Page 119 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Mabel stared at the floor. “Rhys’s keep. His title. And his blood.”
Amara’s chest tightened.
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The stench of blood hit him before he saw the first body.
Rhys stepped over the threshold of his keep and into chaos.
The once-familiar courtyard was a battlefield fraught with muddy scars across the lawn, blood streaked across the stones, bodies scattered like broken chess pieces. O’Donnell men fought against their once brothers-in-arms in vicious clashes that left no space for mercy.
The clang of steel on steel rang through the smoke, and the shouting made it feel like hell had opened beneath their feet.
He drew his blade, still bloodied from the ambush in the woods, and surged into the fray.
His sword found the ribs of a man before the traitor could even raise his axe. Rhys twisted the hilt sharply, sending the body crumpling.
Another came at him from the side, and he ducked, rolled, and slashed upward, severing the man’s hamstring and then his throat. There was no room for hesitation. This wasn’t war, it was survival.
His castle, his kin, his daughter were all under siege.
“RHYS!”
He turned to see Myles charging through the side gate, sword in hand and blood streaked down one cheek.
“Where the hell have ye been?” he shouted, deflecting a strike with a growl.
“Murdoch. Trap. We’ve been betrayed,” Rhys explained through the chaos.
“Nay bloody shite,” Myles barked, driving his sword into a traitor’s chest and kicking him off with a grunt.
William appeared next, breathless and wild-eyed, half-covered in soot. “They’re all safe.”
Relief slammed into Rhys’s chest like a hammer, nearly buckling him. But he had no time for it.
“Where’s Finn?” he demanded.
Myles grimaced. “He’s in the gardens. Top side. West of Cookie’s herb plants. He’s holdin’ ground with a handful of men. Sent for reinforcements — mercenaries, I think.”
Rhys’s mouth went dry. “I’ll kill him.”
William glanced at Myles before offering the strategy, “Quickest way there is through the keep, and down to the kitchen courtyard."
“Aye, let’s go.”
Together, the three men plunged through the battered doorway into the belly of the keep.
Inside, it was worse. Fires crackled against the stone walls where torches had been ripped down and furniture overturned for barricades. The tapestries Rhys’s father had collected burned in corners.
Loyal men lay dead alongside the traitorous bastards who had once sworn fealty to him.
They moved down the stairwell, Rhys leading the charge. Certain than none of his loyal men would ever raise their hand to him, “Anyone who puts up a fight againstus, is an enemy, aye?”
“That’s how I’ve been managin’,” Myles said with each stride.
“And the mercenaries all have the foolish red armbands, I’ve gathered,” William said, keeping pace but lifting it to show Rhys.
The armbands were red with a blue O’Donnell crest stitched. A stark difference from the blue and green of the true O’Donnell colors. It stopped him in his tracks.
