complaint.”
John led his horse beside their father’s corpse. “Uncle Reginald willna approve if we cause a stir in Ayr.”
William couldn’t believe such dull-witted words had just been uttered by his brother. He clutched the errant jester by the throat. “Those are the words of a coward,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “Ye’d sit idle and allow those murderers to run free? Whose village will they pillage next? Will they rape and murder women until there are none left to wed Scotland’s sons?” William shoved John away. “Are ye willing to stand by and watch the tyranny unfold, just as it has this verra day so near our own home?”
He turned and mounted his black steed, not waiting for John’s reply.
“After them!”
Chapter Three
The screeching sound of steel echoed with chilling scrapes and clangs. Men grunted and bellowed. Someone shrieked in pain.
Eva opened her eyes.
Metal flashed.
Panic shot through her veins.
Her heartbeat raced—as if in the midst of a nightmare.
Jerking up, her head struck something hard—a wooden bench.
Where am I?
Eva blinked, her mind racing. She clapped her hand to her throbbing head.
I was on the ground, but this floor is stone .
The bench above her scraped and teetered.
Eva jolted, clutching her fists to her chest.
Unable to breathe, she stared into the eyes of a madman, brandishing a gory sword dripping with blood.
“P-please, don’t kill me,” she cried, frozen in place, heart hammering.
He sauntered forward, chuckling with a black-toothed grin. Wearing a red surcoat with three rampant lions embroidered on his chest, he looked like something out of a historical reenactment—but way more realistic—smelled like a sewer, too.
Trying to gain her bearings, Eva scooted from his disgusting pall and wedged herself under the bench. “Y-you’re s-scaring me.”
“Ye miserable Scots speak nary a bit o’ sense.” With an evil sneer, the man jerked his sword over his head.
Her heart nearly bursting from her chest, Eva fled on hands and knees. The bench caught on her back and scraped the floor.
The sword hissed.
From the corner of her eye, the blade glistened, just like in her dreams. But Eva didn’t recall the sound before.
Gasping, she dropped to her stomach and rolled away from the weapon’s arc.
God, this was the worst nightmare she’d had yet.
The lunatic smashed his sword into Eva’s bench. Splinters of wood shot through the air.
Screaming, she sprang to her feet and ran. Everywhere she looked, men in red surcoats fought monks dressed in white. Blood splattered everywhere.
Stay alive .
She dashed for an altar below a bronze cross. Diving beneath, she crouched into a ball, praying the maniac would find something else to destroy with his bloody sword.
With a whooshing boom, the door burst from its hinges and clattered to the floor.
Lips trembling, Eva peered out from beneath the table vestments. An enormous behemoth of a man barreled into the sanctuary, baring his teeth, swinging a two-handed sword. A mob of bellowing warriors raced in behind him. Each man armed with medieval swords and battleaxes, they charged into the thick of the fight.
With a resounding thud, the altar tottered.
Eva shrieked.
The murderous freak from the pew cackled with a deranged laugh.
She scooted against the wall clutching her arms tight to her shaking body. “Go fight with the other wackos. I’m not a part of your reenactment!”
“I’ll skewer your liver, ye mongrel dog!” The man sliced his weapon beneath the table.
Eva screamed as the blade skimmed inches from her face. “Get the fuck away from me,” she shouted. “I’m terrified of sharp objects. Take it away. Now!”
The lunatic roared, trying to shove the altar over.
The sturdy table tottered then rocked back into place.
Eva forced her body flush against the wall. “Jesus Christ. I am not playing your game.”
Something whizzed through the air.
The smelly creep dropped to