Silver Flame. Hannah Howell

moment the twins were safely out of reach she took up a defensive stance at the base of the trunk, unsheathing her dagger and holding it at the ready. It was not the best of weapons, but it would cause any attacker to hesitate. She fought to keep herself alert for any threat to herself or the twins, struggled against becoming too fascinated by the battle raging around her.

      It was a fierce fight. The thieves had the advantage of larger numbers, but she found some ease for her fears in the display of skill shown by her allies. It far surpassed that of the outlaws. Within moments she detected a definite waning of enthusiasm amongst the band of rogues as their ranks were ruthlessly culled.

      Suddenly there loomed before her the biggest, hairiest man she had ever seen. He was so ugly, so filthy, that he did not need the sword he held to look fearsome, nor the leer that revealed his rotting teeth. Against such a man her dagger was only a toy. Nevertheless, she held her ground, wielding her weapon with every intention of using it if she was forced to do so. She knew from the look on his repulsive face that killing her was not, at the moment, foremost in his mind.

      He drew nearer, backing her up against the tree trunk. Just as she tensed to make a desperate strike, the twins dropped from the tree and landed on the man. She watched in horror as, with a deafening bellow, he flung the two small boys aside. They sprawled upon the ground and did not rise in the brief moment she could spare to look their way.

      “Mine,” he said as he reached for her.

      Sine Catriona barely eluded his large grasp with a move that held as much luck as skill. “Nay, swine. Never yours.”

      “Aye, wench—mine.”

      Unnerved by the stalking giant, Sine Catriona threw her dagger. Her usually excellent aim was off due to her increasing fear. Instead of burying itself deep in his heart as she had intended it to do, the dagger landed in the fleshy part of one massive upper arm. He gave out a thundering cry and lunged for her. She suspected her scream was just as loud when he grabbed her and tucked her beneath one thick arm.

      The robbers had begun to retreat, leaving Gamel a moment in which to catch his breath. He immediately looked to see where Catriona had gone. Upon espying her difficulty, he raced toward her with little thought for strategy or his own safety.

      “Put her down,” Gamel demanded the moment he confronted the huge outlaw.

      “She is my prize.”

      “Your friends have deserted you. Do ye mean to fight your way free—alone?”

      The outlaw put his sword against the back of Sine Catriona’s neck. “Cut me and she dies,” he snapped.

      Gamel froze, then covertly glanced toward his other men. Although they were now able to turn their attention to helping Catriona, they halted their advance. For an agonizingly long moment no one moved. Gamel was certain his heart and breath had both ceased. Even the twins, rousing from unconsciousness, lay still and wide-eyed. Gamel tried desperately to come up with some solution, but none was forthcoming.

      Sine Catriona ceased her frantic struggles the instant the cold steel of the sword touched her vulnerable nape. On the morrow she would be eighteen. Even what the rank giant intended for her once he got her alone suddenly did not seem as horrible as death. Rape was vicious and degrading. She knew she would carry the scars all her life, but she would be alive. One misstep now and she lost all chance for a future. As she hung in his grasp like an empty sack, she fought to think of a way to save herself.

      Finally, in sheer desperation, she balled one hand into a small fist and struck the outlaw in the groin with all her strength. The outlaw howled, dropped her, and clutched his abused privates, but he had no time to pamper his injury. Farthing launched an immediate and lethal attack which the rogue struggled to fend off. Sine Catriona cried out softly in surprise when Gamel scooped her up with one arm, yanking her out of danger.

      “He is good,” Gamel murmured, watching Farthing fight and holding Catriona close to his side. “He has been weel trained.”

      “Aye, by his natural father. Shouldnae ye aid him?” she asked.

      Sir Lesley stepped up to them and shook his head. “To dart in now would do more ill than good, mistress. Too distracting.” He nodded toward the pair so tightly locked in battle. “Blane and Ligulf flank the brute. They will move quickly if the battle veers the piker’s way. ’Twill not, though. The outlaw has more strength than your mon but far less skill, and ’tis skill that will win out.”

      When Sine Catriona tried to move from Gamel’s side his hold on her tightened, subtly but firmly, and she relented. Nevertheless, it set both her mind and insides awhirl to be held so near to his tall, lean body. She barely reached the pit of his arm. Her cheek was pressed against his smooth, hard chest, which had been left exposed by his unlaced shirt. A fine tremor began to ripple through her. She knew it was not in response to her near escape or the violence of the night. Such trauma was, sadly, no stranger to her. Her trembling was caused by the man who held her as if she belonged to him. More alarming was that she felt as if she did.

      At last Farthing dealt the death stroke to his opponent. The rogue’s scream cut through the air. She turned her face into Gamel’s smooth, tanned chest and felt him burrow his long fingers into her hair. It felt to her as if here was the haven she had sought for so long, in Gamel’s arms. But the idea terrified her. She could not accept it. She could not do as other maids did and settle down with a man.

      Farthing moved toward the pair, touching Sine’s shoulder when he reached her side. “Are ye hurt, dearling?”

      “Nay.” The danger she had faced combined with her own overwrought emotions suddenly proved too much for her. “I am going to be ill.” She broke free of Gamel’s hold and raced toward the edge of camp.

      “I will see to her,” Gamel said, halting Farthing’s move to follow. “Your boys need aid.” He strode away before Farthing could protest.

      As she struggled to get to her feet, Sine Catriona felt a slim, strong arm encircle her shoulders and a damp cloth gently move over her face. She was lifted into Gamel’s arms, set a few feet away, then handed some wine with which to rinse her mouth. It was nice to be cared for, but embarrassing to be seen in this condition by the far-too-disturbing Sir Gamel. She was not sure why she should care, but she wished him to see her as a strong woman.

      It was on the tip of her tongue to order him far away from her. However, she knew she would never speak the words. Disturbing though he was, she did not really want him to leave.

      He was undeniably fascinating, with his light auburn hair, smooth, softly bronzed skin any woman would envy, and rich jewel-green eyes. His fine features seemed to have been molded by some skilled artisan, and he had somehow escaped the all-too-common scarring and broken facial bones of a warrior.

      But it was the heat that glowed in his fine eyes that drew her most powerfully. That look stirred hitherto unknown emotions within her, igniting a responsive heat she was unable to control or, she feared, hide. She dared not think of what he would do if he could sense the feelings that raged within her.

      Gamel made no attempt to disguise the desire that gripped him as he studied her. He suddenly knew for certain that this was how his father felt when he looked at Edina: stunned, almost fearful, yet filled with a near-violent need to possess her. A need coupled with a lurking eagerness to kill anyone who thwarted it. He was not surprised to see the unsteadiness of his hand as he reached out to brush the tangled hair from her small oval face. His entire body was trembling.

      The disorder of her chemise left the upper swells of her full breasts exposed. One delicately slim shoulder was bared to view also. He could see that the light golden tone of her skin was not from the kiss of the sun, but wholly natural. He was unable to resist touching her, trailing his fingers over her skin. Gamel knew that the shadows and his own body blocked all signs of his impertinence from the others.

      “Cease,” she whispered in a raspy voice as he dipped his fingers beneath the edge of her chemise, yet she did not move away.

      “All gold,” he murmured. “Gold