30. Chapter 30

Callum had more steel strapped to his body than he usually did for something like this.

His brawn alone usually got him out of most situations.

But with Nemity on the line—his whole future on the line—he wasn't about to take any chances.

It had been hours since he and Thomas had finally broken that waste of a human that had helped kidnap Nemity. Far too long. It had taken two grueling hours in the cold dark with the wind whipping at them to get to the land adjacent to the Springfell estate, and then another hour in the early morning light for Thomas to remember exactly where he had seen the abandoned gamekeeper's cottage—now just a rotting set of boards with a half-deteriorated thatched roof.

They'd stopped a good distance away once they spotted it and Callum was able to finally let out the breath that had been strangled in his throat for the last several hours.

His biggest fear was that they'd killed her already—but three brutes were in front of the cottage, clearly guarding something inside.

The three men sat just outside the door of the cottage around a small fire. Two of them on the length of a rotted log that had once served as a bench. One on the ground had his feet propped up on a stump as he leaned back against another rotted log.

They were close enough to guard the rough door that sat crooked in the doorframe, but not close enough that sparks from the fire would catch onto the old boards that served as walls. The thick and brawny man that sat on the log leaned forward, a blade in one hand flicking out shards of wood from a branch. Almost as if he was whittling, except the only thing he was creating was a mess of shavings piled onto his boots.

None of them spoke and the lot of them looked like they'd just woken up.

Which was good.

He liked slow moving men in the morning, one of his preferred times to attack.

Callum looked across the forest, searching amongst the trees.

That he had to search was a good sign. At least Thomas knew enough to be silent in his approach.

There he was. About the same distance away. Their approach in lockstep.

Callum slowly lifted his left hand high in the air and waited for Thomas to see him.

Thomas had stopped moving and he caught Callum's eye.

Callum pointed to the group around the fire.

Thomas held up two fingers, then pointed to himself.

Huh. Turned out Thomas had some steel ballocks on him.

Normally, Callum would be rankled by someone taking on more men than him, but if he only had to dispatch one man to get to Nemity, all the better. Let Thomas have the fun.

Callum nodded, and both of them started creeping closer to the brutes, his stare locking onto the biggest one of the bunch. It was the least he could do, if Thomas was going to take on two of them.

A twig snapped across the way—Thomas.

Callum wasn't the only one that heard it, and all three men sprang onto their feet, pulling blades and searching around.

Time to attack. He didn't want any of the brutes getting any ideas about going into the cabin and hurting Nemity.

He charged out of the cover of the woods at the same time as Thomas did, who had drawn all their attention.

It wasn't until he was at the back of the biggest brute that the man realized another attacker was bearing down on him.

Across from Callum, Thomas kicked one man in the gut as he deflected the blade swinging at him from the other.

The tip of a dagger cut through the air, aimed at Callum's throat, and he caught the bastard's wrist just before the steel made contact. His grip tightened on the man's arm, twisting it, and the man yelped.

The blade fell out of his hand and the brute scrambled, his leg kicking up as he tried to pull another blade free from his boot.

Not happening.

Callum dropped the man's arm and clamped his hands onto the brute's head and twisted. Snapping his neck in one clean, quick move.

The brute dropped in front of him and Callum looked across the fire to Thomas. One of his opponents was in the dirt, face down, alive or dead it was hard to tell. Thomas parried daggers with the other one—a small, wily bastard that was going to be fast and hard to catch.

Thomas would deal with him.

For the amount of rage he'd seen in Thomas in the undercrofts at Ravenstone when he beat that man, Callum didn't think twice about who would be the victor.

Thomas held a rage in him that would decimate anyone in his path.

Callum turned to the cabin, running to the door, but then called over his shoulder. "We need one alive."

He wasn't sure if Thomas heard him or not, but he wasn't going to repeat it. It would be a hell of a lot easier to figure out who had sent these men if they had one to interrogate—because by the looks of them, they were hired steel, nothing more. But Thomas was going to do what he was going to do and Callum wasn't going to stop him.

These bastards took Nemity.

The quick death he'd already doled out was far too gracious a punishment.

He kicked in the door, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness inside.

There. On the barren dirt ground, a lump.

Nemity.

The rest of the breath he'd had stuck in his lungs seeped out in rage.

On her side, she lay with her knees curled up into her body, her ankles bound by a tight rope. Boots gone. Her arms were tied behind her back.

The whole of her body shook.

Even as she twisted her head to look toward the door and she saw him, screaming against the gag tied tight around her head, her body trembled.

Two lunging steps and he slid on his knees to her, his blade drawn and sawing at the rope cutting into her wrists.

The rope broke free and she didn't move her arms—couldn't move her arms except for the shake in them.

He moved down to her legs, the muscles in his arm straining as he ripped his steel through the thick ropes.

She still hadn't moved from the position on her side, her entire body convulsing.

Panic seized his chest and he rolled her onto her back, hovering over her as he slid the blade underneath the rag tied around her head that cut into her mouth, and yanked outward. He ripped the cloth away from her face, throwing it off to the side.

"Nemity, what in the hell?" He set his hand onto the side of her face, trying to stop the trembling, and then he realized why her body was shaking uncontrollably.

She was freezing. Her skin cold to the touch, her clothes wet. Her teeth chattering now that the cloth was out of her mouth.

He looked up. The roof of the cottage was nonexistent over the top of her. She must have been lying in the rain and cold all night.

But her eyes. For all that she convulsed, her eyes had found him, and were locked onto his face. Alert and terrified, yet full of relief.

"Those damn fucking bastards." He couldn't keep his growl from roaring out as he gathered her body in his arms and stood, wrapping her as tightly to his chest as he could.

She was even colder pressed against him.

He stepped out of the cabin.

Thomas stood by the fire, heaving, looking like he was waging a war on keeping his rage under control.

The smaller, wiry man he'd been clashing blades with was prone on the ground by his feet, blood pooling onto the dirt under his split neck.

Callum glanced to the other man on the ground. No gaping wound as far as he could see. "That one alive?"

Thomas didn't look at him, but nodded.

"Good. There's rope in the cabin. Tie him up, lug him to your horse, and tie him to the saddle. If he can walk, fine. If he can't, drag the fucking dung heap back to manor and then get the magistrate."

Thomas nodded, then heaved a seething breath and blinked hard. He forced his head to turn to Callum and finally looked at him.

His eyes ran over the parts of Nemity he could see, his words croaking out raw. "Is she injured?"

"I don't know yet. She's frozen—shaking so hard from it I couldn't check. I'm going to get her warm."

Thomas nodded, then turned, dazed, to get the rope from the cottage.

Locking Nemity tight in his grip, Callum took off running though the forest, aimed for his horse.

He needed to get her warm.