The cloaked figure appeared all of a sudden and ran toward her. She opened her mouth to scream. She barely gasped before the figure clapped their hand over her mouth.
“Quiet,” he hissed. His voice was low, harsh. His breath reeked of ale. “Let us see what is so special about ye, Lady MacRay.”
Her body jerked in panic, and her legs kicked hard at the air, but his grip was strong. He shoved her off the bed. She hit the floor hard, pain shooting through her shoulder.
The man loomed over her, his hand dropping to the shiny dagger strapped to his waist.
“I should take me time,” he muttered, almost with relish. “Cut the arms first, then the legs. Save the heart for last.”
“Stay away from me if ye ken what is good for ye,” she wheezed.
He only laughed in response.
Before she could protest, he pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the corner of the wall, where a table lay. Her back slammed into the table, knocking a heavy book from its place.
Her eyes widened as he raised the dagger higher.
“Please,” she tried to say, but the word died in her throat.
Her hands moved aimlessly behind her, looking for something, anything to defend herself. They settled on the spine of the book. Without thinking, she grabbed the book, brought it forward, and with all the strength left in her, slammed it hard into his face.
The crack was almost deafening.
A curse escaped his lips as he took a step back, evidently disoriented. The dagger fell from his hand, and immediately, Lily leapt for it. He dove too, but she reached it first.
He fell on top of her, straddling her just as her hand closed around the handle. She gasped for air and swung at him. The blade sliced his thigh.
He bellowed, rolling back with a groan, blood darkening his cloak.
She scrambled to her knees, her hair wild, the dagger shaking in her hand. But he rose again, limping forward. His hood slipped, enough to show his twisted teeth and the hatred in his eyes.
Before he could strike, the chamber door burst open.
“Lily!”
Her eyes widened as Alasdair stepped inside, the fire in his eyes enough to burn down a city. His eyes settled on the intruder, who seemed to realize that he was overpowered. Without wasting time, he turned and raced toward the window.
Alasdair snarled and lunged after him, but it was too late. The figure jumped and disappeared just as he had come.
Alasdair swore, gripping the frame with both hands. “He is gone.”
Lily pushed herself up. Her breathing was ragged, and her chest was heaving. She could not let go of the dagger.
Her eyes darted to him. “Who is he?”
Alasdair turned and strode toward her. “Are ye hurt?” His hands moved over her arms, her face, checking her for injuries.
She shook her head, though her voice wavered. “Nay, nae hurt. Just shaken.”
“Did he cut ye?” he pressed.
“Nay.” Her breath hitched. “But Alasdair—he tried to kill me. In me own bed!”
“I will find out who did it. Whoever he is, he willnae get close again.”
Her fingers gripped his tunic tightly. “Ye cannae promise that. He snuck in once. He can do it again.”
“Then he will find me waiting,” Alasdair said firmly, his eyes blazing.
