Forbidden Warrior (Midsummer Knights)
Page 79
Her father slid to the ground and turned to Cassia, desperation in his voice. “Daughter, I do not know the meaning of this—”
“Were you ever planning on coming for me?” she asked. “Or did you always know I would be sacrificed?”
His mouth opened, then shut. He fumbled for words. “I was…collecting my men. I thought to sneak up…. I called the hue and cry on him, you know.” His eyes shot to the steep hillside, where Máel stood, motionless, the arrow aimed at her father’s heart. “People are hunting him down as we speak.”
“Methinks they are chasing the wrong criminal,” she said softly.
Her father held out a supplicating hand. “I swear to you, I did everything I could.”
“Did you?”
The rain kept falling in big, random drops, intermittent and shocking, as if the clouds were clutching tight to each one, desperate to hold on.
“Cassia, come nearer and we shall talk. I can explain—”
“Give Máel the sword.”
Her father gave an astonished bark of laughter. “What? Have you lost your mind?”
“Give him the sword and let him leave, unmolested, without being chased or hurt in any way.”
“I—”
“Or I will not be wed.”
He flung out his hands, palms up, as if she’d made a ridiculous argument. “None of this makes any sense. How could you not—”
“I will refuse.”
His face twisted. “You cannot refuse.”
In the trees, she detected movement. Máel stepped out of the woods and leapt down the side of the cliff, sliding down to the trail. His boots hit the rain-splattered ground and he took up a position directly beside Cassia. He lifted the bow again.
He never said a word.
A single, strangled sound came from her father’s throat. “What lies has the Irishman told you?”
“My life has been the lie,” Cassia replied calmly. “I now know the truth: you have no honor. Máel does. And if you do not return his sword, I will not sign my name to any marriage agreement.”
A fist of thunder punched the sky and the heavens broke open with a torrent of rain.
With a curse, her father stepped to his saddle. Máel angled the bow, following him, but he only reached for the long, wool-wrapped package lashed behind it. He drew it out.
The sword was as beautiful as Cassia recalled. Even in the rain-soaked, dismal world, small, glinting ripples of gold flickered down the polished blade, as if it was picking up hidden light not visible to the mortal world.
“Lay it down,” she ordered.
It felt quite wonderful to be so bold, so clear, so direct. Honest. To not bend her head when she wished to lift it. To not say “yes” when everything in her screamed “no.”
It was, perhaps, the most exciting adventure of all.
Her father did as she said.
The moment the sword touched the earth, Máel commanded, “Back up.”
Her father did. “Have you got what you want, bastard?” he called to Máel. “Can I have my daughter back now?”
The bow in Máel’s hand never moved. “If she wishes.”