Snow’s ferocious barking and the peregrine’s piercing shriek added to the cacophony. He shoved Stirling behind him as three men burst from the cover of the forest. Though dressed in unkempt rags, he noted they carried finely honed blades, held as though well-trained in their use. He drew his own sword and stepped forward, widening the distance between them and Stirling. “To the horses,” he snapped at her. “Hold,” he commanded the charging men, hoping they would heed the warning, certain they would not. He prepared himself for battle. The first man reached him quickly, silver blade slashing through the air in a lethal arc. Quinn caught the ferocious blow along the edge of his weapon and threw the attacker stumbling back. These were no common brigands. Somewhere, these men had been trained as knights. “Get to the keep,” Quinn yelled at Stirling, eyeing the renegades with new caution. Snow howled as she sped past Quinn and lunged at the man struggling to regain his feet, pinning him to the ground.
