To Love a Warrior (Isle of Mull Book 3) by Lily Baldwin

Author:Lily Baldwin [Baldwin, Lily]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-11-20T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Isle of Mull, Scotland

Winter 1314

“Thank ye, Hamish,” Nellore said.

“Whatever for, lass?” Hamish said as he turned to look at her with his one good eye.

“For letting me join ye today on your watch. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride.”

“Aye, brisk with winter’s chill. Still, the sun shines. ‘Tis a pleasure for an old codger like me to have a spirited lass at my side.”

They rode over the moors, checking on cottars as they passed by. They even stopped to visit Mary and Gordon, who both had only good news to report. After waving goodbye, Nellore and Hamish set out once more, heading farther west to check the watch towers. As they approached the first tower, she pulled her horse to a halt and slid to the ground. She did not have to signal to Hamish. With an agility that belied his age, he dropped to his feet.

“Why is there only one,” she asked as they eyed a lone MacLean warrior scaling the watch tower. “And where is the watch?”

“Mayhap, the watch saw the Maclean approach and has already ridden for aid,” he said.

She squinted her eyes. She could see something in the tall grasses. “Nay,” she cried. “The watch does not ride for aid.” Fury coursed through her. She swung back onto her mount, ignoring Hamish’s questions and protest. She kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and raced toward the tower, withdrawing her sword as she drew closer. The MacLean warrior atop the high tower had spotted her, but it was too late. He had nowhere to run. Swinging her sword with all her might, she sliced one of the tower’s wooden legs. The sharp edge cut straight through. Then she circled back around and swung again, slicing through another leg. The tower, and the MacLean with it, came tumbling down.

Nellore leapt to the ground and raced past the MacLean who now writhed on the sodden earth, hugging an injured arm close to his body. Nellore paid him no heed. Her heart had been captured by the sight of her fallen clansman.

“Tavish,” she called as she rushed to his side, but with a sharp intake of breath, she stopped short. “Nay, Tavish,” she cried as she fell to her knees at his side. Three arrows protruded from his back. “God keep ye,” she whispered.

“Where do ye think ye’re going, ye murdering bastard?” Hamish growled. The MacLean had tried scurrying away on his stomach, but with only one good arm he had not made it very far. Hamish flipped him over and drove his knee into his chest. Then he pressed his dirk against the enemy’s neck. With satisfaction, Nellore noted the thin trickle of blood dripping down the MacLean’s throat. She stared down into his wide, terrified eyes.

“I see ye trembling. Ye’re wise to be afraid. Hamish would like nothing more than to dispense with your foul life right here, right now. I may be able to persuade him to bring ye to our laird, alive, if ye tell me where the rest of your band is,” she said.

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