Page 79 of Tempting the Highland Devil
As the feast carried on into the night, the first wave of anticipation that held her guts steady the entire morning faded. She still dreaded the moment when she would take a walk with Arran.
Her mind toyed with her, and she wondered about a million things that could go wrong with their plan. When Arran finally gave the signal for them to exit the grand hall and stroll down the gardens, she notified her mother and Amelia before joining him to walk out of the hall.
They held hands till they made it past the guards watching the garden’s entrance and continued father down the garden till they could no longer hear the vibration of music from inside the castle.
Yvaine twirled around on her feet with her arms stretched out by her side, and Arran caught her by the waist before she made it far away from him.
Her laugh ended when he took her lips for a kiss then combed his fingers through the massive waves of her hair.
“Ye will ruin me hair before we return to the feast,” she murmured when he allowed her to catch her breath.
“What makes ye think we will make it back to the feast? I intend to devour ye tonight, me lady. Once all of this is over, I will take ye to my chamber, and I will make you mine so many times that ye willnae be able to walk on the morrow.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine and made her grin wider. They were still lost in that embrace when they heard the heavy thud of footsteps erupt around them.
The rest happened in a blink. Yvaine only gasped before they were surrounded by men draped in black cloaks holding swords on both hands.
“I ken this would happen,” Arran muttered as he spun into action and moved Yvaine to stand behind him. Her heart fired at double speed as she clutched to Arran’s arm and stayed behind him.
“We dinnae want any trouble,” one of their attackers said as he took the first step forward, his sword still poised like he would attack any moment now. “All we want is the lady, and we will be on our way.”
“Why would ye want the lady?” Arran asked. “She is me wife, and she willnae go anywhere with ye.” Arran drew his sword now and thrust it forward. “Show yer face, and tell me who yer master is.”
“I serve nayone, Laird MacGregor,” the man answered in the same chilly tone. “I have orders to capture the lady alive, but ye, I was asked to kill, and I will derive pleasure in doin’ so.”
When the man lurched forward to attack, Arran let out a loud wail to signal his men hiding out in the shadows then he charged forward too, sword above his head as he set out to defeat his enemy and protect the woman he loved.
* * *
Arran cut through every man trying to stop Yvaine for making it back to the castle, and his men joined in the fight, surrounding the bandits attacking him.
As the battle raged on, he cornered the leader and thrust his sword towards him, aiming for his guts. Arran stared into the man’s dark eyes as he made each lurch and tried to cut him.
Nothing else mattered but the roar of his blood in his veins and the rush of anger tunneling through him. Arran aimed for the man’s neck the next time, but his opponent drew out a dirk and tossed it at him.
He groaned as the blade pierced the right side of his chest. The pain sliced through him, but he ignored it, pulled the blade out, and tossed it back to land in the man’s right thigh. Arran seized the chance and kicked the man in his stomach next.
His opponent fell to the ground, immobilized when Arran stomped one foot over his chest and kept him pinned down there.
“Show me yer face now!” he growled; his sword still aimed at the man’s heart. He pierced the man’s chest with the sharp, pointy end of his sword when he did not respond.
Arran heard his groan and the haggard sound of his breathing.
More of his soldiers surrounded them now, and all of the Laochra men were on their knees, outnumbered and unable to fight.
Their leader on the ground beneath Arran took off the mask covering his face. The moment Arran saw the eye patch, he knew he had the right man.
MacGregor guards rushed to him and dragged the man off the ground. They shoved him down again, so he knelt before Arran, his head bowed.
“Who is yer master,” Arran questioned again, and this time he slanted his sword next to the man’s neck. “Tell me, or I will end yer life,” he threatened.
“Ye cannae kill me,” the man answered before he burst into a wild cackle that reverberated around them in the dark night. “Ye need me to find the one ye seek, Laird MacGregor.”
Arran slammed a punch in the man’s stomach. “That is for hurtin’ me wife repeatedly,” he said. “I may nay be able to kill ye just yet, but I will torture ye till ye cannae speak or breathe, and then one of these other men here will tell me what I need to ken because they willnae want to lose their lives.”
The man scoffed, and Arran held onto his gaze to show his determination.
“I am loyal to nayone but meself,” the man spoke after they exchanged heated looks for a long moment. “I will tell ye what ye want to ken if ye let those men go,” he continued. “It is a dishonor to make me men die alongside me. All they did was follow me orders. I am sure ye understand, Laird MacGregor. Ye and I are the same; we give our lives to save those of others.”
