Tempest Heart - Paula Quinn Page 0,50

so much to see me dead? I stood accused and was proven innocent!”

“Just as I told him, Father,” she reassured gently. “I think I have convinced him of your innocence, and he has sworn to me that he will not kill you if you are innocent.”

Her father came to her and closed his fingers around her arms. His dark sable eyes were warm on hers. “And you believe him, Daughter?”

“Aye, Father, I do.”

He let her go and his gaze cooled. “Then you are a fool.” He turned his back to her. “He is a killer for hire. He is no better than the one who killed your mother.”

“He does not kill women.”

“But he would kill me!” her father shouted at her. “And for something I did not do!”

Rose shook her head and went to him. “No. He will not kill you, Father. You are innocent.”

“And did he say my innocence mattered to him?”

“Aye,” she promised.

Finally, he sighed and offered her a seat at the table. “Come. Eat. Forgive me for my outburst.” He waited for her to sit and then reclined next to her. “Now, tell me everything you have learned about him, Daughter. What is his weakness?”

She let her eyes dart to Captain Harper. Tristan had let him live rather than let her remain in the forest alone.

It was she. She was his weakness.

And judging by the way her father was looking at her, he knew it.

What he didn’t know was that Tristan was her weakness. She would betray him for no one. Not even her father.

Chapter Fourteen

“Let him go and none of you will die.”

Tristan was a little surprised at Jones’ threat and the quiet assurance with which he delivered it. The earl’s guard looked fit. Tristan was surprised. It might concern him later, but right now, he was grateful for it.

He waited a few moments for his captor’s reply, torn about whether or not to slip one of his daggers from his belt and shove it into the thief’s throat behind him. Any other time, Tristan could have taken on all five of them, but his arm was sore from his healing wound. Still, he could kill two or three while Jones took the rest.

He didn’t want to give away his fighting skill to the soldier. Let Jones think Tristan needed his protection. Let him think Tristan was helpless.

But the cold blade against Tristan’s throat was getting concerning.

“Ye are in no position to make threats,” the thief shouted back.

The blade pressed against Tristan’s throat with more pressure.

Jones moved with lightning quickness, hurling his knife through the air. It landed in the thief’s hand between his knuckles—a few mere inches from Tristan’s throat.

The man screamed. Tristan opened his eyes, scowled at Jones then reached up. He yanked the thief’s blade from his bloody hand and jammed it into his belly.

Turning, he gutted his captor and flung the dripping blade into another thief coming toward him.

He reached his horse and mounted, ready to run—as any helpless soul would do. But he didn’t want to run. He wanted to fight. He watched Jones take on the rest of the thieves.

The guard ripped his claymore from its sheath and produced a shorter dagger in the other hand. Tristan was curious to see how he fought. A moment later, he was impressed by what he saw. Jones was a skilled fighter, quick on his feet and even quicker with his blades. He rolled on the ground and came up swinging. His blows were thunderous, coming up and then down on the two thieves and killing them quickly. The fifth and final thief ran for his life. Jones let him go.

He turned from where he was standing, both of his blades glistening with blood. He looked at Tristan in his saddle and tilted his head at an angle. “You knew where to cut and your throw was excellent.”

Tristan shrugged and then rubbed his shoulder to work out a kink. “Sometimes one must be able to protect the flock from wolves.”

Jones laughed softly, and then mounted his horse and led the way to Dumfries.

“Killing has a way of sobering a man up.” Tristan said, catching up with him.

“Aye,” the guard agreed. “We will have to get drunk together again.”

Tristan nodded. “After seeing you fight, I feel safer out here if MacPherson shows up.”

“I practice every day.”

“Ah, the earl keeps his men to a strict routine then.”

Jones shook his head. “Not at all. Most are idle nowadays. I choose not to be. You understand?”

“Aye,” Tristan