She knew it was already too late for Tristan to go back. No longer behind him, she could see his leashed fury shooting forth from the vivid emerald of his eyes.
He was ready to kill.
Rose could have called out both, but neither would listen. They came together in a clash of metal and a grunt as they smashed their bodies into each other.
“Ye are hurtin’ her,” she heard Tristan tell him. “I will give ye an instant to look at her and see what ye are doin’.” He stepped back half an inch as Neill’s gaze cut to her almost against his own will.
The instant was over. Tristan raised his sword and brought it crashing down on Neill’s.
Her brother fought back well. He’d always been skilled, and he’d always practiced being better. And he was.
But Tristan had been raised by people who fought and killed in various battles—whether for self or for country. Fighting was bred into him and the fear of death was bred out.
Wasn’t it his mother who had taught him to climb trees when she went to battle with his father over her castle?
A chill went up Rose’s spine. Tristan could kill everyone here. Was he nothing but another monster, trained to kill and die if necessary?
No. She grinded her teeth. He was so much more. He’d stopped for her. In a place and time where everyone was afraid of getting sick from someone else, he’d stopped for her. He assigned himself her guardian and protected her from beasts and monsters. He’d done more for her than anyone and he made her belly flip and her blood go warm while he did it.
Neill came at him with another chopping blow. Tristan easily stepped out of his way.
Recovering quickly, Neill swung and clashed his blade with Tristan’s. Sparks flew. Tristan fought him off with speed and skill, and stamina. Neill circled him. Everyone scurried from his path. Tristan waited, still as a feline ready to pounce.
Rose caught Neill’s eyes and she let him see her plea in hers. He paused and then looked at her father and dropped his sword on the floor.
Rose closed her eyes and breathed in relief. She hadn’t thought he’d listen to her.
“What do you think you are doing?” her father demanded. “Pick up that sword!”
“You do not have to listen to him, Neill,” Rose urged.
Tristan turned to face Neill fully. Rose didn’t know what he was thinking but his gaze fell to Neill’s sword on the ground.
“I want to please him.”
Rose looked at Tristan when Neill spoke. She tried not to care about what he’d been through in his life, but she failed at her endeavor. Tristan looked remarkably unfazed.
“So, all that ye told Rose aboot her uncle were lies?” Tristan asked him.
Neill nodded and looked at their father as Mr. Jones and the rest of her uncle’s men laid hold of the earl. “I have not been able to see you or look after you for many years because I killed a young girl. He would not let me in. None of the men would. I missed you, and I hated him for it.”
“I feared the monster I created would eventually kill me,” her father told him, hearing what they were saying.
“And yet,” Neill snarled, “you are still alive.”
“’Tis only a matter of time,” her father complained. “I know that now.”
Neill shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care one way or the other. He turned to Rose. “I love you, Rose.”
She shook her head and backed up. “You robbed me of so much.”
“Aye, I know,” he said, sounding sickened, looking fully repentant. He lowered his voice so that only she could hear. Her and Tristan. “I will not take any more.”
He pulled a smaller sword from his boot and rushed her.
But Tristan stood between them and stepped forward. He swung his blade across Neill’s belly and turned so that he was facing Rose and his back was to her brother when Neill’s innards slipped to the floor.
They both closed their eyes and prayed to God for her brother’s forgiveness.
Her father broke free of the captain’s hand. “Rose! Rose, what have you done?”
She was shaking. Every muscle in her body was trembling. She felt like a tightly coiled spring about to pop.
Her view changed from her father’s accusing eyes to a wall of forest green. She tilted her head and looked into her husband’s eyes. He dropped the knife he’d used to kill Neill. He held his arms outward a bit, inviting her to come in for comfort if she needed it.
She needed it and went to him. All at once, he filled her senses. Arriving in his arms, cocooned in his tender yet consuming embrace made her shed her anxious thoughts. The scent of him blazed a path through her nostrils straight to her lungs. She breathed him in and let his loving embrace soothe her.
“Let us leave this place,” came his deep, rumbling voice, close to her ear.
She let him lead her to her uncle and to Emma.
“Rose,” came her uncle’s thick, raspy voice. “I do hope you will forgive me someday.
“Uncle, I forgive you now.” She let go of Tristan, for she felt stronger now. She stepped into her uncle’s waiting arms. She gave him a quick squeeze and then let him go.
She went to Emma next. “Take care, my dearest.” After she hugged her cousin, Emma leaned into her. “Is he truly your husband, Rose?”
Rose smiled and nodded, looking at him while he spoke to her uncle. Mr. Jones had left the manor house with her father.
“I see he has pretty eyes. Does he have the other traits you wanted?”
Rose shook her head. “No. None.” They both laughed. Rose caught her husband’s eyes and gushed like a spring maiden when he winked at her.
She heard her uncle plead with him to take
