randolph’s neck.
A sizeable warrior around Adlin’s age with silvery black hair and familiar blue eyes stepped into the light. His identity, as it happened, stunned every last person there, including, interestingly enough, Randolph’s warriors.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Greer blinked, not sure she saw correctly. Could it be? Was it really him?
“Stand down!” Their hero pointed his blade at Randolph’s men before they thought to take action. “You know who I am, so you know who’s in charge now.”
Teagan joined Greer and pulled her close, his blade at the ready even as he held a scrap of plaid to her wounded neck.