Page 158 of The Laird's Masked Passion

“Nay,” she whispered.

“Let her walk away,” he pleaded. “And ye may dae whatever ye wish with me.”

Robert’s breathing quickened. He believed him. Elspeth believed him, too. Colin was not pretending. He would let Robert bind him, wound him, kill him, if it gave her even the smallest chance to escape.

Colin looked only at Elspeth. “Naething matters more than she daes.”

The words broke something inside her.

“Colin, dinnae.”

His gaze softened. It was not the look of a man expecting rescue. It was farewell.

Robert laughed triumphantly. “Kneel.”

Elspeth began to struggle. Robert dragged the blade tighter against her side.

“Stop,” Colin commanded.

Tears burned her eyes. He had already chosen her life over his, her safety over vengeance, pride, duty, and every acre of land he had bled to defend.

Robert stepped forward, pulling Elspeth with him.

“Kneel!”

At that moment, a voice came from the broken chapel wall. “I believe that is quite enough!”

Robert froze. Sir Malcolm Douglas emerged from the shadows with two royal soldiers behind him. The Crown’s representative held Robert’s written message in one hand and a drawn sword in the other.

“I heard yer confession, Laird Munro,” he declared. “The attacks. The murders. The abduction of Lady MacKenzie.”

Robert’s face changed. For the first time, fear entered it. He dragged Elspeth backward. Men rose from the ridge. Niall and Domhnall appeared above the ruined wall with archers beside them. Breac’s men emerged from the trees. Murdoch came through the lower ravine with his sword already drawn.

Robert’s soldiers shouted. The hollow erupted. An arrow struck the man nearest Colin, and he moved before the body reached the ground. He seized his fallen sword belt, drew the blade, and drove himself toward Elspeth.

Robert tried to pull her in front of him. Elspeth stamped hard upon his foot and threw her weight sideways. The knife cut through her gown but missed flesh. His grip loosened. She tore free. Someone caught her bound hands and dragged her behind the broken altar.

“Down, me lady!” Breac urged.

Elspeth fell as steel rang above her. She saw only fragments: Niall fighting near the wall, Domhnall striking one man aside, royal soldiers surrounding two of Robert’s men who had dropped their weapons.

Then Colin reached her. He cut the ropes at her wrists with one violent stroke.

“Are ye hurt?”

“Nay.”

His hands moved over her face, her arms, her ribs, searching for blood.

“Colin, behind ye!”

Robert came through the chaos with his sword raised. Colin turned and steel met steel. Robert fought without discipline now. His grief and fury stripped away everything but the need to kill. He swung hard, forcing Colin backward across the uneven ground. Elspeth scrambled away from the blades. Robert struck Colin’s injured shoulder and Colin staggered.

“Nay!” she shouted.

Robert lifted his sword again. Colin caught the blow, twisted beneath it, and drove his blade forward. The point entered beneath Robert’s ribs. Robert stopped.

For one moment, the fighting around them seemed to quiet. Colin stood close enough to hold him upright. Robert looked into his face. Perhaps he saw Colin’s father. Perhaps, at last, he saw only Colin.