The gleaming sword slashed for her throat. Lorraine jerked back, her spine arching so the blade hissed past, close enough that a single strand of hair drifted loose.
Her breath caught in relief, but this was not who she was. She was not a woman trained to dodge blades. That didn't even give her the content feeling she usually got. She had never been one to meet steel with steel. And yet, adrenaline surged through her veins, burning with the fierce instinct of protecting the child growing inside her.
Before she could regain her footing, the mercenary swung again. His strikes were heavy, brutish, but carried the strength of a man honed for killing. Lorraine cursed herself. She should have known the poison would take longer to root itself in such a beast of a man. He was only a little shorter than her husband, but twice as broad, built like iron.
The sword came too close this time. She yanked at her skirt, desperate to tear it free from his grip, but his fist locked like a shackle.
