proof enough they need me.”
Despite approaching danger, Seonaid turned to find a wistful Padraig looking at her.
“Och, Padraig…” She didn’t want tears to weaken her own smile. “How many hearts have you broken with that handsome face of yours?”
That brightened him. “Oh, lass,” he drawled, “are you saying you love me?”
An arrow hit the earth two paces in front of them. They stepped back, knowing they couldn’t go much further until they knew the others were gone.
Seonaid’s breath came in quick short bursts, building a warrior’s whoop. Chances of survival were nil, but there was one thing she wanted to say before she died. She wanted the truth out. It couldn’t hurt her now.
“Aye!” she shouted, as she prepared to rain arrows down on the men approaching. “I love ya, ya big oaf.”
CHAPTER 11 ~ FACING THE ENEMY
She loved him.
He could weep. She loved him, told him so, and here they stood at death’s door. He should have insisted she leave. Wasted effort, that. She wouldn’t do so without a fight, no matter how desperate the outcome, and there was no time for argument.
All they could do was create a distraction, so the women and the priest could ride away. The odds didn’t offer more than that, yet she stood firm, as he knew she would if the going got tough. It couldn’t be any tougher.
Her panic earlier, when the lasses faced a bleak outcome, had naught to do with her. No fear there. No, it was for the lasses, knowing they’d suffer worse than Seonaid herself had endured. And she’d endured too much at the hands of her brother.
They’d managed to get further up the hill, stopping long enough to shoot arrows down at the men gaining on them, though they didn’t waste many arrows at that. Too far to reach their mark, but soon they would be in range.
They needed to stop at least a few men, before it got to hand-to-hand combat. Once the priest and lasses were mounted and riding, the men wouldn’t be able to reach them.
The only fear was the one lass. She’d frozen. He prayed to Seonaid’s God that the girl was on a horse and riding. He feared she wasn’t, for they didn’t hear the priest’s call, signaling they could let up the guard.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if Seonaid was right and there was a God, he was pleading to him now. Just whistle, you old friar, let us get out of this before it’s too late.
He wanted Seonaid to run for it.
He strained for the sound of horses, but heard nothing. He saw the tension in Seonaid, lunged to the side and kissed her with every ounce of his heart. And she kissed him back, fierce and proud, and so full of love he’d die happy, only he had to pull back, their faces a breath apart.
“I love you, lass…to the depth of my soul, I love you.”
He forced himself to let go, to face the danger, ready now for whatever came.
Nostrils flared, on great drafts of air, he stood, armed and steady, ready to do whatever he could to give the women time, and to protect Seonaid so she, too, could get away.
Muscles so tense they shivered, as the stomp of hooves sounded behind them.
“Shite! They’re supposed to ride away!” he bellowed, even as he marveled that they would come to save Seonaid, get her to safety.
Only it wasn’t the women.
Deian, mounted on Snip, charged over the hill, Tarvos in tow.
“Run, Seonaid!” he bellowed, even as he saw her race toward Deian, jump on Tarvos.
Good thinking. If Snip had just ridden to Eriboll and back, he didn’t need a second rider. Tarvos could handle two. Padraig ran, jumped, swinging around to land on his mount’s rump, right behind Seonaid.
His victory cry rang through the night, in concert with Seonaid’s call. Deian chimed in, a sweet, blended, partnering to success.
But they weren’t finished yet.
Arrows rained on them as they heeled their mounts, pushing them through the blind night, willing them not to trip or fall. Padraig lunged forward, before he could stop himself, sending
Despite approaching danger, Seonaid turned to find a wistful Padraig looking at her.
“Och, Padraig…” She didn’t want tears to weaken her own smile. “How many hearts have you broken with that handsome face of yours?”
That brightened him. “Oh, lass,” he drawled, “are you saying you love me?”
An arrow hit the earth two paces in front of them. They stepped back, knowing they couldn’t go much further until they knew the others were gone.
Seonaid’s breath came in quick short bursts, building a warrior’s whoop. Chances of survival were nil, but there was one thing she wanted to say before she died. She wanted the truth out. It couldn’t hurt her now.
“Aye!” she shouted, as she prepared to rain arrows down on the men approaching. “I love ya, ya big oaf.”
CHAPTER 11 ~ FACING THE ENEMY
She loved him.
He could weep. She loved him, told him so, and here they stood at death’s door. He should have insisted she leave. Wasted effort, that. She wouldn’t do so without a fight, no matter how desperate the outcome, and there was no time for argument.
All they could do was create a distraction, so the women and the priest could ride away. The odds didn’t offer more than that, yet she stood firm, as he knew she would if the going got tough. It couldn’t be any tougher.
Her panic earlier, when the lasses faced a bleak outcome, had naught to do with her. No fear there. No, it was for the lasses, knowing they’d suffer worse than Seonaid herself had endured. And she’d endured too much at the hands of her brother.
They’d managed to get further up the hill, stopping long enough to shoot arrows down at the men gaining on them, though they didn’t waste many arrows at that. Too far to reach their mark, but soon they would be in range.
They needed to stop at least a few men, before it got to hand-to-hand combat. Once the priest and lasses were mounted and riding, the men wouldn’t be able to reach them.
The only fear was the one lass. She’d frozen. He prayed to Seonaid’s God that the girl was on a horse and riding. He feared she wasn’t, for they didn’t hear the priest’s call, signaling they could let up the guard.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if Seonaid was right and there was a God, he was pleading to him now. Just whistle, you old friar, let us get out of this before it’s too late.
He wanted Seonaid to run for it.
He strained for the sound of horses, but heard nothing. He saw the tension in Seonaid, lunged to the side and kissed her with every ounce of his heart. And she kissed him back, fierce and proud, and so full of love he’d die happy, only he had to pull back, their faces a breath apart.
“I love you, lass…to the depth of my soul, I love you.”
He forced himself to let go, to face the danger, ready now for whatever came.
Nostrils flared, on great drafts of air, he stood, armed and steady, ready to do whatever he could to give the women time, and to protect Seonaid so she, too, could get away.
Muscles so tense they shivered, as the stomp of hooves sounded behind them.
“Shite! They’re supposed to ride away!” he bellowed, even as he marveled that they would come to save Seonaid, get her to safety.
Only it wasn’t the women.
Deian, mounted on Snip, charged over the hill, Tarvos in tow.
“Run, Seonaid!” he bellowed, even as he saw her race toward Deian, jump on Tarvos.
Good thinking. If Snip had just ridden to Eriboll and back, he didn’t need a second rider. Tarvos could handle two. Padraig ran, jumped, swinging around to land on his mount’s rump, right behind Seonaid.
His victory cry rang through the night, in concert with Seonaid’s call. Deian chimed in, a sweet, blended, partnering to success.
But they weren’t finished yet.
Arrows rained on them as they heeled their mounts, pushing them through the blind night, willing them not to trip or fall. Padraig lunged forward, before he could stop himself, sending
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