Free The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) by Barbara Longley Page B

protect and give us strength this day,” he prayed.
    “We’re knights, lad.” Murray frowned. “They’re naught but poorly trained vagabonds.”
    “One could hope, but I fear otherwise. In these perilous times, ’tis just as likely they’re well-trained knights whose laird fell upon hard times and had to let them go.” Hunter drew his claymore. “They are hungry and desperate, and that makes them all the more dangerous. All we ken for certain is that they are without honor. Outlaws. Keep your eyes open for aught coming from the tree line.
    “Stay here until I give you word that our way is clear,” he called back to Tieren and the rest. “Guard the horses and each other.” With those parting words, he prepared himself for the fight ahead. “Loch Moigh! Touch no’ the cat but with gloves!” He shouted his clan’s call to battle at the top of his lungs and spurred his horse forward, his weapon at the ready.

C HAPTER FOUR

    M eghan’s insides quivered and shook like Aunt Betty’s lime Jell-O salad straight from the mold. She heard men grunting with effort, the thunk of blows parried and steel ringing against steel. Swallowing convulsively, she strained to see what was going on ahead, but the fog was too thick. This fight was not an exhibition, and her life depended upon the outcome. Her stomach roiled. She was going to be sick.
    “Keep your eyes to the tree line, lass, and keep your dirks at the ready,” Tieren whispered, turning her around and placing her behind the horses. “Stay put. Any danger to us will come from the woods.”
    She nodded, took one of the borrowed daggers from her belt and began flipping it in the air end-over-end. A nervous habit. Allain and the other two pages, Tristan and Harold, moved into strategically spaced positions around the livestock. Closest to her, Allain held his sword in front of him, gripping the handle in both hands with white-knuckled tenacity. All three of the boys had gone pale and still.
    Oh my God, they’re just children, barely preteens if even that.
    She drew in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out slowly through her mouth. Flip, flip, flip— she tossed the dagger in her right hand. Thump, thump, thump pounded her heart against her rib cage. She gasped at the sound of breaking brush to her right. Two men on foot charged out from the trees. One held a large, heavy-looking club; the other brandished a rusty axe. Both men were filthy, ragged and fierce.
    Tieren strode forward and engaged the man with the club. The one with the axe headed straight for Allain. Hunter’s page trembled, but stood his ground, ready to defend himself and their horses. The other two boys inched closer to help him, but they wouldn’t get to him in time. Besides, none of them would be a match for the enormous thug.
    A streak of wetness darkened Allain’s hose as his bladder let loose. Rage exploded within her at the injustice. Meghan stepped out from her place beside the horses. “Hey,” she shouted. “Pick on somebody your own size, asshole!”
    The thief’s gaze shifted her way. His eyes traveled over her, and he snarled, dismissing her as a threat. He turned back to Allain, kicking the kid’s sword from his hands far too easily. Allain raised his arms to cover his head. The brute hefted his axe to deliver the killing blow. Meghan snapped. She could not let this creep kill Allain! Instinct took over, and her focus narrowed to the bully’s most vulnerable spot—his bare neck. Flipping her dagger in the air once more, she caught it by the blade and hurled it through the air with all the force she could muster.
    The thug staggered back and clutched at the knife protruding from his throat. Eyes filled with hatred and shock turned her way as he pulled the blade out by the hilt. He threw it to the ground and stalked toward her with his axe raised. A gurgling sound emitted from the wound, and frothy blood spilled down his chest to stain his tunic. She must’ve severed an