Page 95 of Steel & Surrender

There was no time to dress properly. Brìghde only wore a thin lèine, one that reached mid-thigh. Her hair was unbound, her feet were bare, and she still clutched her poker.

Eòghan had grabbed an axe, and when they emerged outdoors, Brìghde saw that Ian held a heavy scythe in one hand. Her father gripped a dirk he’d made himself years earlier.

Ian turned to Brìghde. “We need to get ye away from the village. They’re torching it.”

Shouting and screams intruded then, and the acrid scent of smoke caught in the back of Brìghde’s throat. To the north, a ruddy glow lit up the sky.

Hades. Ian was right.

Fury kindled in her belly, although fear was stronger.

She was tall and strong and could swing a poker and do some damage, but she wasn’t a warrior—and she was half undressed.

She didn’t understand either why Ian had come to warn her, why he hadn’t just fled like the others. But seeing the grim look on his face and the glint in his eyes, the realization hit her like a blow.

He’d come for her.

She’d barely taken this in when Ian backed up, pointing south. “Come, we need to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Three big leather-clad figures leaped from the shadows.

It was too late to run; the MacDonalds had reached the southern edge of the village. They were here.

Her mother screamed, clutching Breac tightly by the arm.

Her father’s curses followed. He jabbed his dirk at the air before him. “Stay back, dogs!” he snarled.

Brìghde’s breathing caught. Her father was brave, but he couldn’t even see the men surrounding them. “Lower that blade, Da,” she gasped. “I’m here.”

Moving in front of him, she swung the poker at one of the warriors. The poker cracked against his wrist. He howled.

Yet when two more of them lunged from the darkness, her panic surged forth once more.

They wore wide grins, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

Ian stepped up, swinging his scythe viciously—yet despite its wicked blade, he was no match for warriors with dirks.

Two of them closed in on him, both stabbing him in the chest at the same time.

With a grunt, he went down. The wet sound of rending flesh followed as one of his attackers stabbed him through the throat.

A scream ripped from Brìghde. She swung her poker again, her palms slippery against the rough metal now.

Christ. They’d slain Ian.

A heartbeat ago, he’d been breathing, talking, and fighting.

Now, he bled out on the ground.

Fury caught fire in her veins. She didn’t think—only swung. If she stopped, they would die.

Her poker slammed into a knee, a sickening ‘crack’ following.

The MacDonald warrior howled.

Eòghan rushed forward, swinging his axe and chopping open the man’s neck. With a gurgle, he slumped to the ground.