Chapter 5

For a few precious seconds, all Blake could do was stand there, staring at the place where Reyna had been standing in dumbfounded shock. He'd known the moment those two words slipped past his lips that he was going to regret them, but he'd not guessed how much.

He'd never thought she might wait for him, not for so long. He'd always thought that after a fortnight or so, she'd get angry, and give up on him. His own clan had turned on him readily enough, so he'd had no reason to think anyone else would do anything different.

Then his mind jolted back to the present, and the fact that Reyna had just run away from him and disappeared into the woods. He couldn't afford to lose her. He had an obligation to bring her alive and well to Laird Murray, to save her brother. He also knew there were bandits on these roads. They shied away from engaging with a warrior possessing his features and reputation, but they'd not think twice about attacking a woman who appeared to be wandering alone in their territory.

And, little though he could admit it, he was loathe to let her leave him, now that the truth was revealed. Even her anger and disappointment were better than losing sight of her.

With a curse, he made sure the horse couldn't go far, then raced after her. He drew breath to call her name, then stopped. In her present mood, he wouldn't put it past Reyna to avoid him out of anger if he tried to call out to her. Even as children, she'd been good at making him chase her through the woods and search for her. The difference was that in those games, he'd known he would find her eventually, even if it was only when she chose to allow it. Angry as she was, she wasn't likely to want to be found, which would make his task more difficult.

He slowed his pace as he entered the trees, eyes scanning the trees and the ground for any trace of her. Reyna was gifted in the art of moving quietly and stealthily through the undergrowth. If she took it into her head to be difficult, he'd have the devil's own time finding her.

Fortunately for him, it appeared she was too angry to be thinking along those lines, and he found a clear track of her movements. Freshly broken branches were interspersed across a narrow, winding path – probably a game trail. At one point, he found a soft linen thread that had most likely been teased from the fabric of her clothing. At other points, he spotted slender footprints, too delicate to belong to anyone else.

His whole body yearned to move faster, but he knew better than to rush the hunt and risk missing some vital clue. She was skilled, but he was more familiar with this area, and more practiced at tracking in general. Sooner or later, he'd catch up with her.

A high-pitched scream drove every thought of patience out of his head and sent him leaping forward, toward the source of the noise. Reyna cried out again, fear evident in the tone of her voice, and the sound goaded him into greater speed.

A clearing opened up in front of him, and he heard raised voices. Reyna, and at least one man, perhaps two. He tugged his sword free from its sheath and crashed through the last branches separating him from the situation.

Reyna was held tight in one man's grip, struggling to free herself. Two more men were circling, speaking in soft, intimidating whispers. Their clothing was rough, but not as ragged as a bandit's would be. He thought they might be mercenaries.

The two men not holding Reyna turned as he emerged from the trees, and Blake fell on them with a roar like a wounded bear. Steel clashed on steel as they brought their weapons up to guard, then battle was joined, and he had little time for anything but combat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reyna do something that made her captor swear, before throwing her head back in a vicious headbutt that shattered his nose with an audible crack. Then one of his opponents darted in, and he was forced to focus on his own defense once more.

* * *

Reyna's first response when the three men cornered her was raw, stark fear. She'd heard of what happened to women who were captured on the road by bandits and roving mercenary bands, and it was the only fate in the world she'd ever thought might be worse than marrying Laird Murray.

Then Blake came pounding out of the trees and attacked the two men not holding her, and she found her strength again, along with her courage and an acceptable outlet for the anger that still surged through her.

She stomped the heel of her traveling boot on the foot of the man that was holding her and was rewarded with a snarl of pain and a spat-out curse that told her exactly where the man's face was in relation to her head. And then, in a move she'd learned from her brother, she whipped her head back as hard as she could. The man released her with a muffled scream as his nose crunched and blood fountained over both of them.

She didn't hesitate, but heaved herself forward to break his grip, then bent to grab the dagger he'd dropped in the grass. She stepped out of his reach and turned to look at the fight between Blake and the other two men.

Blake fought well, but he was outnumbered, and hampered by the need to keep an eye on her. She watched the deadly dance of blades for several moments, then munged forward and stabbed with the knife, hoping to inflict some wound that would help turn the tide of battle more in Blake's favor.

Luck was with her, and the knife slid in between the man's ribs, burying itself to the hilt in his side. The man reeled away, staggered, and dropped to the ground as blood and life drained from him.

Seconds later, Blake got under his opponent's guard, slipped forward, and slashed a lethal wound from chin to hip, nearly cleaving the man's front in half. The second warrior fell.

Blue eyes met hers as he slowly sheathed his sword, both their breathing coming in harsh panting gasps. Then his eyes slid away from her, widened, and he dove forward. "Reyna!"

Strong arms pushed her aside, behind his broad back, just as a roar of rage echoed through the clearing. She heard a grunt of pain and saw Blake's hand move. The third man, the one whose nose she'd broken sagged to the ground in a boneless heap, face twisted in a rictus of spite as his sightless eyes gazed at the sky.

For a brief moment, everything was still. Her heart began to calm, and her breathing began to slow and steady. She thought it was over.

Then Blake staggered and slowly sank to his knees. She saw a few crimson drops spill to the grass in front of him.

It was only then that she realized her assailant had carried a second dagger. Or that the dagger was now buried two thirds of the way into Blake's left shoulder.