The Betrayal - By Ruth Langan Page 0,12

sickening thud.

Though he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds, he continued fighting against the armed men who came at him in waves.

Suddenly a voice rose above the others. “Highlander, lay down your weapon, or the woman dies.”

Grant turned to see Kylia in the clutches of one of the barbarians. A brawny arm was wrapped around her waist, a knife pressed to her throat, already drawing blood from a cut to her tender flesh.

“I’ll do as you ask. Don’t harm the woman.” Grant lowered his hand. The moment his sword fell to the ground, his attackers were on him like a pack of hungry dogs.

While several of them held his arms behind him, the others slashed and beat and kicked. Helpless to defend himself, he absorbed wave after wave of pain until, at a word from their leader, he was released and allowed to collapse in a bloody heap on the ground.

The one who was holding Kylia stepped closer, dragging her with him. “Laird Grant MacCallum, now will ye die far from yer home, ne’er to see it or those ye love again.”

“How do you know my name?”

“We were told to await yer arrival. There is one among yer people who wishes ye dead.”

As he raised his sword, Kylia used that moment of distraction to pull free of his grasp.

Instead of fleeing, she turned to face him, lifting both her arms high above her head. With the long hooded cape flowing around her, and the tall grass swaying at her feet, she was a fearsome sight.

For a moment the barbarians seemed more stunned than angry. But when she began chanting in an ancient tongue, they turned to their leader for guidance.

“A witch,” he shouted. “Kill her quickly, before she’s able to call down her magic to be used against us.”

Several of the men started toward her, then suddenly dropped to their knees as though frozen. Their weapons slipped from their hands.

“Get up, fools. Seize the woman.”

When they refused their leader’s command, he waved to several more who leaped over their comrades, only to find themselves similarly frozen on their knees, their weapons littering the ground.

“Witch. Now will ye pay.” With his dirk uplifted, the leader stepped over Grant’s body and started toward her.

“You cannot harm me.” Her gaze narrowed on him. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire. She fixed him with a look that had the blood chilling in his veins.

“Ye’ll not stop…” The words died on his lips as he sank to his knees. His blade dropped in the grass.

Keeping her arms uplifted, Kylia turned to Grant, lying so still and lifeless on the ground. “My lord, you must help me if we’re to make good our escape.”

In reply he moaned softly.

Her heart lay heavy in her chest.

She stepped closer until her skirts were brushing his bloody face. “My lord MacCallum. Stay here with me. Keep your mind focused. You must not let the pain take you down.”

He looked up, struggling to make out her form through the haze that blurred his vision. Why was she holding her arms aloft? And where were the barbarians? He glanced around and saw them, kneeling like statues around her. “What is it you wish of me?”

“I wish you to stand. But I cannot help you, for if I lower my arms, the spell that holds these warriors captive will be broken.”

He reached a hand to her skirts, pulling himself to a sitting position, and waited for the dizziness to fade. Then slowly, painfully, through the sheer force of his will, he got to his knees, then to his feet, before wrapping his arms around her waist to keep from falling.

His horse stood by the entrance to the forest nibbling grass. No more than a few dozen strides, but to Grant it seemed an impossible distance to cross. He could no more manage it than he could climb a Highland mountain or swim the North Channel.

“Hold on to me, my lord.” Kylia began leading him in slow, baby steps, and could feel him tremble with each painful movement. As he walked, the blood flowed freely, soaking his plaid. Sweat beaded his forehead, revealing the effort it cost him.

It would seem he had no choice but to go where she led him. Not that he minded for, in truth, he wanted desperately to leave this place. If only his body would obey his mind.

When they reached his steed he clung to the saddle for long minutes, breathing deeply. Kylia could see that he