Page 160 of Bride of Ice
Chapter 41
Colban was not happy. True, with blunted weapons, the melee was more like a rough game than a mock battle. But Hallie was in the thick of it, putting herself and her babe at risk.
He could see why no one had noticed Hallie’s condition. The lass might look slightly thicker around the middle, but her cotun and chain mail hid it well.
He shuddered. The blades might be blunted. But some of the combatants dealt out rib-bruising, bone-breaking blows. And since only Isabel and a handful of maidservants knew Hallie’s secret, none of the Rivenloch clan were exercising extra caution. Someone needed to protect her.
Maneuvering close, he made it his duty to watch over her. In turn, she seemed to be watching over Brand.
To Colban’s pride and chagrin, Brand used Colban’s shield trick to knock the de Ware knight off his feet. Meanwhile, Hallie held off the Nubian knight long enough so Brand could retrieve his shield. Colban in turn protected Hallie from a fierce attack by the Hun descendant.
So intent was Colban on both defending himself and looking out for Hallie that he didn’t at first notice the strange commotion at the far end of the field.
The sound started as a series of startled shrieks and then quickly rolled across the field like thunder as the fighters began bellowing in outrage and confusion. Peering over the heads of the other knights, Colban saw warriors surging rapidly outward in retreat, as if a wild boar had been dropped in their midst.
He turned to locate Hallie. But she’d disappeared.
Scanning the crowd, he spotted her. Rather than fleeing with the others, the intrepid lass was heading straight toward the danger.
“Bloody hell.”
Narrowing his eyes above the oncoming wave of warriors, Colban glimpsed the flash of a claymore. Not a blunted sword meant for a friendly melee. But a killing weapon sharpened to dole out death. Already, its silver edge dripped with blood.
Colban didn’t think. He reacted.
Fighting his way through the retreating knights, he cursed as he saw the claymore rise and fall, over and over, hacking out destruction. A handful of fighters were trying to stop the murderous man wielding the weapon. But their blunted blades were useless against him.
As Colban struggled forward, he saw fallen and injured knights. Sir Rauve. Hallie’s father. Several of the mac Giric clan.
The man was swinging his claymore in an arc like a reaper, heedless of where it landed. Most knights leaped out of the way. A few brave souls tried to engage him. But they were repelled by the wounding blows of his great weapon.
Then, just as the claymore lifted high in the air again, young Gellir rushed in to attack the rogue warrior.
“Nay!”
Colban hurtled forward. But time dragged at his heels. His sabotons tore up chunks of sod. His armor clanged as he shouldered knights out of the way. But already the deadly claymore was reversing direction, plunging toward Gellir.
He’d never arrive in time to save the lad.
Laird Deirdre would.
With seasoned grace and speed, she thrust her shield between her son and the claymore an instant before the blade would have split his skull. Still the power of the heavy sword pummeled the shield hard enough to knock Gellir to the ground and throw Laird Deirdre off-balance. She staggered to one knee.
The warrior withdrew his blade, preparing for a second blow, this one meant to hack the laird’s head from her shoulders.
With a savage roar, Colban leaped forward, blocking the claymore with his blade. The impact to the blunted weapon rattled his teeth and shuddered through his bones. But he managed to deflect it enough to save Laird Deirdre.
Then he faced the wild Highlander alone.
The man was tall and broad of shoulder, though not as big as Colban. He was clad in weathered leather and chain mail stained with blood. The sounds issuing from the shadows of his helm were like the groans and growls and snarls of a feral beast.
Colban didn’t wait. He lunged forward with his weapon, hoping to pierce the man’s heart by force before he came round with the claymore. But the warrior threw off Colban’s blade with as much ease as tossing off a cloak.
Recovering, Colban swiftly attacked again, this time with a powerful strike at the man’s sword arm, trying to disarm him and keep the others safe.
Any other man would have dropped his weapon instantly. He’d hit the rogue with enough force to numb his arm, if not break it.
But something was wrong with the savage. Like a Viking berserker, feeling no pain, either drunk or enraged or suicidal, he continued with his aggression, wildly swinging his blade at everything in his path.
