“Pick up his sword!” came a panicked command from the woman behind him. He didn’t know a damn thing about wielding a sword, but all the same, he groped around in the snow for the hilt and grasped it, drawing the heavy, cumbersome weapon up in front of him as he stood.
It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to see a new opponent facing him. Behind that man, other warriors streamed over a tall wall that led to the garden where he stood.
Damn. He tightened his grip on the sword. Maybe hewoulddie here. That would be a shame because, in that moment, he realized that dying, even to join Amanda, was the last thing he really wanted.
The man in front of him flashed a feral smile. “I’m nae near as easy to take down as Igrid was. Come.” He motioned for Reikart to engage with him.
“Get back,” Reikart barked at the woman behind him before he rushed his opponent.
He knew instantly that he was no match for the man, and no damn wonder. He’d never picked up a sword in his life! Still, he did his best to keep the stranger from taking off his head. He stopped a blow to his left and then one to his right. He was drawing his sword up once more when he found himself relieved of it, and the sharp point of the steel blade came to his heart, cutting through his shirt and pricking his skin.
“Say yer prayers to God, boy. Tonight ye meet the Maker.”
It had been years since any man had enough balls to talk to him in such a condescending tone, and when it had happened, it had been in the karate ring before his opponent understood that he was exceptionally fast for his bulky, six-foot-two frame. He’d been defeated in one fight in his life, and that had been his first fight. But now…
“I demand ye release this man,” said the woman, who shocked him by stepping up beside him. She was either really brave or really stupid to draw attention to herself in this moment.
“Ye demand it?” the man snarled.
Light illuminated him from both sides and afforded Reikart a much better view of his opponent. He was almost as tall as Reikart and slightly wider in stature. His red hair grazed his shoulders and stubble covered his face. His eyes locked on Reikart with deadly intention.
“Step back, little lass,” the man said, moving his sword to point it in the woman’s direction.
Reikart took advantage of the situation and barreled into the man, driving him backward into the man standing behind him, who dropped his torch with a surprised cry. But before Reikart could do anything else, someone hit the back of his head, and he fell forward, half-sprawled on the man who’d been talking, who wasted no time bringing a dagger to the side of Reikart’s neck. “I’m going to kill ye for that,” the man growled.
“Not so fast,” a familiar voice said from above as a torch was lowered toward Reikart and the man beneath him.
The man’s red eyebrows came together in confusion. “Give me one good reason I should nae kill this man now,” the warrior challenged.
“That’s your nephew,” came the same familiar but amused voice. Who it was registered in Reikart’s brain only a second before his brother Rhys bent down and grinned at him. “It’s about time you showed up, Reik.”
“Rhys!” Reikart scrambled off the man—his uncle, apparently—who was gawking at him and stood in front of his eldest brother. They stared at each other for three long beats, and Reikart could feel a rare grin put a pleasant ache in his cheeks.
“That’s something I haven’t seen in a long time,” Rhys said, his voice gruff. He stepped toward Reikart and enveloped him in a hug, much like the one Jeremy had given him. But this one was a little easier to endure.
“Is this what men do where ye are from? Stand around cuddling each other in the middle of a siege?” a deep voice thundered. Footsteps thudded behind Reikart, and Rhys released him from the hug. They both turned toward the man who’d spoken. The new stranger held a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, and had a bow and a quiver full of arrows slung across his back. “While ye’ve been out here in the garden doingthat, my men and I secured the castle.”
“That was fast,” Rhys said.
“The Irvine warriors did nae even have to be asked to join us,” the man replied. “Once they realized who we were, they turned on the English knights.”
Rhys slung a heavily muscled arm around Reikart’s neck and tugged Reikart toward him for a moment. “Dermot, meet your nephew, my baby brother, Reikart. And that redheaded man is your other uncle, Alastair.”
The lithe man tilted his dark head at Reikart with a smile and the redhead scowled at him. “’Tis like the sky is raining McCaims lately,” Dermot said as a dozen more men dropped over the wall behind him, landing with pattering thumps that reminded Reikart of a slow drum beat.
Reikart looked at Rhys for a long breath, astonishment making it hard to order his thoughts. Finally, he succeeded. “Is Greyson here? Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t seen him, but he’s in Scotland, likely nearby. On the way here, I met a woman who had seen him.”
“The family reunion will have to wait,” Dermot said. He stepped around Reikart and Rhys, who both turned, and Reikart saw the woman he’d first barreled into standing there bathed in moonlight, her pale hair glistening and her light complexion looking almost luminescent. “I’m surprised ye did nae try to escape with Baron Bellecote, Lady Deirdre.”
The woman tilted up her chin, set her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes—bold actions for a woman who was facing a man three times her size who was wielding a sword. “I’m a constant surprise,” she said in a cold tone. “Tell me, Dermot MacKinnish, what brings ye to my home?”
“This is nae yer home anymore,” Dermot replied. “We’ve just taken it back for yer sister and my nephew, the rightful lord and lady of Castle Lochlavine.”
Reikart’s jaw slipped open, and he jerked his gaze to Rhys.
Lord and lady? Rhys was married? What the hell?
