Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I scream into the hand, fighting to break free and lunging in the direction of the camp, but it’s useless.
Chauntleroy spits in disgust. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. My castle has a stable, or perhaps a kennel where I’m sure you could amuse yourself.”
His men laugh, and the tears start to trickle down my cheeks as we march out of the woods to a group of horses and a wagon. The men throw me into the back of it, and just before I scream, another jumps in and clamps a gag around my mouth.
“Come, fiancée,” Chauntleroy sneers. “Time to go.”
Chapter 13
Tor
There’s a rage in me. A beast that struggles to tear it’s way free, consume me, and set itself loose on the world. This is a constant thing. The beast is always there when I’m charging into a battle or swinging a sword or axe. It’s there with the smell of death that hangs over a fight. At times, he comes close to breaking free. Sometimes, I can feel my control over that beast wavering, it’s teeth and claws coming through in the heat of a battle.
Mostly, he stays locked away. Because I know freeing the demon inside of me would be the end of me. Objectively, I’m a bad man. I’ve killed, stolen, destroyed, burned, and pillaged my way through the last twenty-odd years, and though I don’t believe in the highlander’s approach to a single God and all the circus that comes with it, if there is a hell, there’ll be a special throne with my name on it when death finally claims me.
But that said, I’ve strived to be good to those who aren’t my enemy. I’ve made myself just and fair to my own people—a steady hand to rule, and a steady head to keep the peace. After all, it’s not as if being the one in charge of a whole band of blood and plunder-thirsty marauders is a simple task. I’ve strived to be good, but I know letting that demon inside of me out to run as he will would be the end of that goodness. Letting him out would be unleashing a monster on the world, which is why I’ve done my best to keep him contained all these years.
…Right now, I’m not sure how much longer “my best” will hold him back.
Fury blazes through me, my jaw grinding my teeth tightly as I pace the clearing in the woods, surrounded by the crumbling remains of a long-forgotten castle or outpost. I wonder briefly if ancestors of mine were the cause of its demise.
Rhona is gone.
I whirl, snarling as the thought blazes through me. She’s gone—taken from me last night. And I know who’s taken her, too—that weasel who she was meant to marry, Lord Chauntleroy. It didn’t take long to follow her trail into the woods when I realized she was gone this morning. When it ran cold, with no sign of her, I’d screamed for Ivar—a master tracker. The man could track an owl on a cloudy, moonless night. It was he who picked up the other boot prints. He who showed the scuff marks in the dirt of her heels, showing she’d been dragged. And when we found the horse tracks, and the faintest little sliver of blue and yellow tartan from the fringe of a crest or flag, the last piece clicked into place.
The sniveling little lordling I’d stolen her from had come back for her, and now he has what’s mine in his possession.
…And there’s going to be hell to pay when I catch up with him.
That’s why I’m here, pacing this spot, waiting for the others to arrive. It’s why I’ve bitten back every single thing I know and swallowed my wrath to reach out to those I would otherwise call enemy. Those I’ve fought. Those who’s men I’ve killed, and who’ve killed men of mine. I could dwell on the bloodshed and hold them to this forever feud. But none of it matters anymore. Not when Rhona’s been taken.
As I said, for her, I’d give it all up. Glory, treasure, pride, all of it. And right now, I’m willing to do anything. I’ll lay down my own life as forfeit if that’s what it takes.
“Tor.”
Erik growls my name as he slips through the trees. He’s been out scouting, and him being back with that hard look in his eyes can only mean one thing: the men I’ve sent for via raven are almost here.
“They’re coming,” he mutters, scowling. He’s not entirely good with this idea. None of them are. Hell, neither am I. But it’s what is necessary to get back my one and only—my heart.
My men and women are fierce. They’re the strongest, most fearless, most savage warriors a man could ask for to charge into battle with, and I’m proud to call them my brothers and sisters. And in a surprise attack from the sea, we’re nigh unstoppable—a force from hell. A fist of fury ready smash anything and everything in our path to glory and riches.