Bride of Mist (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #3) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,12

required was will, good aim, and opportunity. In the heat of battle, killing was a necessary evil, a matter of slaying or being slain.

But the thought of ending the life of a defenseless man, a man who was the son of a mother, who might well be the sweetheart of a maid, the father of children…slaying someone outside the chaos of war… That was not so easy.

And no matter how much this devil deserved to be dispatched back to hell, Feiyan couldn’t send him there without being absolutely certain he was the demon she believed him to be.

In her moment of hesitation, the man stirred and rolled from his side onto his back. She froze as his features were revealed in the milky blue moonlight.

And then her heart tripped.

He was more eye-catching than she’d expected. Surprisingly handsome. Curiously captivating. As magnificent, wild, and noble as his destrier.

Locks of black hair tumbled across his troubled brow. His cheek was swarthy with several days’ growth of beard. His face was lean and angular, with a straight, elegant nose. His mouth was soft with slumber.

And he was young. Much younger than she’d imagined. Probably not much older than her.

She gulped. Was she making a mistake? Surely this dark Adonis wasn’t the savage who’d ravaged the knights at Creagor.

Flustered, she realized she had to extricate herself from this awkward situation until she was sure. She had no wish to explain to a handsome young nobleman innocently hunting in the forest why she was stalking him in the middle of the night.

Carefully sheathing her sword, she retreated, taking a step backwards.

All at once, she heard a snap, and something slithered around her ankle. Before she could draw in a gasp, she was yanked off her feet. The world abruptly flipped upside down. She found herself dangling by her ankle, swaying at the end of a rope.

In one painful instant of clarity, her heart leaped into her throat. She’d been trapped like a coney in a snare.

Whatever qualms she had about harming the sleeping stranger vanished into thin air. He was no guileless gentleman. She had indeed found the cunning devil of mac Darragh.

Chapter 5

Dougal was jerked out of a dead sleep. He instinctively clapped the ground beside him, where he usually kept his claymore. It wasn’t there.

Memory flooded back as he blinked awake in the misty moonlight. He remembered now. He was in the woods. Fleeing Creagor. Pursued by mac Girics. And he’d left his claymore behind.

A dark shape suddenly swung through the shadows above him. He ducked, half expecting a giant owl had swooped at his head.

Then he remembered the snare.

Scrambling to his feet, he backed away from the swinging captive.

It appeared the cart driver was right. The woods were teeming with thieves. It was a good thing he’d set the trap.

“Who goes there?” he demanded.

There was no reply. The robber swung past a few more times, curling the fog in his wake, before Dougal reached out a hand to stop him.

The inverted thief’s cloak fell over his face like great wings, making him look more like a bat than an owl. From what Dougal could see of the culprit, he was either a very large bird or a rather small human. But he had a very dangerous weapon. A sword was belted around his hips.

The thief was at a clear disadvantage, strung up and dangling by one leg. But his hands were free. If he drew his blade, he could do some damage.

Before that could happen, Dougal loosened the leather belt around the lad’s hips.

“I’ll take that,” he said.

There was a furious, strangling sound from the thief as his suddenly liberated tabard fell even farther over his head, revealing a pair of dark-stockinged legs and pale linen braies. The robber jerked in frustration at the end of the rope.

Dougal unsheathed the sword. It was an unusual single-edged weapon with an angled point, a small oval guard, and an iron ring in place of a pommel. Why a common thief would have such a unique sword, he didn’t know. He sliced once through the air, impressed by the way the light blade whistled as it passed.

“So are your minions close by?” Dougal asked. “Or are ye just robbin’ folk on your own?”

There was no reply, but the thief went still, as if considering the best answer.

“Perhaps I’ll leave ye strung up here as bait and catch the rest o’ your band of outlaws.”

The thief squirmed at that. Was he afraid that his fellows would