Page 37 of Laird of Flint
Surging forward, she took hold of the axe handle in both hands and wrenched it out of the ground. Then she swung the heavy weapon in a wide arc toward the knot of brawling men.
They split apart at once, leaping back with yelps of surprise.
She stepped forward and swung again.
The Boyles squealed. Herbert staggered backwards. Gilbert fell on his arse.
“Hold on,” the Rivenloch warrior said, lifting one palm to her.
It was a brazen gesture. She could have lopped off his hand with her next swing. Not that she would have. Carenza wouldn’t harm a flea. But he didn’t know that.
“You don’t want blood on your hands,” he told her.
She wasn’t afraid of the Boyles. They were cowards. Already they were scrambling away, slipping on the wet grass in their panic.
This man, however, seemed undaunted by the fact he was unarmed while she possessed a weapon that could split him in half.
He took one cautious step forward, and she shook the sharp blade before her in warning.
“Don’t be foolish,” he growled. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. Hand it o’er.”
Another time, she might have succumbed to the lethal power of his voice. He was right. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wouldn’t even kill a spider.
But Hamish’s life was at stake.
She shook her head, refusing him.
“I won’t turn you in,” he promised.
She didn’t believe him. She jabbed the axe forward again.
He took a judicious step back.
“Why do you want the coo?” he demanded.
She clamped her lips shut. She didn’t have to tell him. He wouldn’t understand anyway.
Then he gave her a quizzical look and asked, “Do you know these lads?”
She paused, then gave him a subtle nod.
Then he raised his voice so the Boyles could hear. “These two,” he asked, “do they belong here?”
Carenza hesitated. She had a choice.
She could admit that the Boyles were indeed welcome on her father’s land. Though they’d always been a source of annoyance to Carenza, especially lately, they were amicable enough neighbors.
But they were up to some sort of mischief. Skulking around in the dark. Messing about with her father’s cattle. Bullying people half their size.
If they’d known who she was, they would have been mortified. But they didn’t. So she could command their fate as she willed.
She shook her head. Nay, they didn’t belong here.
The Boyles sent up a loud protest.
“Are ye goin’ to believe a cateran?” the beardless one complained.
His brother added, “When our da hears what ye’ve done—”
