Page 98 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
“What of ye, Millar?” the unblemished man asked.
“Ye’ll nae see me again. Now, I want me money, and I’ll be on me way.”
“See, that’s the thing,” the scarred man sneered. “We’ve been told to kill ye. We get the money and the merchandise. That’s a great deal for O’Gunn.”
Eileen felt Millar tense up in fear and press the blade to her neck as the silence stretched out.
“Och, quit yer jokin’,” the other man said.
The scarred man laughed. “I had ye there, Millar. Ye almost pished yerself.”
“Aye, aye, very funny,” Millar snapped, annoyed. “Just give me the money and be on yer way.”
“There ye go.” The scarred man took a large pouch out of his saddlebag and tossed it to the ground beside Millar’s horse. “A deal’s a—ye double-crosser!”
“What?” Millar gasped. “I didnae—” He clamped his mouth shut when a rider flew past in a blur.
The two blackguards drew their swords, the unscarred one bringing his up to parry the blow as the horse and rider flew past. The metallic clang rang out into the night, echoing through the trees.
Both men turned their horses as they searched for their attacker.
Millar moved to grab the reins, but Eileen brought her bound hands up and grabbed his arm to stop him from cutting her, then threw herself to the side before he could regain his balance, pushing them off the horse. She made sure to do it on his injured side, and when they hit the ground with a grunt, he screamed out in pain.
She kicked out her legs, trying to get away from him, but he reached out and grabbed her forearm, pulling her to her feet.
The unscarred man fell from his horse and didn’t move.
Millar searched around wildly for the dagger he’d dropped.
The scarred man fell silent as he dropped from his horse with a thud, unmoving like his friend.
Another thud as the attacker jumped down from his horse before Eileen and Millar.
Eileen gasped in relief. Archer stood before her, his eyes flashing with bloodlust.
“Me Lai—” Millar started.
“Nay!” Archer growled. “There is nay excuse for this, is there?”
“N-Nay, Me Laird,” Millar stammered. He let go of Eileen, dropped to his knees, and began to weep.
Archer looked at Eileen, the message in his eyes clear. She turned away and pulled the gag out of her mouth.
She looked into the darkness between the trees surrounding them. She couldn’t help but smile. One moment she’d been as good as dead, and the next she was saved.
Henry Millar didn’t beg for mercy or say a word as Archer ended his life. There was a swift rush of air, then a soft squelch, like a knife sinking into jam. Millar did not make a sound, only a short gasp, then a gurgle.
When she heard the hiss of metal against leather, Eileen turned back around to watch Millar fall onto his side, his neck stained red.
She ran for Archer and leaped onto him, wrapping her legs around him. He grabbed her rear, the act becoming familiar, and held her to him under the moonlight.
Three dead men lay around them, but it was one of the most romantic moments of her life.
Her hands were still bound, and they were squashed between them as he held her, but she didn’t care. She pressed her lips to his, holding them there, warmth filling her after the fright she had. A tear rolled down her cheek.
She pulled back and buried her face in Archer’s shoulder. He slid his hand up her back, encompassing her in safety and warmth. Her body began to shiver not from the cold, but from the fear catching up with her after outrunning it for as long as she could.
“I thought he would kill me, or worse,” Eileen mumbled.
