Cursing, the man threw the weapon away and drew his sword.
Raising Lann Dhearg, Tavish realized he could use the sword to its full potential out here without worrying about setting the inn or stable on fire. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent. “Let the hostages go.”
Red-orange flame licked up the blade and cast bright light over the other man’s face, clearly revealing his fear as his gaze locked on the sword. He took a step back.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Tavish said, advancing. “But I will save those people.”
“Just as we’ll get that sword.” The man surprised Tavish by lunging forward. Their weapons clashed. Then they circled each other a moment before the smaller man again tried an offensive strike.
Tavish easily parried the blow. “This is your last chance. Surrender.”
The man answered by pushing forward. But Tavish didn’t retreat. He was taller and bigger, and so was his sword. Plus, it was on fire. He pressed his advantage, driving the man back with thrust after thrust.
Faltering, the man dropped his sword. Tavish wanted to let him go, but then he pulled a knife from his boot. Gritting his teeth, Tavish lunged, sinking the blade into the man’s chest. His eyes widened as his body caught fire. He screamed and ran.
Tavish didn’t watch what happened next. He dashed to the first man he’d taken down with the rock, intending to drag him to the stable to tie him up.
But the man was already rising to his knees. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror. He looked from the flaming man to Tavish, then jumped to his feet and sprinted into the night.
Tavish let him go. Then he ran back to the inn and pressed himself next to the window. He peered inside. The villains seemed agitated. Perhaps they’d heard the screams of the man who’d caught fire.
That left five of them, two of whom were injured. For the first time, Tavish liked these odds. A plan formed in his mind. He dashed to the stable to set it in motion.
“He has the bloody sword!” Grover stalked back to the fireplace from the window, his eyes blazing.
The screams from outside echoed in Elspeth’s ears. She prayed the sounds hadn’t come from Tavish. When no one came back into the inn, she exhaled in relief. If Tavish had been the one hurt—or worse—the brigands would have returned.
Grover paced beside her in front of the fireplace. His face was drawn tight with tension. He stopped abruptly and came toward her, not stopping until there were just inches between them. “MacLean has become a problem for me. Perhaps what I need to do is dangle you from a window upstairs and threaten to drop you unless he comes in.”
Elspeth swallowed. She couldn’t look away from the malevolence in his eyes.
“At least now we know he has the sword.” He slitted his eyes and stroked his hand along his jaw.
Elspeth wanted to know how they’d tracked the sword to the inn, but to do so would show she knew more than she’d admitted.
Kent approached. “Let’s burn the inn with these people inside. That will draw MacLean out, and we can take him easily—even with that damned sword. I will do it myself, in fact.” The craven hunger in his eyes made it clear he wanted to try.
Grover grabbed Elspeth’s arm once more and dragged her to the front door. Opening it, he yelled outside, “I’m going to kill your Miss Marshall! You have five minutes to bring the sword to me!”
After slamming the door, he strode back to the fireplace, pulling Elspeth along with him. Once there, he released her with such force that she went sprawling on the floor, hitting her shoulder as she landed.
Huffing out a breath, Grover offered her his hand. “Look what you made me do.”
Elspeth sat up but scooted away from him. Suddenly, the front door of the inn opened. Grover turned his head, and Elspeth did the same.
Tavish appeared, closing the door behind him.
Blood caked the left side of his face from temple to jaw. His white shirt was smeared with dirt and blood, and one sleeve had a gaping hole. There was more blood on his feet. So much blood.
A cry tore from Elspeth’s lips as she scrambled to her feet. Before she could go to him, Grover clasped her arm and pulled her to his side.
The two uninjured brigands trained their flintlocks on Tavish. He lifted his hands in the air. Where was Lann