by Paula Quinn
She turned back to the window as the red-haired brute swung his blade hard enough to push Cailean backward. She covered her eyes. He was a fool! Barely healed of two fevers that had drained his strength!
Watching through a space between her fingers, she noted him bracing his feet on the ground, ready for more.
She scowled at Gram, standing in the cold with Patrick. Why hadn’t either one of them stopped him? Surely he would have listened to his cousin… and Gram! Why, no one defied her!
“Och, good Lord!” She thought she might faint when his opponent swung his blade high over his shoulder and then brought it down hard toward Cailean’s shoulder.
Temperance stared, horrified that she was about to watch Cailean lose an arm. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to watch another second, but she couldn’t look away. This was the man who had shared the deepest parts of his heart with her, the man who had brought back her joy while she helped him rediscover his. The man who had captured her heart and given her hope for the kind of love she’d always desired.
The man who’d helped take her father from her.
He blocked, holding his claymore sideways and letting the metal absorb most of the impact, then answered with a flurry of swings, his sword moving with incredible speed and might.
His opponent tried to parry, but Cailean changed position suddenly and his blade twisted and danced in the air before sending the red-haired man’s sword across the lists. Cailean took a swift step forward and held the tip of his blade to his opponent’s throat. He said something Temperance couldn’t hear, then looked up at the others and called out, “Next!”
Temperance watched three more men come against Cailean. He was victorious over all, but she could tell he was growing weary. From her window she could see blood on his cheek, and his arm appeared to be growing stiff. She wasn’t the only one who noticed. Two of his opponents struck him in the same spot numerous times, trying to wear him down. The Black Riders didn’t hold back, but neither did Cailean. He fought as if his life depended on it.
Watching him mesmerized her, stole her breath. She didn’t want to think him beautiful. She didn’t want to believe he was doing this for her. She wanted to go outside and call him a fool to his face.
She decided to do just that.
Marion snatched up their cloaks and followed her when Temperance left the room.
They stepped out of the castle and into the gray late afternoon just as snow began to fall. Following the path from the back, outdoor stairway, they made their way to the western edge of the lists, a short distance away from where the rest of the men stood.
Fergus MacRae, a big burly brute who looked as if he were hiding three more men beneath his fur cloak, stepped into the lists and pointed his blade at Cailean.
Temperance’s heart beat frantically when she saw that Cailean’s eyes were not on his deadly-looking opponent, but on her.
Their gazes met across the snowy expanse and for a moment no one else existed but the two of them, nothing else mattered but their hearts, aching and broken.
Fergus MacRae’s sword swished through the air, a mere inch from Cailean’s head.
Temperance gasped, snatching Cailean back to the present. He shifted his weight instantly and blocked a series of powerful blows coming at him in rapid succession.
“MacRae is going to carve him up like that delicious turkey we ate last eve!” one of the men called out.
Temperance turned to glare at him, and then hid her satisfied grin when Patrick clubbed him in the back of his head with his fist.
“Dinna try m’ temper, Cutty,” Patrick warned him. “Ye have yet to see the harder side of me.”
Standing with Patrick, Gram left his side and shuffled over to her granddaughter. “I didn’t think you would come to watch.”
“I’ve been watching from my window. He fights well but he appears weary.”
Gram shook her head. “He is revived now that ye are here, dove.”
Temperance watched him as the sun began its slow descent, casting him in an eerie silvery glow. His hair fell around his handsome face. He cleared the damp locks away with one hand and clutched the hilt of his sword with the other.
Temperance hated herself for the silent prayer she offered up for him. She hated herself for giving a damn about the man who’d lied to her, who’d let her fall in love with him knowing what he’d done. She fought her feelings harder than she’d ever fought anything else. He’d nodded and her father’s life had ended. How could she ever forgive him? How could she ever shed another tear over him without betraying her father even more?
Unable to look away, she watched as he prepared for MacRae’s second attack. He sidestepped what would have been a crushing blow and then parried, making his sword sing. MacRae advanced again and smashed his blade against Cailean’s, causing sparks to fly.
Temperance wanted to call out for them to cease. Cailean could barely hold up his weapon against MacRae’s vicious assault. He fought back with what seemed his last ounce of strength.
Spotting an opening, MacRae swung the flat of his blade hard and low across Cailean’s legs. With the speed and agility of a cat, Cailean jumped up. He landed in a crouched position, and before MacRae could swing again was back on his feet holding the edge of his shiny sword against MacRae’s throat.
Hearty cheers rose up from at least six of the men watching, the loudest coming from Patrick. Temperance remembered to breathe, and then forgot again when Cailean sheathed his sword and strode toward her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Every part of him hurt, but Cailean could think of only one thing as he left the lists. He kept his eyes on Temperance as he tried to cut through the crowd of men and even some of Maeve’s lasses swarming around him.
“Huzzah! Well done!” came the shouts, along with pats on the back.
Cailean nodded and pushed his way through, trying to reach her. She stood off to the side, her dark locks dusted with white, her sapphire eyes glistening in the early twilight.
When she turned to leave he held up his hand as if to stop her. She saw him and kept going.
“You still have the rest of us to face tomorrow, Grant!” someone called out as Temperance passed them. Her shoulders went stiff as she stormed back inside.
“Then ye should spend the night practicin’,” Cailean called back, and shoved his way out of the crowd.
A man stood in his way.
“You think you’re going to take her away from me, but you’re wrong.”
Cailean set his frosty gaze on Duncan. “Get oot of m’ way before I toss ye over the wall.”
The lord’s son lifted his lips into a twisted smile. “My father tells me you love her. You’re a Black Rider. She will never return your affections. You are wasting your time here.”
Cailean barely listened. Instead he studied Duncan more closely. Was the bastard drunk? His eyes seemed unfocused, a little glassy. His words were slurred just a bit. No! Cailean’s heart sank. No, she couldn’t have!
“I will have her, Grant! I’ll take her as my wife and then I’ll fu—”
Cailean had heard enough. Grasping fistfuls of Duncan’s collar, he lifted him off his feet and tossed him out of his way. The lord’s son went sprawling some feet away, facedown in the dirt.
Coming toward them, Patrick chuckled at the fallen mercenary and waved at him when Duncan looked up.
“Go!” Patrick called out to his cousin. “I’ll watch this one.”
Cailean nodded and continued to the castle. Hell, he ached all over. His body had not fully recovered from the infection that had coursed through him, ravaging him with fevers. But it was his heart that ached the most.
He had to find Temperance and tell her… damnation, there was so much he wanted to tell her. But first he needed to know if she had poisoned Duncan.
He found her on her way to the great hall. “Temperance,” he called. When she turned to look at him, he paused. He loved her, but there was so much more
. Gram had told him to show her his true heart. Did he even know where to find it?
Aye, he thought when he saw her that his heart was with her.
When she began to turn away from him again, he rushed toward her and clasped her wrist. “Did ye poison Duncan?”
She didn’t answer but tried to free herself from his grip. “Let go of me,” she warned.
“Listen to me. If he dies, his faither will kill ye!”
“I don’t care!” she threw back at him. “This is no longer your concern.”
People were beginning to file into the hall. Cailean’s heart raged within him. He had to talk her out of this madness before it was too late.
Lowering his voice, he pulled her closer. “There’s no comin’ back from this, Temperance. Once ye take a man’s life, ye will be forever changed. This isn’t who ye are, lass.”
Her eyes bored into him. “You don’t know who I am or what I’m capable of doing. I’m not a fool. I only put a little nightshade into Duncan’s drink. He will die slowly. His father will not suspect any foul play.”
He closed his eyes and tried to think clearly. Dear God, she had poisoned the lord’s son and she had no intention of stopping.
“And what if he does?” he asked her quietly, quickly, as the hall filled with voices and laughter. “What if he discovers what ye’ve done and takes his revenge on the people of Linavar? What if he kills Gram… William—”
The horror in her eyes convinced him to continue. “Please, cease this madness before ’tis too late, Temperance.”
“And what of you?” she asked acidly, though when her eyes fell to his swollen lip, her gaze softened. “Will you continue with this foolishness of fighting more Black Riders tomorrow?”
“In order to save ye from marryin’ Duncan, aye, I will.”
“I don’t need you to save me. I can save myself.”
Someone called his name and she broke away from him and hurried off.
Damn it! Cailean ran his palm down his face. There was only one thing left to do. He was going to have to save Duncan before Temperance killed him.
It didn’t take him long to find Duncan later that night. The bastard was in his private chambers, in his bed with one of Maeve’s girls.
Cailean didn’t pause when he saw the two in the throes of passion. He interrupted them with a shout from the door, startling the lass, who leaped from Duncan’s body and wrapped herself in his bedsheet.
“The fight tomorrow is off, Murdoch. Meet me in the lists now,” Cailean demanded in a chilling tone. “Or I’ll come back here and kill ye in yer bed.”
He left them looking equally terrified. He didn’t stop or even pause when he heard Murdoch shout for him to come back. There was no turning back.
He met his cousin on the way to the castle doors.
“Where are ye off to at this late hour?” Patrick asked him, abandoning a pretty blond lass named Bess… or Beth. Cailean hated himself for not knowing.
“I’m goin’ to beat the senses oot of Duncan Murdoch,” Cailean told him, ignoring the lass’s gasp.
He waited a moment while Patrick told the gel to go to her room and not come out until the morning.
“Pack yer things,” Cailean added, glancing at her. “Patrick’s goin’ to bring ye and whoever else wants to go to Skye when this is all over.”
“He is?” the lass asked, shifting her worshipful gaze to his cousin. “You are?”
Instead of answering her, Patrick glared at Cailean and sent her on her way.
“What the hell d’ye mean by tellin’ her that? I want to see them oot of Lyon’s Ridge. I never said a word aboot bringin’ them to Camlochlin. Cailean, damn ye, she’s goin’ to think I care fer her!”
“I’ve nae doubt,” Cailean retorted coolly, turning to continue toward the doors, “that ye were goin’ to bed her tonight. Carin’ fer her should already be the reason.”
“Well, ’tis no’,” his cousin argued, following him. “Ye canna bring ladies of the night to Camlochlin. We’ll be tossed oot on our arses.”
“I dinna care.”
“I do!”
Cailean finally stopped and turned on him. “I thought ye wanted to help them.”
“I do, but we can help them by bringin’ them someplace else.”
“Ye truly dinna possess any honor, do ye, Pat.” It wasn’t a question, and it was voiced with contempt.
That didn’t seem to bother Patrick all that much. He hurried forward and stepped in front of Cailean, blocking his path to the door.
“Mayhap ye’re correct, Cousin, but I do possess a rational mind, which is more than I can say fer ye presently. Ye’re goin’ to have the Black Riders oot fer blood if ye kill their leader. They’ll follow us to Camlochlin—”
“I dinna intend on killin’ him, though ’twouldna be difficult. I intend to save his life.”
“What the hell are ye talking aboot?” Patrick asked him. “Did one of the lads hit ye in the head too hard?”
Cailean stopped and turned to him. “Temperance—” He paused to look around the halls and make certain no one was present to overhear him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “She has poisoned him with nightshade. She plans on continuing to feed him small doses until he’s dead. I dinna know what his faither will do if she succeeds. I willna wait aroond to find oot.”
Patrick nodded, understanding now. “What d’ye plan to do?”
“I’m goin’ to hurt him enough to put him to a sickbed so that the symptoms he’s already beginnin’ to experience are mistaken fer the effects of a good beatin’. I need to get her oot of here quickly, though, before she finishes what she started.”
“How will ye explain to Lord Murdoch why ye took his son to the lists tonight instead of tomorrow?”
Cailean shrugged. “I’ll figure that oot tomorrow.”
Patrick nodded and followed him outside into the dark.
They waited in silence, lighting the lists with torches. Cailean didn’t particularly need to see in order to fight. He’d trained in the dark before and done well, better than most of his cousins, as a matter of fact. It wouldn’t take him long.
“Patrick!” Duncan appeared a little while later with Cutty at his side. “I hope you’re here to talk some sense into your cousin.”
Patrick held up his hands. “I tried.”
The sound of Cailean’s sword leaving its sheath stilled the air and the breath of those in attendance. With a shrug of his shoulders, his cloak fell to the ground.
“Murdoch,” he said in a low, deadly voice, “quit tryin’ to postpone the inevitable and ready yer blade.”
“We’re supposed to do this tomorrow, Grant,” Murdoch pointed out nervously.
He blinked rapidly and Cailean ground his teeth. How much nightshade had Temperance fed him?
“Are you afraid of coming against Dougal MacCormack and Cutty first?” Duncan laughed and missed the sword Cutty tossed to him.
Hell, Cailean wondered if Duncan would even be able to fight him.
“You want her for yourself,” the scrawny bastard said while he picked the sword up off the ground. “But I’m going to have her. You’ll be gone and she’ll be mine. You can’t stop—”
He didn’t see Cailean’s blade even though it flashed before him in the torchlight. He was able to block… barely. Another strike caught him on the arm. It was a slice rather than a chopping blow. Blood flowed and Murdoch cried out, dropping his blade. He swooned on his feet and Cutty ran to his aid.
“Leave me alone!” Duncan hit his hand away. “I don’t need your help!” He glared at Cailean for a moment and then charged.
Cailean smiled and tossed his blade away into the grass beside Duncan’s. He couldn’t kill the bastard without possibly starting a war. Beating him senseless was what he’d come to do. “Aye, come on,” he growled, shoving his sleeves over his elbows. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He swung and his fist connected with Murdoch’s jaw.
Surprisingly Murdoch foug
ht back, sending a crushing fist of his own into Cailean’s face.
Aye, now this was more like it. Cailean swiped his wrist across his nose, clearing away the blood, and then advanced like a man void of mercy. Void of everything. He’d waited to do this for months. For everything. For Seth Menzie. For Temperance and Gram.
He had to admit, though, it wasn’t exactly a fair fight. Duncan’s movements were slow. One could blame the nightshade, but Cailean had practiced with Duncan in the past and it hadn’t been any better. Duncan’s father knew it, and when Cailean was through with him tonight, Duncan would no longer be able to deny it.
Twice Duncan swung his fist and twice Cailean avoided being hit. Patrick snickered from the sideline while Cutty called out moves Duncan should make.
Duncan didn’t listen and was struck with a flurry of punches that pushed him backward. Cailean thought he saw a tooth go flying to the right. A right hook to the jaw sprayed blood across Cailean’s face.
“Cailean!” Patrick shouted. “He has a dagger!”
Aye, Cailean saw the small blade flash in the firelight when Duncan pulled it from his boot. He swung, aiming for Cailean’s face, missed, and then swiped it across Cailean’s chest.
Bastard, Cailean thought when he felt the blade slice through his plaid and the shirt beneath. The wound wasn’t deep, just a scratch, but it ignited a fresh fire in Cailean to finish Duncan. A right hook to his jaw and another combination to the guts brought him to his knees.
Cailean lifted his fist one more time and sent it into Duncan’s temple.
Cutty leaped forward as his friend crumpled in a heap at Cailean’s feet. He struck Cailean with a hard fist to the chin that made Cailean sway on his feet. But he wasn’t about to go down so easily. A thunderous uppercut sent Cutty reeling back. It took less than an instant for the bastard to return. Cailean caught him with a sprawling left and was hit back with a right, just as menacing.
This had to end now. Cailean was still weary from the day’s competition. He didn’t want to grow careless and lose. Remembering what Cutty had done to Seth Menzie gave him the spurt of anger he needed to finish.