Page 43 of Highlander Unraveled
Overhead, I could still hear the scuffling sounds amid footsteps, as though someone were dragging something. I closed my eyes, listening harder to see if I could decipher better the size and shape of what was being dragged. A body?
Dear God, was I too late?
Please dinna be Emma.
I tested the strength of the odd, wool covered stairs with my foot. There would be creaks, which would alert whoever it was that I was coming. They could escape out the window.
I ground my teeth with frustration.
Ballocks.
I looked up, ascertaining that the occupied chamber was located in the front, left side room. I could go back outside and scale the wall, climbing in through the window.
They’d not be expecting that. I could take whoever it was by surprise.
I slipped back out through the kitchen and into the yard. Sticking close to the dwelling, I shifted toward the gate, prepared to step through, and then paused. The moon was still high, so most people would be asleep, but it was bright with torches that emitted a false-looking light, and I could be easily spotted if someone were awake.
I’d just have to be careful, and perhaps I’d climb through a window at the rear of the house rather than in the front. Less visible that way.
I looked up; the second story window was about ten feet in the air. The house was made of a stone of sorts, but most of them were flush, not too many handholds as though the mason had purposefully sanded down the stone. That was irritating. And mildly brilliant for fortification’s sake.
The window above did have a distinguished ledge. Once I had a grip on that, I could swing up, but how to get the window open? It was covered in a pane of glass.
I shook my head.
Ballocks.Why was this so complicated?
I could easily enter the damn building by opening the door, but scaling it to enter an upper window seemed impossible.
There was no more time to waste. I burst back through the door without a concern for whether or not the person upstairs could hear me. I marched up the stairs and kicked open the door.
Lying on the bed was Emma, knocked unconscious, a bruise marring her pink flesh that I could see visibly in the moonlight. A man, tall and wiry stood over her. My gut twisted, heart wrenched, to see her like that.
As soon as he heard me, he jerked around, a ferocious scowl on his lean face. I knew who it was at once.
Steven.
Muscles taut, prepared to pounce on the bastard, I growled, “Get the hell away from my wife.”
Steven snickered. I stuck mysgian dubhback in my sock and drew out my sword. I wasn’t going to go small with this arsehole. He was going to feel the full force and length of my blade.
“I’m not asking ye twice.” My voice was low, full of menace.
Steven’s eyes were glued to my sword and he actually had the temerity to look concerned. But then, he grinned, and took a step away, reaching toward his back.
I lunged forward, slicing his arm—not too deep, just a warning slice. I was not waiting for him to bring out whatever weapon he’d use to protect himself. And besides, I thought he deserved death by a thousand cuts.
He yelped, though the wound I’d given him was superficial, and humane, compared to what I wanted to do.
“She was my wife first,” the man said, fury dripping from every word. His hands were fisted at his sides and it seemed that his anger had overcome any fear he might have had at my blade.
“I know who ye are.” I bared my teeth, letting him know it mattered not.
He cocked his head, surprised. “She told ye about me?”
“Dinna flatter yourself with thinking her words were kind. And be warned, I’ve been wanting to kill ye for a long time.”
This time when Steven reached for his pocket, he leapt back out of my way. Quicker, having learned his lesson. If it was a weapon, it wasn’t one I’d ever seen, nor could I decipher just how it was supposed to protect him and harm me. ’Twas a black box. I assumed if he were able to subdue me—which he couldn’t—he could simply bludgeon me with it.
