Page 57 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

The kirk door stood only a few yards away. All the children had made it through except one, still scrambling towards the door. The men were between her and the road, between her and the children.

"Get her!" The shout came from somewhere to her right. "Take her alive!"

And suddenly she understood, with a fresh spike of terror, that this had never been a fight meant to kill her.

They wanted her taken.

Hands closed around both her arms at once, wrenching the rod from her grip, and she screamed. It was not a polite cry for help, but something raw and furious torn straight up out of her chest. She fought with everything she had, twisting, kicking, driving her heel down hard on someone's instep, refusing, with every part of her body at once, to be dragged even a single step toward the horses waiting at the street's end.

"Let go of me!" Her voice cracked with the force of it. "LET GO⁠—"

Then something struck the side of her head and white light burst across her vision. Her knees buckled and the world lurched sideways.

She heard herself make a strange, broken sound and felt her grip on the man's sleeve slip away. Her head rang. One side of her face had gone numb, and when she tried to straighten, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her.

"Hold her up."

Somewhere very far away, through the ringing in her own ears, she heard herself screaming his name without having decided to.

"MARCAS—"

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The sound tore through her throat. For one terrible second, nothing changed. Then hoofbeats thundered around the corner.

The attackers turned. Marcas's horse came into the street at a gallop, another rider close behind him, and Marcas was already out of the saddle before the horse had fully checked its speed.

His boots hit the ground, his sword was in his , and he roared as he ran towards them. The man holding Neilina looked up. He barely had time to raise his blade.

Marcas's sword struck the man with such force that the attacker released her with a cry and staggered backwards, blood darkening his sleeve.

Neilina stumbled sideways as the second man came at Marcas. Their swords met. The impact rang through the now empty street. Marcas drove him back once, then twice.

The man's blade came down hard enough to jar Marcas's shoulder, but Marcas caught the strike with a grunt, turned his wrist and forced the man's sword wide.He stepped inside his guard And cut him down with one clean stroke. The man collapsed.

The third attacker bolted. He reached his horse, seized the saddle and tried to swing himself up. Marcas turned towards him.

For one heartbeat Neilina thought he would chase. He did not. His eyes found her instead. Everything in his face changed. He crossed the space between them in two strides.

Neilina was still standing, but only because she had one hand against the kirk wall. Her other hand had gone to the side of her head. Her fingers came away bloody.

“Marcas—”

He caught her before her knees gave way.

One arm locked around her waist, pulling her hard against his chest. His other hand came up behind her head, careful despite the violence still burning through every line of his body.

"I'm here," he said, rough, his voice breaking in a way she'd never heard from him. "I'm here, Neilina, I'm here⁠—"

She was shaking. She hadn't fully registered how badly until he held her, her whole body trembling against him now that the danger had passed. She pressed her face into his shoulder and, for one unguarded moment, simply fall apart in his arms.

"The children," she managed, muffled against his shirt.

"Safe. Lachlan has them. They're safe, dinnae think of it—" She felt his hand move over her hair, checking the back of her skull, then down to her cheek. "Are ye hurt. Neilina, look at me, are ye hurt⁠—"

"They wanted tae take me, Marcas. Nae hurt the children. Me."

"Look at me."