Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,126

sharpened to dole out death. Already, its silver edge dripped with blood.

Colban didn’t think. He reacted.

Fighting his way through the retreating knights, he cursed as he saw the claymore rise and fall, over and over, hacking out destruction. A handful of fighters were trying to stop the murderous man wielding the weapon. But their blunted blades were useless against him.

As Colban struggled forward, he saw fallen and injured knights. Sir Rauve. Hallie’s father. Several of the mac Giric clan.

The man was swinging his claymore in an arc like a reaper, heedless of where it landed. Most knights leaped out of the way. A few brave souls tried to engage him. But they were repelled by the wounding blows of his great weapon.

Then, just as the claymore lifted high in the air again, young Gellir rushed in to attack the rogue warrior.

“Nay!”

Colban hurtled forward. But time dragged at his heels. His sabotons tore up chunks of sod. His armor clanged as he shouldered knights out of the way. But already the deadly claymore was reversing direction, plunging toward Gellir.

He’d never arrive in time to save the lad.

Laird Deirdre would.

With seasoned grace and speed, she thrust her shield between her son and the claymore an instant before the blade would have split his skull. Still the power of the heavy sword pummeled the shield hard enough to knock Gellir to the ground and throw Laird Deirdre off-balance. She staggered to one knee.

The warrior withdrew his blade, preparing for a second blow, this one meant to hack the laird’s head from her shoulders.

With a savage roar, Colban leaped forward, blocking the claymore with his blade. The impact to the blunted weapon rattled his teeth and shuddered through his bones. But he managed to deflect it enough to save Laird Deirdre.

Then he faced the wild Highlander alone.

The man was tall and broad of shoulder, though not as big as Colban. He was clad in weathered leather and chain mail stained with blood. The sounds issuing from the shadows of his helm were like the groans and growls and snarls of a feral beast.

Colban didn’t wait. He lunged forward with his weapon, hoping to pierce the man’s heart by force before he came round with the claymore. But the warrior threw off Colban’s blade with as much ease as tossing off a cloak.

Recovering, Colban swiftly attacked again, this time with a powerful strike at the man’s sword arm, trying to disarm him and keep the others safe.

Any other man would have dropped his weapon instantly. He’d hit the rogue with enough force to numb his arm, if not break it.

But something was wrong with the savage. Like a Viking berserker, feeling no pain, either drunk or enraged or suicidal, he continued with his aggression, wildly swinging his blade at everything in his path.

Colban fell back for only a moment to summon his strength again. But in that splinter of time, disaster struck.

Brand had followed in Colban’s wake. Eager to prove his worth, the lad took advantage of Colban’s instant of retreat and charged the warrior on his own.

Hallie was on his heels.

Brand had cast aside his shield to grasp his sword in both hands. He thrust directly forward with every ounce of his strength, aiming for the vulnerable spot just under the edge of the man’s helm.

He never made it. The edge of the claymore caught his blade, showering sparks as it slid down the length toward Brand’s hands.

Before Colban could move toward him, Hallie intervened.

Lunging forward, she used both hands to crack her blade down on top of the claymore, diverting it just enough so it slipped away from Brand’s weapon—and his wrists.

Colban immediately grabbed the foolhardy lad by the scruff of his chain mail and yanked him back out of the claymore’s path.

Then he turned his attention to Hallie. She was still finishing her downward chop when the madman bent his elbow and struck her in the head with the heavy pommel of his claymore.

Colban’s heart plunged as Hallie fell backwards. He watched helplessly as her helm, dented by the blow, flew off her head and tumbled through the air. His breath caught as her beautiful blonde head hit the ground with a horrific thud. Her eyes shut. Her mouth fell open. Her body stilled.

So shocked was he, he let down his guard.

He hardly felt the kiss of the claymore as it sliced through the chain mail, cotun, and flesh below his ribs. He only felt a slight concern that blood was leaking