A Sword Upon the Rose by Brenda Joyce EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Brenda Joyce
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Brodie Castle, Scotland—December 1, 1307
FIRE RAGED EVERYWHERE, a blazing inferno. Men screamed in agony, horses
whinnied in terror, and swords rang.
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The smoke cleared. Horror overcame Alana.
A manor had been set afire, and before its walls, men fought with sword
and pike, both on foot and from horseback. Some were English knights,
mail-clad, others, bare-legged Highlanders. An English knight was stabbed
through by a Highlander’s blade; a huge destrier went down, impaled
through the barrel, a Highlander leaping off….
Where was she?
Alana was confused. The ground tilted wildly beneath her feet. She
thought she fell, and she clawed the ground, looking up.
Amidst the brutal fighting, she saw one man. The warrior was on foot,
bloody sword in hand, his long dark hair whipping about his face, his leine
riding his bare thighs, a fur flung back over his broad shoulders. He was
shouting to the Highland warriors, urging them on—every man bloodied
and desperate and savagely fighting for his life now.
The tides of the battle changed, some of the English soldiers fleeing,
some of the knights deciding to gallop away in retreat. But the dark-haired
Highlander did not cease, now engaged in fierce combat with an English
knight. Their swords clashed viciously, time and again.
Alana tensed. What had she just heard?
Her gaze flew to the burning manor. A woman was screaming for help
from inside. And did she hear children crying, as well?
Somehow Alana got to her feet. But the dark-haired Highlander was
already at the burning manor door.
Smoke burned through the wood, and flames shot out of an adjacent
window. He pushed his shoulder hard against the door, oblivious to the
smoke, the heat and the flames….
Suddenly she was afraid for him. As suddenly he turned, and for one
moment, she could see his hard, determined face. His blue eyes pierced
hers.
And then he was rushing into the burning manor. A moment later he
reappeared, carrying a small child. A woman and another child ran outside
with him.
Relief overcame her. He had rescued the woman and her children—they
would not die.
The roof crashed in. More flames shot into the sky. He covered the child
with his body, now on the ground. Burning timbers fell around him.
Then he leaped up, racing away to some safer distance from the burning
house where he returned the child to its weeping mother. He turned, his
gaze searching the woods where Alana hid—as if to look for her.
As he did, a man with shaggy red hair, another Highlander from the same
army, came up behind him, raising a dagger at the warrior’s back.
“Behind you!” Alana screamed.
The dark-haired Highlander must have sensed danger, for he whirled as
the dagger came down. He did not scream—he stiffened, the dagger
penetrating his chest. And then his sword was cutting through the air, faster
than her eyes could see.
The red-haired traitor fell to the ground, stabbed through his chest. The
Highlander delivered another clearly fatal blow, and paused, towering over
his victim.
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