Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,92

two remaining foes without a weapon.

Without a helm.

Without a hope.

Chapter 31

Hallie sensed danger.

Like Isabel with her feelings about the future, she could tell when one of her own was in mortal peril in a skirmish. It was almost as if she had a falcon’s eye view of the battle and could detect where her help was needed.

This time it was Feiyan.

Her agile cousin was leaping about with her usual skill, confounding the English with her strange weapons—a great fork that snapped swords in half, flying steel stars, and the slim, curved blade that looked frail, but was sharper and more lethal than any English longsword.

But though she’d managed to perplex three English knights who staggered about with damaged weapons and bodies, Feiyan didn’t see the fourth man stealing up on her between two of his companions.

Hallie loped toward her cousin, clearing a path with a violent sweep of her sword. Just as Feiyan’s eyes brightened in recognition, the man behind Feiyan lunged toward her.

Hallie wasted no time. She gave her cousin a hard sideways shove with her shield that widened Feiyan’s eyes, but moved her out of peril. Then, using the back of her sword and the force of her shoulder, Hallie hacked at the attacker just below his knees, felling him like an ancient fir.

She didn’t stay to see what happened next. Feiyan could handle what hazard remained.

Instead, her gaze was drawn again to the most immediate danger.

Colban.

He was downed. Blood trickled from his chin. He had no weapon. No helm. Just his shield. And that was quickly torn away by one of the two English knights brandishing swords over him.

If she’d had another instant to waste, dread would have kicked her in the stomach, stunning her to inaction.

But she didn’t think.

She acted on impulse. Before she could be frozen by fear.

“To me!” she cried in savage demand.

She suddenly thought of Brand’s hedgehog maneuver.

Against every instinct, she dropped her sword. In the few moments when Colban’s attackers were distracted by her cry, she dove forward in mid-air with all the intensity of a hawk on the hunt.

At the last instant, she ducked her head, forming a tight ball and rolling once across the sod. Mid-plunge, she crossed her arms to pluck twin daggers from their sheaths at her waist.

When she rolled onto her feet again, she was too close to her foes for them to use their swords. Not that they would have had time to slash at her. She instantly thrust her daggers outward with killing force, plunging them into the enemies’ shocked hearts.

As the two English soldiers fell backward, dying before they hit the ground, Hallie offered Colban a bloody hand.

His jaw was slack. His eyes were full of awe. But all she felt was relief that she’d been able to keep her word to Isabel. That she’d kept him unharmed.

“I owe ye my life,” he marveled as he took her hand and let her help him to his feet.

The admiration and gratitude in his eyes tore at her heart. But when love softened his gaze, her soul melted, and her throat thickened with grief.

She’d killed for him and saved his life, aye, but for what? It was a hollow victory.

He would never be hers.

She’d only saved him for another woman.

He must have seen the truth in her eyes, for his face dimmed with sorrow and frustration. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

There was no time for regret. The battle still raged around them.

“Better claim your claymore ere someone else does,” she choked out as she retrieved her daggers from her victims. She wiped the bloody blades on the grass and returned them to their sheaths.

Once Colban had wrenched his weapon free and reclaimed his helm and shield, Hallie swept up her longsword.

But there was little more to be done. Already the presence of Rivenloch reinforcements had given the mac Girics an advantage. They began pushing the English back through the sagging doors of Creagor.

Soon the English commander realized he was not only outnumbered. He was trapped between the mac Girics, who had the castle at their back, and the Rivenloch army, which blocked his escape.

“To Firthgate!” he cried. “Retreat!”

In the end, Rivenloch showed them mercy, allowing the English to flee through the palisade gates without pursuit. The English at Firthgate might be the enemy, but they were usually neighbors who could be trusted to keep to themselves. Their attempt to claim Creagor when it was most vulnerable was likely a feat