Spatters of blood marred his face, rivulets of blood ran down his bare muscled arms, and an axe, dripping with blood, was clasped in his hand. But it was what was in his other hand that would frighten the bravest of warriors. He held the severed head of the warrior who had run into the woods.
“If you want to keep your head, Cadell, let my wife go!”
Cadell pressed his foot against her throat. “I die. She dies.”
Elysia gagged and her hand shot up to try and push his boot off her neck, his threat against the bairn no longer a worry since once he lifted his boot off her throat he’d lose any chance at bargaining for his life. The more she fought, the harder he pressed until she could barely breathe and she had no choice but to still her struggle.
Rage warred in Odran seeing his wife fight for breath. The urge to kill Cadell overwhelmed him, but if he raced at the man a simple stomp of his boot and his wife would be dead. He couldn’t use an archer for fear he’d only wound Cadell, giving him enough time to kill Elysia with his boot or the dagger he gripped in his hand. And from the way his eyes glared in the moonlight, Odran knew he didn’t have much time to stop him. Cadell knew Odran well enough to know not to make the mistake of hesitating as most men did when facing death at his hands.
Odran heard his warriors emerge from the woods behind him, which meant everything was well in hand and Cadell would realize that as well. He would know all was lost for him.
Odran tossed the head aside and took a step toward Cadell, ready for what needed to be done.
Cadell raised his dagger to his throat and kept the pressure on Elysia’s throat. “A stamp of my foot to your wife’s throat and a quick slice across mine and it’s over. You lose and I don’t suffer a horrifically painful death. And, of course, the curse continues to rule. The bloody curse will always rule.”
“Free my wife and I will see you die swiftly, my word on it,” Odran said, taking another step forward, slowly erasing the distance between them
Cadell’s face twisted in anger. “Your wife and bairn will join me in death. How does it feel, Odran, to know your so close and yet too far to save your wife and child?” He cast a quick glance at Elysia as he raised his booted foot to bring it crashing down on her throat.
A horrific roar froze Cadell for a moment before turning to Odran. The man was running at him full charge, but that wasn’t what stunned Cadell. It was the axe that landed in his chest and sent him sprawling backward.
Elysia found herself up in her husband’s arms, her breath still lodged in her throat.
“Slow breaths, Elysia, slow breaths,” he encouraged as she struggled to breathe.
She focused on her husband’s striking green eyes, the love and concern she saw in them helping to calm her, and as her breathing eased, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Nod, if you and the bairn are otherwise unharmed,” Odran said, and his pounding heart began to calm when she nodded.
She struggled to raise her arms, her strength having waned from her ordeal, and slip them around his neck. She needed to hold on to him, make certain he would stay with her, not let her go, never let her go.
His wife’s slim arms never felt so good around his neck, hugging her snug against him never felt so good, and the relief that she and the bairn were well and safe was more than good—it was a miracle. She was right where she was supposed to be, where she belonged, and where he intended to see her stay.
“You know what to do, Stiles. I will see to my wife. Find me when all is done,” Odran ordered.
Elysia had an abundance of questions for her husband, but at the moment, with her breathing still a bit labored, she remained quiet. There would be time for that. Right now, she was content with her own silence and to be where she was—in her husband’s strong arms.
Her husband turned to walk away and Elysia had to smile hearing Willa.
“I warned them about breaking my blackthorn stick.”
Elysia lost the battle with her husband when he refused to allow her to remain in the Great Hall and tend the wounded. It hadn’t helped that everyone there had agreed with him. Berdina had already been busy looking after those in need. She had been relieved to see Dugan had gone unscathed and helped his mum. Rory was mending nicely, thanks to Berdina’s care, and Lendra, though still recovering from her own wounds helped with mixing the herbs to brew and even Lady Margaret helped wrapping some minor wounds. She’d been grateful when her son came and fetched her and was even more pleased that her husband, Lord Fergus, had slept through the whole ordeal. However, when informed of it in the morning, she had no doubt he would not be happy that he missed it all.