Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)

Her words dropped off as, back in the camp, the Irishman's tent went up in flames.

She flung her hand over her mouth.

Máel swung to her. “What do you know of this?”

“Nothing,” she whispered, stunned.

His blue eyes were hot with fury. “Your father just tried to burn me alive. And you too. What do you know?”

Her body gave a single hard jerk, as if she were a plum tree being shaken to drop the ripest fruit. “You cannot be suggesting my father did this? That is a lie. My father would never endanger me—”

He flung his hands down as if she burned and spun to stare into the camp.

Máel watched four shadowy men stalk around the tent, but a great hue and cry went up, and they backed away.

Soon everyone from the camp was running toward the burning tent. Buckets arrived from the river, dousing the flames.

When it was out, people stood in small clusters, waving their arms and shouting, demanding to know what had happened and who had done this.

No one answered.

The shadowy men lurked around the perimeter of the angry circle. In the darkness, their livery and crests could not be seen, but Máel did not need to see to know: it was d’Argent and his men.

Had he not been beaten half to death by them once before?

As he watched, they turned and crept off, then climbed onto horses and rode away.

Máel took a step after them, vibrating with the urge to hunt them down and slit their throats. To find d'Argent and slay him in the vilest ways imaginable.

Right now, the choice was simple.

Go after them or not?

Alone?

Not a chance.

With Cassia?

Never.

Fáelán and Rowan had not yet arrived. There was no way to know when—or if—they would.

That left one option.

He uttered a foul curse and tugged on Fury's reins, bringing the horse around. He turned to Cassia.

“Get on,” he ordered.

She took a step back. “You cannot take me anywhere.”

“Aye, I can.”

“I-I am your hostage,” she said, and to be truthful, the stammer in her voice was satisfying to hear. But then she announced proudly, if shakily, “I must be treated as such. You are bound by the rules of convention.”

“I am bound by nothing,” he growled. “Get on the horse.”

Her face went white.