Chapter 45

Drew entered the clearing, throwing back his hood, tearing off his mask, and brandishing his sword before him. “Unhand her!”

He hadn’t known what he intended when he followed the pair out of the inn. He wasn’t certain until he stepped outside to discover that they’d utterly vanished. With one hand on the hilt of his hidden sword, Drew searched the premises. When he ventured behind the inn, he found Jossy’s dagger lying in the grass.

He recognized at once she was in trouble. Jossy wouldn’t unsheathe unless she felt threatened. And she certainly wouldn’t leave her dagger behind.

Scowling, he’d straightened, tossed aside his walking staff, drawn his sword, and followed the trail of bent grass into the woods.

And now, glowering fiercely at the brute who had his filthy hands on Jossy, he knew exactly why he’d followed them out of The Sheep Heid.

The man, startled by Drew, glanced over his shoulder, and in that instant, Jossy jabbed him hard in the stomach with her knuckles.

The man doubled over, releasing her at once, and Drew focused his attention and the point of his sword upon him.

“Well, well,” the man managed to wheeze, still bent in half, looking up at him. “Drew MacAdam. I thought ye’d left us—hied to your Highland home.”

“Get away from her now, ye filthy bastard,” Drew ground out, not even caring how the villain knew his name, “or I’ll run ye through where ye stand.”

To his surprise, ’twas Jossy who objected.

“Nae, Drew,” she said. “’Tisn’t your fight.”

The man in black was just as surprised. “Ye are a wee spitfire, aren’t ye?” he rasped out. “Philipe said as much.”

Philipe? Drew tightened his grip on his sword. He was Philipe’s man. Which meant he had much more than seduction in mind.

“Stand aside, Jossy,” Drew said.

“Nae,” she stubbornly replied, holding out her hand. “Lend me your sword.”

Drew cursed under his breath. Sometimes Jossy’s willfulness was infuriating.

“Do ye know this man?” he asked her.

“I do now.”

The man raised one hand in a weak wave. “Donald Syme.”

D.S. Drew had feared as much. “And do ye know what he’s after?”

“What I’m after?” the man said with a forced chuckle. “Ah, I see. Ye think I mean to swive the lass.”

Drew seared Syme with a burning glare. “Nae, I think ye mean to kill her.”

Syme half-laughed, half-coughed. “Kill her? Hardly. I’m here on royal business. I only need to collect a wee bit of information from her.”

Drew knew he was lying through his teeth.

“This is my fight, Drew,” Jossy said. “And I know the cost.”

Drew frowned. ’Twas just like Jossy to throw his own words back at him.

“Ye mean to cross swords with me yourself, lass?” Syme asked, straightening with difficulty. “Well, my dear Josselin, aren’t ye the devoted mistress? First ye change the name on the missive to protect your lover here, and now ye’re offerin’ to fight in his stead.” He sarcastically pressed a gloved hand to his black heart. “’Tis touchin’.”

Could it be true? Drew gazed at Jossy in wonder. “Ye changed the name on the missive?”

She shrugged as if forging a royal document were the most natural thing in the world. “I had to. It named Drew MacAdam as a traitor spy.”

“I know.”

“Ye know?”

He quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Why do ye think MacAdam had to hie home so suddenly?”

“But how could…” Her eyes widened as she realized the truth. “Ye read the missive.”

“Aye.”

“All this time ye’ve been able to read?”

He arched a sheepish brow. “I never actually said I couldn’t.”

Her gaze softened. “Ye stayed by my side, knowin’ ye were in peril.”

His heart swelled with love. “How could I leave ye?”

Syme wiped at his eye in mockery. “Please stop. Ye’re bringin’ tears to my eyes.”

“Quiet!” they barked simultaneously.

“Or what?” Syme said on a chuckle, casually drawing his sword and pointing it toward Jossy. “Are ye goin’ to throttle me with your bare hands, lass?”

“Jossy,” Drew said, “let me squash this weevil.” As much as he despised duels, there were some things in life worth fighting for, and Josselin was definitely one of them.

She shook her head. “Not on your life, golfer. Toss me your sword.”

Syme’s eyes gleamed in amusement as he made lazy circles in the air with his blade. “Oh, aye, who’ll fight me then? Will it be the lovesick English golfer or the wee scrap of a lass from Selkirk?”

Drew narrowed his eyes. He knew this was Jossy’s moment to prove herself, and she was right—this wasn’t his fight. She needed him to believe in her, to give her the respect she was due. But damn it, Drew loved her. He couldn’t stand idly by and watch her be killed. This wasn’t just any opponent with a blade. This man was an assassin.

’Twould be a duel to the death—hers or Syme’s. But there was one thing about killing a man that Jossy didn’t know, something Drew had discovered long ago, something that had probably cost Jossy’s mother her life. Drew had to be vigilant. He couldn’t let Jossy make the same mistake her mother had.

“Ye know ’tisn’t a fair fight,” Drew muttered to Syme.

“I think the lass would beg to differ,” Syme said.

Jossy straightened and lifted a haughty brow, confirming his opinion. Damn Syme—he was right. Jossy was a proud Scottish lass—too proud. She’d never back down from a fight, never admit she’d met her match. And knowing Jossy, the moment Drew tried to convince her otherwise, she’d dig in her heels even deeper.

“Fine,” Drew said on an exasperated sigh. He reversed his sword and tossed the weapon to Jossy, who caught it in one hand, giving the blade a flashy whirl.

He couldn’t miss the eager gleam in her eyes, and already he regretted arming her. On the other hand, Jossy was skilled, probably more skilled than Syme would expect. Drew had fought her. The lass could hold her own…to a point. Maybe Syme would be caught offguard and Jossy could seize the advantage.

Still, ’twas not a fair fight. Not only did Syme have the clear benefit of size, reach, and power, but he had a history of killing.

Like Drew, Jossy might have been trained in chivalrous combat, but nothing could prepare her for the atrocity of real battle. As in love, in war there were no rules. War was ugly and desperate and inhumane. There was nothing noble or decent about it.

Drew had learned that painful lesson when he’d slain his first opponent. War was literally a double-edged sword. It might cut down one’s enemy, but it also carved large pieces out of one’s soul.

He couldn’t let Jossy pay the price of that lesson. He’d fold his arms and let her fight, and he wouldn’t distract her. But the instant he perceived the battle was nearly finished, he intended to be ready with Jossy’s dagger, which rested just beneath his itching fingertips.