The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford Page A

comfort of a hay loft and, while it would not be the first time she had slept under the stars, it would certainly be the first in the depths of winter. It wasn’t an enticing prospect. Now more than ever she pitied the plight of all those who had fled Durham.
    * * *
    At noon they stopped briefly to rest and eat before pressing on again. She noticed that Iain was keeping to tracks that skirted the hillsides, avoiding the open skyline where they would be visible for miles around. Now, like her companion, she kept a watchful eye on the land ahead but still could see no sign of any living thing other than sheep and birds. Once again it was borne upon her that her actions the previous day had been foolish in the extreme and she would have given much to see the rest of the Scottish force once more.
    She was jerked from these reflections by the sudden glint of light on metal among the rocks up ahead. Instinctively she shot a glance at Iain.
    ‘Did you see that?’
    His eyes never left the path. ‘Aye, lass, I did.’
    ‘Normans?’
    ‘Doubtful. Robbers most likely.’
    ‘Can we not—?’
    Before she could finish, the rocks erupted with armed figures, four rough-looking men and all wielding wicked blades. Their expressions reminded her of nothing so much as a pack of hungry wolves.
    Iain unsheathed his sword. ‘Stay behind me, Ashlynn.’
    With that the grey stallion leapt forward. She heard a scream as Iain’s blade found its first victim. Almost simultaneously the big horse reared, striking out with iron-shod hoofs and a second man fell like a stone and lay still. Seeing the fate of their companions the others parted, closing in on either side so that Iain was forced to defend himself on two fronts. Ashlynn’s heart leapt towards her throat. Another scream rent the air and a man fell, clutching his arm. A savage backhanded thrust opened his companion’s throat.
    Ashlynn exulted silently. Then exultation turned to fear as three more men emerged from concealment among the rocks behind him. She cried out a warning. The grey wheeled in response but not quite fast enough. Hands reached up to drag the rider from the saddle. Instead of resisting Iain flung himself sideways, knocking his assailant off balance and the two men hit the ground. He rolled clear, coming to his feet in one fluid movement and leaving his attacker half-stunned in the dirt. The other two closed in.
    Ashlynn glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see more assailants behind, but the way was empty. All she had to do was turn the mare and ride away to freedom. Even as the thought occurred, she saw the third man pick himself up and retrieve his sword, moving in on Iain’s undefended back. She swallowed hard. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups she leapt from the saddle, dropping into a crouching run toward the nearest abandoned blade. As her fingers closed on the hilt she heard her brother’s voice: ‘Take your opponent by surprise if you can, and hurt him with the first blow. You may not get a second chance.’ As the robber raised his sword to strike, she swung at him. The edge bit deep. He cried out and staggered, clutching the wound, reeling round to face his unexpected assailant, his expression registering shock and rage. A second later it became malice and in one last deadly effort he lunged at her like a striking snake. Ashlynn leapt aside as the blade hissed past, bringing her guard up for the next assault. It never came. Her attacker collapsed in the dirt, blood pumping from the gash in his neck.
    With pounding heart she threw a swift look over her shoulder; Iain was still hard pressed. Without stopping to think she launched herself at the nearest foe. He saw the movement just a second too late, crying out as the sword thrust through his ribs. For a moment he hung there, then slowly slumped and fell. She had a vague impression of the last man going down under Iain’s blade a few moments later. Then it was over. Trembling with reaction, she