Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,91

close to them.

It wasn’t his first choice. What he really wanted to do was to send Hallie back to Rivenloch. To put her in the chapel with Isabel and the children, where she would be safe.

It wasn’t that he doubted her prowess with a blade. He’d seen her spar with Brand and Gellir. He knew she was a warrior of superb skills.

But this was war. War. Where a slip on the grass or a twist of the wrist or blinking at the wrong time meant the difference between life and death.

He couldn’t stop imagining Hallie sprawled on the sod, her body still, her eyes blank, her blood soaking the emerald green grass.

He steeled his jaw. He narrowed eyes as cold as stone. He clenched his fist around the haft of his claymore, its lethal blade riding on his shoulder as they marched in deadly silence toward Creagor.

After several miles, in the distance, he heard the faint sounds of battle. Disembodied shouts and the clash of steel on steel floated toward him like ghosts in the mist. Then a dull pounding shook the earth, as if a giant were stomping slowly across the glen.

He knew the sound. It was a battering ram.

In the next instant, the top of the towers of Creagor could be glimpsed through the fog.

Then, at Feiyan’s command, the charge began.

With a mighty roar, the knights of Rivenloch unsheathed their blades and drove forward, rumbling across the sod like the deep roll of thunder.

As they funneled through the palisade gates, the destruction to the castle became apparent. The doors of Creagor were splintered and sagging on their hinges, damaged by the rabid beast of a battering ram. Mac Giric clansfolk stood atop the battlements in desperation, raining whatever heavy objects they could find down upon the enemy. The dust of battle from within the courtyard rose to meet the low-slung brow of gray cloud.

On the grassy slope, between the castle defenders and the Rivenloch knights, swarmed the enemy. Dozens of swordsmen. At the sound of the oncoming army, they dropped their battering ram and turned away from mac Giric to fight this new, deadlier foe.

Colban wasn’t afraid. Hell, he’d singlehandedly fought the knights of Rivenloch in nothing but his braies. But his stomach churned at the idea of Englishmen coming after Hallie or Feiyan or any of the warrior maids.

How the Rivenloch men managed to keep cool heads and calm tempers as they watched their wives and daughters engage in mortal combat, he didn’t know. He could hardly keep breathing.

As they closed the distance, he experienced a moment of terror when he lost sight of Hallie.

But it was nothing compared to the way his heart dropped when he found her again.

She’d engaged the enemy. Blocking a fierce sword blow with her shield, she lashed out with her blade to slash a second man’s thigh.

Spinning, she hacked at the first man’s arm, forcing the weapon from his grip.

But though Colban held his breath, waiting for her to be killed at any instant, he was soon reassured there was no cause for worry. Quiet, confident, deadly, and efficient, Hallie dispatched every attacker with ease and grace.

In that instant, he recognized what everyone in the Lowlands already knew. The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch were a force to be reckoned with.

His relief didn’t last long.

In the next moment, two English knights came at him with raised blades, demanding his undivided attention.

The length of his claymore gave him an advantage. At first. His reach exceeded theirs, keeping them at a safe distance.

But it was a slow and heavy weapon. And when a third enemy soldier began to engage him, he was unable to recover quickly enough. He was clipped under the chin with the pommel of an English blade.

His head snapped back, and his helm tumbled off. Simultaneously, the second man’s blade grated along his chain mail sleeve, nearly stripping the gauntlet and claymore from his hand.

Then the first stepped in to give him a hard shove with his shield. Colban’s heel caught on a stony prominence, and he fell backwards.

Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to keep his grip on the claymore. He braced his elbow on the ground and held the point aloft. As the knight lunged forward to give Colban a killing blow, the man’s belly met the point of Colban’s blade. Momentum drove the claymore deep under his ribs, killing him instantly.

Unfortunately, as the slain man fell, he took the claymore with him, leaving Colban to face the