Page 96 of The Laird's Masked Desire
Domhnall followed immediately. The man barely had time to scramble onto one elbow before Domhnall’s boot came down on his wrist. Bone cracked. The MacGregor soldier screamed.
Domhnall did not pause. He drove the hilt of his sword into the man’s jaw with enough force to snap his head back against the stone. The sound of the impact echoed through the corridor like a hammer striking iron. The man went limp.
But Domhnall had already turned. The second intruder had tightened his grip on Margaret’s arm, trying to drag her through the doorway while the first man fell.
“Move!” he snarled.
Margaret twisted violently, fighting him with everything she had. Domhnall crossed the space between them in two strides. The MacGregor man raised his blade. Domhnall’s sword met it once, hard enough to jolt the man’s arm, then twice, forcing him backward. Domhnall stepped inside the man’s reach. The third strike came too fast for defense. Steel tore across the man’s side. He staggered, choking on his own breath.
Domhnall seized him by the collar and slammed him against the stone arch beside the door. The impact shook dust from the mortar.
“If any of ye touch her again,” Domhnall snarled, “and I will end yer entire clan meself.”
The MacGregor soldier spat blood. Domhnall answered by driving his fist into the man’s face. The man collapsed to the floor beside the first.
Only then did he turn back to Margaret and saw her standing there alive, furious, and shaking with the aftermath of the struggle. He pulled her behind him as more guards flooded the corridor and the remaining MacGregor men began to retreat into the smoke.
“Stay back,” he urged.
Two more MacGregor men rushed from the hall behind them. He met the first attacker head-on. Domhnall stepped inside the man’s swing and drove his blade across the intruder’s side. The man collapsed instantly.
The second attacker hesitated. That moment of hesitation saved Domhnall’s life once more. He advanced. The MacGregor man retreated a step, then another. More guards were pouring into the corridor now. Castle steel filled the hall.
Outnumbered and suddenly exposed, the remaining MacGregor men began to fall back toward the broken servants’ gate.
“Retreat!” one of them shouted.
Domhnall cut another down before he reached the stair. The last of them fled through the smoke-filled passage and vanished into the outer yard. Within seconds the corridor fell quiet again except for the crackle of distant fire and the ragged breathing of the guards.
Cameron appeared at the top of the stair, with his sword still in hand.
“They’re pulling back,” he said.
Domhnall barely heard him. He turned immediately toward Margaret.
“Are ye hurt?”
Margaret shook her head. “Nay.”
His hands were already on her, checking her the way he had done when they had been in the chamber, only this time, it was more desperate and urgent. Only when he was certain she was unharmed did he finally stop. The rage still burned beneath his skin.
“They dared tae touch ye,” he said quietly, as if incredulous that anyone would dare.
Behind them the guards began securing the corridor again as Cameron issued quick orders. But Domhnall did not move. For one terrible moment in that passage, he had seen Margaret dragged toward the door. And the thought of losing her had struck deeper than any blade ever had.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Margaret did not remember leaving the upper hall. One moment she had been struggling in the corridor, her arm wrenched in a stranger’s grip, the smell of smoke filling her lungs. And the next…
Domhnall’s voice.
Domhnall’s sword.
Domhnall’s arms pulling her behind him.
The memory still trembled inside her like the echo of thunder.
Now the castle corridors blurred past as he escorted her toward their chambers. Guards surrounded them, four ahead and two behind, moving quickly through the smoke-hazed passages as the sounds of battle slowly faded into distant shouts.
