Free Lord of the Highlands by Veronica Wolff Page B

change in the approaching men.
    Will and Felicity hurtled from the trees. The contrast between the oppressive copse and the wide-open air was dramatic, and she gulped in a lungful of fresh oxygen.
    The horses were oblivious to the threat, and greeted them with vacant eyes, chomping on grass with docile focus.
    Will had his hands on her from behind, and she shivered at the feel of him, powerful at her back, sweeping her up and onto the saddle in a single, fluid motion.
    He was on his own horse in an instant, cane tucked between thigh and saddle, urging the animals back and away down the drover path.
    “Ho there!” a voice called from behind. Rollo glanced back, and the grim look crossing his face made her afraid to turn around.
    Will wore a dirk belted at his side, and he pulled it free, slapping the flat of the blade on her horse’s rump, sending it careening from him.
    “Will!” she shrieked, yanking hard on the reins, trying to slow the animal down. In the back of her mind, Felicity knew she needed to get out of there, but terror muddled her. She knew only Rollo, and wanted to stay by his side.
    “Oh my God, oh my God,” she chanted, her voice hitching, breathy and frantic. Her horse reeled and spun to an uneasy stop, and she watched the scene unfold. Three men on three burly ponies stood there, surrounding him. “Will, watch out!”
    He resheathed his dirk, and she screamed again, “What are you doing?”
    The cane was in his hand. He tossed it up, catching it by the base. Standing high in the saddle, he cantered past the knot of men and swung, whacking one sharply on his temple with the cane’s silver handle.
    A hollow noise like a golf club clocking a ball resonated to her, a grotesque sound that sent a peculiar, animal shot of elation through Felicity’s veins. The man slid to the ground, his mount turning and making a wild-eyed dash into the woods.
    She caught the quick, nervous glance shared by the two remaining men. Will, however, was methodical. He appeared to think nothing of the two beyond what he’d sized up, and his face was utterly still as he set to dispatching them as neatly as a farmer would till a field.
    Not waiting for either of his enemies to strike first, Rollo slid the cane through his grip and, kicking his horse into an abrupt gallop, closed the short distance between him and the closest man. Gripping the silver handle, he jousted the man in the throat. The man toppled backwards, and the horse skittered away, its rider hanging limp from the side of the saddle.
    “Hup, hup,” was all she heard Will say as he reeled his horse about in a tight circle. The animal gave a single, brisk toss of its head, but was otherwise still.
    The sight astounded her. This creature that had seemed just minutes before like a normal, perhaps slightly worse-for-wear horse, was now fit for a dressage arena.
    One man remained, and, thumping his legs hard at his horse’s belly, he charged Will, a broadsword swinging wildly before him.
    “Watch out!” she shrieked again, but Rollo was cool, and merely ducked, his hair wild from the near miss.
    Using only his seat, Will spun his horse once more. He tucked the cane back under his thigh, swapping it for his dirk, which he had out and ready.
    The men charged each other, and Felicity’s heart slammed hard against her chest. There was no way Will’s short dagger could be a match for the long blade of his opponent.
    Rollo was like stone in the saddle, standing slightly in the stirrups, utterly calm. The other man whooped, riding hard for him. A black grin bisected the man’s face, thinking he had the advantage. Felicity heard her own hollow screeching as if from a distance.
    She saw Will shift ever so slightly. His left calf twitched, left foot cocking out at a sharp angle. And she gasped as Rollo’s horse danced one, two, three perfect steps to the side. An elegant little prance, and Will was to the man’s left.
    He’d switched the dirk to his opposite hand, and