The Legend of a Rogue - Darcy Burke Page 0,41

Dhearg? Had he hidden the sword to prevent them from obtaining it? She hoped so.

“At last,” Grover said, sounding pleased. And calm—though Elspeth could feel the tension radiating from him. “Where is Dyrnwyn?”

Elspeth caught the flicker of surprise that dashed across Tavish’s brow. He clearly hadn’t known they thought the sword was its twin.

“You can’t have it,” Tavish said calmly. “I know who you are.”

Grover smiled. “Do you?”

“Not you specifically—and that doesn’t matter to me one whit.” Elspeth felt Grover twitch. “But I know your organization, and I’ll say it again—you can’t have the sword.”

Grover looked toward Kent, who tossed him the flintlock he held. Catching the pistol, Grover turned it on Elspeth, leveling it against her temple. “Then you can’t have Miss Marshall.”

“No!” Tavish thrust his arms up higher. He reached his right hand behind his head. When he brought it back up, Lann Dhearg was there. As he brandished it before him, bright red-orange fire danced along the blade.

Everyone gasped. The sound of a pistol firing drew another cry from Elspeth. She watched in horror as it struck Tavish’s left bicep, tearing another hole in his shirt. The grimy white linen began to turn red with his blood.

Another pistol fired as Tavish advanced on one of the men. Elspeth tried to break free from Grover, but he squeezed more tightly. She had to help Tavish!

“Kent, upstairs!” Grover called before he tugged Elspeth toward the stairs. The sounds of everyone yelling or screaming and swords clashing filled her ears as they ascended to the landing.

The last thing she heard was Aunt Leah sobbing her name, and the last thing she saw was the three villains, including Thane and Fitz, driving Tavish into a corner with their swords. She screamed as Grover pulled her around the corner, certain that Tavish would be lost.

Elspeth’s scream distracted Tavish just enough so that one of his opponents was able to nick his side with his sword. Pain slicing through him, he drove forward.

“Don’t start a fire!” someone yelled.

Tavish didn’t want to set a fire, but he also needed to finish these men so he could get to Elspeth. He knew they were luring him upstairs. Perhaps if he started a fire, he would force them down…

Suddenly, he had help. One of the guests, a spry lad in his early twenties, was free from his bonds. He used a chair to engage one of the men. The married man joined him—he’d grabbed a poker from the fireplace.

A musket fired, and the uninjured villain fell. Tavish looked over to see Balthazar standing behind the bar with the flintlock in his grip, his lip curled. Then he worked to reload it.

One of the remaining villains, a younger man with spectacles, shrieked and dropped his sword.

“Go!” the young guest yelled to Tavish as he jerked his head toward the stairs.

Tavish didn’t need further urging. He sprinted upstairs and kicked the first door open in search of Elspeth.

A feminine shriek sounded from the direction of her room. Tavish ran but had to stop short as the man called Kent came into the corridor. Brandishing his broadsword, he strode toward Tavish. The light was dim, but Tavish could see the menace cut into the lines of the man’s face.

Bloody hell. Tavish couldn’t use Lann Dhearg. He’d set the inn on fire for certain. Yet, if he didn’t use it, how could he combat the man? And he must fight to get to Elspeth. No, he must win to get to her. He’d just found love, and he’d do anything to keep her.

Lann Dhearg’s flame diminished as he moved forward. By the time he faced Kent, it had died.

Kent narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the fire?”

Tavish thought he knew—it was the love he felt. Lann Dhearg thrived on darker emotion. The key, it seemed, to controlling the flame was to feel something better. He focused on love and hope, letting the joy of finding Elspeth and their plans for a future guide him. He swung the blade with all his might.

Kent fell back as he parried. Tavish didn’t give him a chance to respond and struck out again. Pivoting, Kent caught Tavish’s blade on his. Tavish pushed him against the wall, their swords clashing between them. Kent’s pale blue eyes narrowed just before he spit in Tavish’s face. Then he shoved Tavish so that he sprawled against the opposite wall.

Tavish wiped his hand over his face and launched away from the wall as Kent turned, reversing their original positions