A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,149

eyes and stroked his hand along his jaw.

Elspeth wanted to know how they’d tracked the sword to the inn, but to do so would show she knew more than she’d admitted.

Kent approached. “Let’s burn the inn with these people inside. That will draw MacLean out, and we can take him easily—even with that damned sword. I will do it myself, in fact.” The craven hunger in his eyes made it clear he wanted to try.

Grover grabbed Elspeth’s arm once more and dragged her to the front door. Opening it, he yelled outside, “I’m going to kill your Miss Marshall! You have five minutes to bring the sword to me!”

After slamming the door, he strode back to the fireplace, pulling Elspeth along with him. Once there, he released her with such force that she went sprawling on the floor, hitting her shoulder as she landed.

Huffing out a breath, Grover offered her his hand. “Look what you made me do.”

Elspeth sat up but scooted away from him. Suddenly, the front door of the inn opened. Grover turned his head, and Elspeth did the same.

Tavish appeared, closing the door behind him.

Blood caked the left side of his face from temple to jaw. His white shirt was smeared with dirt and blood, and one sleeve had a gaping hole. There was more blood on his feet. So much blood.

A cry tore from Elspeth’s lips as she scrambled to her feet. Before she could go to him, Grover clasped her arm and pulled her to his side.

The two uninjured brigands trained their flintlocks on Tavish. He lifted his hands in the air. Where was Lann 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