Page 12 of The Chief

Nay, it could not be . . .

Except it was. Rory was already dismounting, running toward them. The others did indeed surround him, and from what Cristane could see, he was alone.

Her captor was yanked off the horse with such ferocity and speed Cristane feared she might topple over as well. Gripping the reins, she managed to stay seated for long enough to see her abductor lunge forward, toward Rory.

Biting her lip, knowing it would be best not to intervene, she watched as they engaged. Except it didn’t take very long. Enraged, Rory buried his sword under the man’s outstretched arm, dropping him to the ground screaming in pain.

He then addressed the other McKinnon men, who had not even dismounted yet.

“You know who I am, but if there be any question, you’ve the honor of insulting the chief of Clan Kennaugh’s second. So unless you plan to kill me, do not dismount or attempt to help your friend.”

None of the McKinnon men moved.

They may have been authorized to take a captive, but an attack on Rory Kennaugh would be akin to a declaration of war.

“Be on your way,” he said to them, lifting a hand to her as if he were not surrounded by enemy warriors. “And tell your chief his provocation has been received and will be dealt with.”

They did not even hesitate. Not only did they abandon their friend on the ground, bleeding and still screaming from pain, but they did so at a dangerous speed.

Rory helped her dismount.

Only then did he look back down at her captor. “If you do manage to live, let it be a warning to you,” he spat, his tone full of venom. “Non vocis.”

Those words, spoken so menacingly to the enemy, made her shiver even more.

Never falter.

But she did. And felt herself falling to the ground.