Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris

Chapter Eleven

“Ye what?” Grier looked astonished by the idea.

Ripples went through the men nearby, some shouting in cheers at the idea, others fearing it, arguing against it.

“Ian!” Alex’s voice shouted up from across the table. Ian looked his friend’s way, seeing the concern in his face. He didn’t doubt that, now he’d made his decision, Alex would support it all the way. It was the kind of man he was, but that didn’t get rid of the fear on his face.

“I should have ye arrested and thrown in a cage of yer own for sayin’ such a thing,” Grier said grimly, lowering his sword. He appeared tempted by the idea the moment he said it.

“Ye ken ye cannae do that, nae now,” Ian said firmly. “I challenge ye in a fight for the lairdship. Me faither was laird before ye; I have more right to the position. Ye have to accept the fight.”

“Arrest him –” he ordered, gesturing madly at Hal and a few others; Ian almost laughed at the futility of Grier’s attempt.

“Would ye be such a coward as to deny the challenge?” Ian’s words had the desired effect. The guards that had moved forward around him fell still, and Grier looked back at him, something ticking in his jaw in frustration, and the cheeks above his beard paling a little. “Defeat me in battle, and ye’ll be showin’ why ye deserve to be laird. Lose to me, however…” Ian paused, prolonging the moment. “And I’ll be laird.”

Grier stepped forward sharply, his face tense, and the muscles in his neck tightening.

“To the death it is then,” Grier said sharply.

At once, the men watching responded, some backing away, others cheering on the idea. Alex was suddenly at Ian’s side, pulling him back.

“Ian, have ye thought this through? To the death?” Alex asked.

“I have thought it through all I need to,” Ian spoke quickly and looked back at Grier. “When?”

“This afternoon. Four o’clock,” Grier said, placing the sword back in his belt. “In the center of camp.”

“Then it’s decided,” Ian said, just as he felt Bhaltair’s hands and Alex’s turn him away, pushing him away from the growing crowd.

* * *

Ian was standing outside the tent beside the slow fire that was burning beside them as Bhaltair and Gilroy gathered armor nearby. There was a large pile of discarded and broken armor. He could see Alex’s eyebrows raising at the state that some of it was in. This clan really had been run down to the bare essentials; so poor was their condition that they couldn’t even afford new armor.

“This could spell the end,” Kenny muttered at his side as he helped him into the leather shield pad that was to go under the chain mail.

“Thank ye for yer optimism, Kenny,” Ian said tightly, aware of Kenny shaking his head.

“I know you’re the man that feels no pain; I’m just not sure if that extends to the man that cannot die. How can I repay my debt to you now?” There was genuine fear in Kenny’s face that Ian didn’t want to dwell on too much.

“It’s nae needed,” he said strongly. “Challenges such as these are fought alone, one on one. Nay one else can get involved. We daenae even have seconds. It’s nae a duel.”

“I would be yer second if they would allow it,” Alex piped up, emerging from the tent. “I’m tempted to claim the position regardless.” He smiled with a kind of determination behind it that showed the true depths of his opinion of Grier.

“Alex,” Ian said darkly. “If I die at Grier’s hand, ye’re nae to get involved.”

“Want a wager on that?” Alex asked tartly, raising his hand. “I thought ye were dead once. If it does happen at Grier’s hand now, I’ll take the bastard meself.”

Ian considered arguing with him, but he knew that once Alex’s mind was made up, that was that. There was little point in arguing further with him. He would save his energy for the fight ahead instead.

“Chain mail,” Bhaltair held it up for Ian to take. “Mine, so it should fit ye fine.”

“Thanks,” Ian took the chain mail from his hands and with Kenny’s help, threaded it over his head and pulled it down. Once set, the others started fastening the other pieces needed: thigh plates, shoulder guards, the guards across his elbows and forearms too. Once complete, they stood back, all appraising the armor. Ian felt strangely heated and clammy under the weight of all the metal. It had been so long since he had fought with such protection on him that, somehow, he didn’t feel as safe as he would have done going into a fight with his bare hands. That was what he was accustomed to. “Will it do?”

“Aye,” Gilroy nodded after a minute. “All ye need are yer weapons now.”

Bhaltair and Gilroy both proffered their swords.

“Put them away,” Alex said boldly, moving between them. “If ye wish to be a laird, me friend, then ye best carry a laird’s sword.” He pulled a sword out from his own scabbard and held it aloft for Ian to see. Amazed at the gesture, Ian hesitated before taking it. “Just be careful with it. Me pride and joy. The scratches on it are all from victorious battles. This one shall be another.”

Alex placed the sword into Ian’s hands, and he took it with care, holding the blade up into the sunlight to analyze the finish. It was well made, a strong sword emblazoned with the emblem of the MacPherson Clan. Something about it seemed so fitting to Ian’s mind, to fight with a weapon of the people with whom he had lived most of his adult life.

“Thank ye, Alex,” he nodded to his friend and placed the sword in his belt. It was the perfect weapon for the job.

“Do ye want these?” Bhaltair asked, holding up smaller blades for him to peruse.

“What do I need a dirk for?” Ian asked, frowning. “This is an honest fight. Sword on sword.”

“Ye have remembered who ye are fightin’, havenae ye?” Bhaltair pointed out. The very idea that Grier could cheat made Ian’s body go still. He snatched one of the dirks from Bhaltair’s grasp and added it to the ankle of his boot. He would only use it if it were needed; otherwise, he would rely on the sword alone.

“Have ye two seen Grier in battle recently?” Ian asked, increasingly wary as the time for the fight drew nearer.

He was rusty himself, in truth. Though the years in prison had honed his resilience to pain, it had been a long time since he’d fought with a weapon in open battle. He’d been in scuffles with other prisoners and the guards in the jail often enough. Then, he was reliant on his hands alone and the strength there. Using a weapon was not something he’d had to do for over two years.

“Aye,” Gilroy said; the word came out a little raspy. “He isnae as strong as he used to be, but he is still strong.” He spoke pointedly, clearly giving Ian the due warning that he needed. “As Bhaltair has already said, he fights dirty. He doesnae believe in a fair fight.”

“Then I’ll strike quickly,” Ian said, checking the position of the sword in his belt again. Alex was at his side, watching carefully. He’d already given Ian the speech once about not wanting to see his friend dead, but he’d changed tactics now. Knowing Ian had no intention of going back on his word, he intended to support him.

“The question now is the aftermath of the fight,” Alex was thinking like a laird as he turned to the others. Ian hadn’t even got that far; he was too busy thinking of the fight itself and the way in which he could win. All he knew was that it had to be done for the clan’s sake.

For Elisabeth’s too.

“We’ll need to clearly draw the lines of support,” Alex looked to Bhaltair and Gilroy, buoying them up like they were men in his own army. “Grier will have his men gather behind him on his side of the battle. As a show of force.”

“Then we need to do the same,” Bhaltair said strongly.

“Just so,” Alex nodded to him. “Ye should gather everyone ye can.”

“Some may be reluctant,” Kenny stepped forward as he passed Ian a gauntlet to wear on his hand. “If they’re caught supporting Ian and he loses, they’ll suffer for it.”

“Then ye two make it clear that Ian willnae lose,” Alex addressed Bhaltair and Gilroy with these words. “Got it?”

“Aye,” Bhaltair and Gilroy said together. “Leave it with us,” Bhaltair added, and the two of them hurried away.

“Kenny, do me a favor and get me some water,” Ian asked Kenny. He nodded and hurried off at once. In reality, Ian just wanted a minute of peace with Alex. “I have a problem,” he said, the moment the two of them were left alone.

“Let me guess,” Alex moved to his side. “Ye’re rusty.”

“I should have played for more time between now and the fight.”

“Ye ken ye couldnae have,” Alex shook his head. “More time wasted before Elisabeth is returned means more time for her faither to build an army and come for the clan.”

“Hmm,” Ian nodded in thought. Much was now riding on him winning this fight.

“This way,” Alex began to pull him through the camp.

“Where are we goin’?” Ian asked.

“To the river,” Alex said quietly. “If ye’re so rusty, then we best get ye up to scratch away from pryin’ eyes.”

Ian nodded and followed after him. In the center of the camp, he looked back toward the cage on the far side. Elisabeth was there, standing by the bars and staring straight back at him, those light blue eyes following him as he went.

He would see her before the battle, of that he was certain. He wanted the chance to tell her why he was doing this and to say goodbye, if it came to it.

Ah, sithiche, if only there were nay bars between us.

His eyes dropped down her body briefly, looking away from her delicate features to her slender curves. He felt that heat rising in him, the same heat that emerged every time he spoke to her. He tamped it down. Now was not the time to think of Elisabeth and what could happen between them.

Now was the time to try to save her life.

* * *

Elisabeth couldn’t understand what was happening. What she did know was that something was afoot; it was as plain as day. She had heard the raucous cheers and shouting from some sort of meeting between Laird Grier and the other men in the clan, with Ian amongst them. She had also seen that, when the meeting ended and the men parted, many followed Ian, some clapping him on the shoulder and others cheering.

What could be happening?

This thought was whirring through her mind when she saw Ian striding toward the woods dressed in full armor as if for battle. He hesitated then, turning to look at her—their eyes connecting across the camp.

She had been struck by the strength of that stare at such a distance. She was equally amazed by his figure clad in the battle armor. His muscles seemed to fight against the restraint, as though he’d rather fight without it. She felt her mouth turn dry at the display he made.

“Who are you fighting, Ian?” she whispered under her breath, fearing what was now about to take place. If Ian had prepared for some kind of battle, then there could be bloodshed soon. The idea that the man she liked so much already could shed a single drop of blood made her shiver.

He turned from her, breaking their eye contact, and walked toward the river with Laird Alex. She kept watching him until the last possible second, seeing the way the sunlight glinted off his armor between the tree trunks.

“Elisabeth?” a woman’s voice called her name. She turned around and moved to the other end of the small cage, finding Seona creeping toward her through the cover of the trees. “Here, this is for ye.” She proffered another cup of water which Elisabeth took gratefully.

“Thank you,” she sipped quickly. “What’s happening, Seona? Ian is dressed in battle armor; there isn’t to be a fight…is there?”

Seona nodded, just once and turned her eyes away, with clear fear in her face.

“Oh,” Elisabeth struggled, suddenly feeling an acute constriction in her throat. “Who is he fighting?”

“Laird Grier,” Seona explained, returning her gaze to Elisabeth. “It’s a fight to claim the lairdship.”

The words struck Elisabeth hard and made her cling to the bars around her. If Ian were laird, the dynamics in the camp would change completely.

“This is a good thing, is it not?” Elisabeth asked and gestured to Seona’s face with her cup. “You look rather frightened.”

“I am,” Seona nodded again. “Because I am afraid. Laird Grier is nae a man to be trifled with,” she lowered her voice as though it were a scandal to utter such things at all. “If Ian makes one mistake in this battle…” she paused, elongating the moment, “then Laird Grier will nae hesitate to take his life.”

Elisabeth nearly dropped the cup.

* * *

“Ye’re droppin’ yer left side again,” Alex barked the words and pushed his sword against Ian, driving him backward.

Ian practically backed into the river as he disengaged the sword and held up his hand for a moment’s break, breathing heavily.

“Talk about rusty,” Alex shook his head. “Ye need to think quicker, me friend.”

“I ken,” Ian caught his breath quickly enough. It wasn’t his fitness that wasn’t up to scratch; it was being used to the pattern of battle. It had been so long since he’d lifted a sword against another.

“Again,” Alex ordered.

“I need a break. If I’m exhausted before the fight, then I’m doomed to lose it anyway,” Ian said quickly, shaking his head.

“That ye will,” his friend agreed. “But ye’re nae done practicin’ yet. I willnae watch ye die at Laird Grier’s hand. Now…lift yer sword.” Alex didn’t give him much time to prepare before he was running toward Ian again, sword in hand. At the last second, Ian noticed the approach and threw up his sword to defend.

They fell into defensive moves with Ian being driven further and further back. He blocked each blow effectively, but at the cost of his footwork and stance, as his feet inched closer and closer to the river.

“Stop defendin’. Start attackin’.” Alex ordered.

Ian knew there had been a time when he could match Alex easily in battle. He just needed to find that power again.

With his friend’s order clear in his mind, he dug his feet into the ground and swiped his sword to the side, pushing Alex’s along with it and driving it away from covering his body. Then Ian lunged, pressing forward so quickly that Alex wasn’t prepared for it.

“Aye, that’s better!” Alex said in delight, bringing his own sword back just in time.

The fight changed, with Ian now holding the upper hand. With each blow of his sword against his friend’s, he was the one controlling the battle, pushing Alex further and further back.

“Be alert,” Alex warned. “Now, go for the win.”

Ian did as he was instructed. He played a trick he had used often in battle, lifting his sword to make his opponent believe he was going for a strike in one direction. As Alex lifted his blade to counter the attack, Ian moved at the last second and swiped under instead.

He was about to place the sword against the leather padding across Alex’s chest, showing he had won the battle, when he felt a weapon at his side.

He fell still.

“Ye’re nae aware of yer surroundin’s, Ian.” Alex warned and nodded down at the second weapon. Seeing the trick Ian was pulling, evidently Alex had taken an alternative measure and gone for the dagger he kept in his belt. It was now pressed firmly against Ian’s side. “If I were Grier –”

“I ken, I would be dead,” Ian snapped the words and moved away from Alex, listening as his friend drove the sword through the air and made it whistle. Ian couldn’t believe how easily he’d just made the error. He had not been aware of what was happening around him, just as Alex had warned.

He moved to the edge of the river and crouched down beside the water, discarding his sword at his side and the gauntlet from his hand. Once free, he leaned down and cupped some water between his palms and splashed his face, needing the coolness against his skin to fight the sweat that had built up from parrying Alex.

“Ye’ll be fine,” Alex appeared beside him, crouching down and doing the same thing.

Ian said nothing, for they both knew it was just a nicety. In reality, neither of them knew how the battle would go. Especially if Grier fought dirty as Gilroy had said he would.

“I remember a time when I struggled to beat ye,” Alex said, sitting on the riverbank and looking out across the landscape. “In fact, I’m sure ye threw a few matches with me just because I was yer laird.”

Ian laughed, in spite of the situation.

“I didnae think ye ever noticed,” he admitted, turning his eyes on Alex.

“Ha!” Alex laughed too. “I’m Laird of the MacPhersons; men like to tiptoe around me at times. It is hardly difficult to see when a man throws a fight just because they daenae want to be the man to embarrass a laird in front of his people.”

Ian shook his head, recalling the memories easily. Once or twice in the MacPherson Clan had he turned the tables in a fight with Alex, purposely losing just so the Laird wouldn’t lose a battle while his people watched.

“That was a long time ago it seems,” Ian sighed and looked down at the blade beside him. Today, it felt as though his old prime form was years ago and miles away.

“Ian, ye defeated me before,” Alex lowered his voice, turning serious for a moment. “So ye can do it again. I daenae doubt that ye can defeat Laird Grier too. Ye just have to concentrate. Daenae be distracted and think only of what Grier is doing with that blade.”

“Hmm,” Ian made a noise of agreement, though the moment Alex had mentioned distraction, he had felt his mind wandering.

Elisabeth.

He had a feeling that if he could see her from where the battle took place, his eyes would involuntarily slide her way often. They did already.

“Ye ready to go again?” Alex said, jumping to his feet and hitting Ian in the shoulder. Ian said nothing, though he reluctantly moved to practice.

He wasn’t going to give up now; he would give the battle everything he had. Not only for his sake or the clan’s, but for Elisabeth’s too.

They had just had two strikes of their swords against each other’s when there was a sound to their left, making both men whip their heads toward the tree line.

“Who’s there?” Ian barked.

A second later, Jockie emerged between the trunks, peering round some branches.

“What do ye want?” Ian asked.