Chapter 10
The beast had been caged long enough,wounded long enough.
He was not a gentle man, nor a gentleman, and Gordon never knew what hit him.
Brodie, on the other hand, did. ‘Twas his crutch, and it had caught the King’s messenger under his chin, flinging him backwards, when Brodie swung it with both hands.
The entire thing made a satisfying crunch, although Brodie wasn’t sure if ‘twas the wood breaking, or some of the villain’s bones.
He’d touched Fenella. He’d hurt Fenella. And he would pay.
Brodie had seen the mark on her cheek from a man’s fist, and when she’d whimpered those few pitiful words of admission, he’d seen red. His control had snapped, and working knee or not, he was going to make Gordon pay.
The man staggered backward, both hands rising to his throat, his eyes wide in shock.
Not caring about the words Gordon was attempting to form, Brodie tossed the ruined crutch to the side and stalked forward. Well, limped forward, but it felt fooking good.
He grabbed Gordon’s face with his left hand, his fingers digging into the man’s eye sockets and ear, as he slammed his other fist into an unprotected stomach and sternum. As Gordon’s gagging became increasingly frantic, Brodie twisted and heaved.
The King’s messenger slammed into the low stone wall which separated the two kitchen gardens, his back bending as he scrabbled at his waist.
Still trying to suck in a breath, Gordon whipped out a knife. ‘Twas a long, wicked blade; the kind a man might carry were he invited someplace where wearing a sword would be considered rude.
But Brodie had been a Hunter’s bodyguard for far too long to worry about such a paltry danger. With a wicked, “Hah!” he stepped into Gordon’s reach, the brace on his left knee supporting his weight better than he’d expected, and feinted left.
As Gordon took the bait, one of Brodie’s large hands closed around the fist holding the blade’s pommel and squeezed. He didn’t need to make Gordon drop the blade, not yet…he just needed to control the blade for long enough.
Brodie reached for the other man’s face once more, hooked his fingers through Gordon’s nostrils, and slammed the man’s head backward against the stone wall.
Again, and a third time, until he felt the hand beneath his go limp and saw the dark stain of blood on the rocks.
“Brodie!”
Chest heaving, the rage still pounding in his veins, he turned to see Fenella running along the garden path. She pulled to a stop just outside his reach, and he saw her studying his face.
What did she see?
For the first time he could remember, he’d let himself react, and with his scars, that entire act must’ve made him seem like a beast.
“Brodie!” she exclaimed, then sighed in relief and threw herself forward.
When he felt her arms wrap around his waist, he breathed a sigh of relief of his own. Whatever she’d seen in his expression hadn’t been enough to scare her away.
Which was good, because now that she was in his arms, he couldn’t imagine her being any other place.
“Love,” he whispered gruffly against her hair, “how badly are ye hurt?”
She just shook her head and seemed to burrow closer into his chest. God’s teeth, he needed this, needed her, but he also had to know if he should fetch the healer.
“Fenella.” He tried to make his voice stern, even as his arms refused to do aught but hold her close. “Ye’re hurt.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled against him. “Ye’re here.”
Aye, he was. Brodie exhaled, propping his chin atop her head and closing his eyes in silent prayer.
If he hadn’t heard Gordon’s bellow and come investigating, if she hadn’t screamed…what would have happened? Would he have arrived too late? Would Gordon have—
He shuddered and felt Fenella mimic the motion. Except, she didn’t stop, but continued to shake in his arms.