Chapter 16

16

H e watched the gentle up and down of Charlotte's breathing. Her hair was laid out behind her, framing her pink cheeks and those soft lips he had lost himself in. Alasdair took a moment to watch as she slept, satisfied and happy in his arms.

But the sense of dread in his stomach emerged, stronger than before. Earlier he thought it was fear about Charlotte's injury, but he was starting to realize that something else was bothering him.

She is leaving. Ye cannae get attached.

Alasdair was careful not to disturb her as he pulled his arm out from beneath her. He eased himself off the bed, watching to ensure Charlotte didn't stir. He padded around the room to gather his shirt, tossing it quickly over his head as the moonlight shone in through the windows. Alasdair tucked the shirt into his breeches with aggression, chastising himself for what had just happened.

How could ye let things go so far?

He took a final glance at the sleeping Charlotte before he left the room, careful to close the door without a hint of sound. His body was a wash of pent-up desire and frustration. He shouldn't have let his desire get away from him like that. But then he remembered the way Charlotte cried out his name and the high-pitched moan right before he showed her what pleasure could be.

Get a hold of yourself.

Alasdair stormed down the hallways, far too restless to go to sleep. He knew he couldn't rest after what just happened. His body hummed with movement, and his brain raced with conflicting thoughts. He decided to check on Ben though he knew the boy would be long asleep. Still, he thought sitting beside Ben and watching him dream might bring some peace.

Alasdair turned down a hallway, leaving the guest quarters to cross to the family bedrooms. But when he got to Ben's door, he noticed it was slightly ajar. This single image made every muscle in Alasdair's body surge with action, and he didn't hesitate before shoving the door open to check what was inside.

It was dark in his son's room, but he could make out three dark figures standing around his son's bed. Ben was in the middle of them, squirming and crying as the largest of the men pulled hard at a binding around his wrists. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, Alasdair saw fabric tied tight around Ben's mouth, blocking his screams.

"Unhand him," Alasdair cried as he took in the scene. Three heads swiveled in his direction, but instead of fear, he read eagerness on their faces. It was like they had been waiting for him, desperate to pit their strength against his own.

"Well, well," one of the men chuckled. He gripped his dirk in his hand, and Alasdair realized he had no weapon.

How could ye be such a dobber?

But he quickly pushed the thought aside. He wouldn't let his lack of a weapon stop him. He would save his son even if he had to give up his own life to do so.

Alasdair rushed forward as the closest man came forward. The man swiped his weapon, a move designed to slice Alasdair's throat, but he dodged out of the way, kicking his leg out to unbalance the man in the process. With his anger fueling him, Alasdair threw he shoulder into the man and watched him fall sideways into the corner of the four-poster bed.

"Guards!" Alasdair called, hoping his voice would carry far enough for someone to hear him. But he didn't have time to check. Another man was approaching. Before he could get too close, Alasdair rushed at him, hoping to have the element of surprise. He threw his fist hard into the man's jaw even as he spun out of the way of the man's dirk.

He heard a grunt as he hit his target, and then the man was charging him, his weapon high over his head as he ran. It was exactly what Alasdair wanted. He stepped to the side, ducking beneath the blade before reaching out to grab the man's forearm. He twisted hard, pulling the man's arm behind his back, and he heard the clatter of the weapon as it fell to the ground.

With only a second to spare, Alasdair grabbed the blade just as the man in black scrambled for it. As his fingers wrapped around the blade, he cut upward, catching the man's arm. He heard him scream as blood began to pour down his sleeve. Alasdair didn't waste time. He stepped into the man who was gripping his arm, and he ran his blade clean across the man's throat, slicing his windpipe.

He watched the man crumple to the floor as the two others looked on, suitably shaken by Alasdair's prowess.

"Who are ye?" he asked, turning to the man closest to him. But the man only chuckled, a sound low and threatening. Alasdair took a wide stance as he faced the men who began to approach him together. As he began to fight both of these men, he realized he wouldn't get the answers he was seeking.

Alasdair had no time to think. Both men approached, their weapons slashing with the intent to kill. But their moves were sloppy, and Alasdair recognized the untrained slashing of hired men. These men wouldn't give him any answers about who they were, but their fighting could give him useful clues that might narrow things down.

Alasdair rushed sideways, knowing movement would distract them and make this fight more difficult. Luckily, Alasdair was adept at changing his position, at keeping his attackers confused about his next moves. He could read these men like the book he had just left in Charlotte's room. He moved before they did, avoiding their strikes with ease.

Alasdair's weapon sliced high on one man's thigh, and his cry of pain was chilling in Alasdair's ears. But just as his sword slowly sliced through skin, the other man took his opportunity. He rushed to the other side of Alasdair, and he felt the bite of the man's blade into his left arm.

"Guards!" Alasdair cried again, putting all his pain into that cry. He heard whimpers from the bed, but he wouldn't look at Ben. He needed all of his focus to protect his son from these men.

He gripped his dirk harder with his right hand, and then he lunged, surprising the men with an offensive strike. His weapon hit its mark, plunging into the closest man's chest. His sword was carried down to the ground as the man collapsed, and he had to pull hard to release the weapon from the attacker's chest.

Two down.

The final man was appropriately spooked. He saw the fear in the man's eyes and the quick glance toward the balcony.

So that's how ye got in.

"Tell me who ye are."

The question seemed to remind the man of his job. Alasdair saw his eyes harden and his muscles tense before he charged, giving everything he had to this final fight. The man fought like someone fighting for his life, and Alasdair had to force himself to ignore the searing pain that was making his left arm useless in this conflict.

Alasdair cried out as he locked swords with the man, pressing his strength hard against the larger man's. It was the sight of Ben on the bed that gave him the strength he needed. With a groan, he pushed the man away, backing him up toward the wall.

"No one takes what is mine," Alasdair said darkly. He blocked the man's next pass and continued his pressure. The uncertainty in the man's eyes told him he was close, and with a final clash of swords, he gave everything he had. He felt his sword clip the man's arms and legs, but none of them dug deep enough to incapacitate him until he gave a final slash of his weapon, cutting deep into the man's sword arm.

The weapon dropped to the ground, and Alasdair finished him quickly. He took no joy in killing the men, but it was a necessity that couldn't be avoided. He needed to protect his son.

As the man dropped to the ground, Alasdair went immediately to the bed. He locked eyes with his son, unable to speak until he was sure Ben was safe. He untied the rope around Ben's hands, but Alasdair's hands were slippery with blood. He wiped his hands on his breeches and continued to untie him.

"It's alright. I'm here." Alasdair continued his gentle encouragement until he had removed the ties from Ben's hands and the gag from his son's mouth. Though his arm screamed in pain from the deep cut he had received, the ache of his heart was even worse as he saw Ben's terrified tears.

"Me Laird," a soldier burst through the door, another man stumbling behind him. They looked confused, and their expressions only deepened as they took in the three men lying dead around the room.

"Get Hayden," he said, holding back his fury at his men for being so far away. Hadn't he told the guards to stand watch over Ben's room? Where had the men been?

He watched the second man scamper away to do Alasdair's bidding. He pulled Ben close to his chest, cradling the boy as he glared at the man who was still in the room.

"I told ye to increase security," he said. "I want three men at this door at all times."

He didn't let the man respond. Alasdair simply scooped Ben into his arms, ignoring the blood that was turning his sleeve a deep red. With a final scowl, he pushed past the guard and walked Ben down the hallway toward his own chambers.

Ben was finally asleep, but Alasdair knew he wouldn't rest. He would sit up every night, keeping watch over the boy if that's what it took. When Hayden brought the healer to him, he refused to leave Ben's side. He forced the woman to work right there, doctoring one arm while the other stayed firmly wrapped around Ben.

He had whispered assurances to Ben for what felt like hours, trying to gently coax the boy's eyes closed. He hated that his son had to witness such violence, but he couldn't feel sorry for taking care of those men in the way he did. At least, his son understood that his father would protect him at any cost. Alasdair would take out a hundred men in order to protect his boy.

"I willnae let anything happen to ye," he whispered to the sleeping boy.

The guilt churning in his stomach was painful, like a cramp he couldn't get rid of.

How could ye have been so stupid? How could ye have gotten so distracted?

He was horrified to realize that as his son was under attack, Alasdair had been in Charlotte's room, distracted by the warmth of her body and her desperate cries for him. But it was Ben's voice he should have been listening for. It was Ben he was meant to protect.

If he had been in his own chambers, he may have heard the men break into his son's room. He may have heard Ben cry out before they gagged him. But he was two hallways away. He had forgotten what was most important: protecting Ben.

No more distractions.

As he stared down at Ben, Alasdair vowed to find the person who was doing this to his boy, whatever it took. It was time to focus on his revenge with an unwavering gaze. Ben was the person who mattered, and he would do whatever it took to protect the ones he loved. He wouldn't let Charlotte and her perfect curves distract him. No one would distract him any longer.