Page 23 of Bride of Mist
It was rare that Dougal could be taken unawares. But the wee thief came at him before he could brace for the impact.
He’d assumed, once the lad had a full belly and was soothed of his anger, once he realized the disparity in their size, once he understood Dougal wasn’t going to fight him, he might take a few harmless kicks at the dust in frustration and slink off into the woods.
The last thing Dougal expected was to be bowled off the rock.
The lad was a scrappy thing. That was certain. Legs and arms twined about Dougal’s body like vines strangling a tree. Knees and elbows jabbed him with painful precision, bruising his flesh and nearly cracking his ribs. The lad scrabbled and scrambled at him with dogged persistence.
Indeed, so unaccustomed was Dougal to wrestling someone half his size, he almost couldn’t work up a good defense.
Only when the lad’s hand shot out toward the lethal blade lying on the grass beside him did Dougal suddenly spring to life.
With a roar of denial, he surged upward against the lighter weight of his wee attacker, forcing him out of reach of the weapon.
The lad would have dodged past him, but Dougal seized his arm.
Immediately, the lad’s other fist shot forward, jabbing him in the throat.
Pain incapacitated Dougal. For a stunned instant, he couldn’t breathe. Then he couldn’t stop coughing.
But that wasn’t the only trick the youth had in his arsenal. He stamped his boot down with great force on top of Dougal’s bare foot.
While Dougal was gasping from the new agony coursing through his bones, the lad plowed his knuckles with sudden force into the tender spot just below his ribs. A dull throbbing radiated out through his stomach, and Dougal wondered if he might lose his hard-won supper.
Somehow, through it all, he managed to hold fast to the outlaw.
Until the lad turned all at once in his grip, pushing forward instead of pulling away. With the sharp point of his elbow, he clipped the tip of Dougal’s chin, dazing him and rocking his head back.
Dougal staggered backward, taking his attacker with him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the lad. But this wily thief could obviously take care of himself. So Dougal had to rely on his superior might.
He shook his head to clear the fog from his brain. Then, with a determined grunt, he picked the lad up bodily. Enclosing him in his steely arms, he crushed the youth against his chest until the lad could do nothing but squirm in frustration.
Still the outlaw managed to amaze him. This time the wicked lad jabbed a knee with breathtaking accuracy betwixt his legs.
Dougal moaned and crumpled in pain. Hobbled by aching agony, he was forced to drop the lad.
Once free, the lad swept Dougal’s leg out from under him, toppling him onto his back on the forest floor.
But the careless youth made one mistake. He didn’t count on Dougal’s tenacity. Even as he was falling to the ground, Dougal seized the lad about the shoulders, and they dropped together.
Dougal’s back bore the brunt of the fall. He winced as his shoulder blade struck the sharp edge of a rock, and it took a moment to get his breath back.
The outlaw was splayed atop him like a feather coverlet. Indeed, the lad wasn’t muchheavierthan a feather coverlet. But this coverlet seemed as if it was filled, not with feathers, but with live birds.
The lad immediately attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. He wrested his shoulders loose and gave Dougal’s stomach a hard shove with the heels of his hands.
Then he turned his head toward the sword. In another moment, he might have sprung to his feet and laid hands on the weapon.
But Dougal overpowered the youth, heaving him sideways, rolling him onto his back, and pinning him there with the weight of his body.
Still the lad wouldn’t surrender. He flailed beneath Dougal until Dougal finally captured his wrists against the ground and rocked back to sit astride the wild lad’s hips, rendering his legs useless.
As he caught his breath, the lad seared him with a smoldering gray glare. Dougal was sure that behind the mask, the youth was cursing him to hell. Every muscle of the lad’s body was tense as he tried fruitlessly to twist free, and he looked as if he wished to commit murder.
Then Dougal noticed something disturbing in the outlaw’s burning gaze.
Something curious about the startling pair of silvery eyes and the dark brows that lowered over them with hatred.
A delicate vulnerability that belied the lad’s strength.
