Page 33 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

“Not hacking, just sparring,” the McKenna answered.

“Malcolm is bleeding.”

“’Tis only a small scratch.”

“That can fester.” Aileen tapped her foot impatiently. “They wear no armor, only helmets.”

“’Tis training, not a battle.”

“End it. Now.”

“’Twould be madness to come between them,” the McKenna protested. “I could get sliced to ribbons.”

Aileen let out a grunt and grabbed her husband’s arm. “Now, Brian.”

The McKenna threw his hands up in the air, then bellowed at the top of his voice. “Malcolm! James! Enough! Ye’ve both proved yer skill and heart. Stop yer swordplay!”

At the sound of his father’s voice, Malcolm turned his head. Seizing the advantage, James rushed him, knocking them both to the ground. They wrestled in the dirt. James wrapped his legs around Malcolm’s hips, holding him in place, but the advantage was soon lost as Malcolm lashed out, bucking upward.

“Brian!” Aileen screeched.

“I did as ye asked,” the McKenna countered. “They have dropped their swords.”

Malcolm threw off the hold, flinging James onto his back. Instinctively, James reached for the dirk that protruded from Malcolm’s belt, brandishing it recklessly at his brother’s throat.

Startled, Malcolm’s body tensed with humiliation at having his own weapon held against him. The knife blade flickered in the dull sunlight and he reached to gain control of it, but James evaded the maneuver.

“There! It ends in a draw,” Aileen shouted.

A draw? Clearly, I’m the victor.James narrowed his eyes and gazed up at his brother. Malcolm’s face revealed his surprise and equal displeasure at their mother’s verdict. It was obvious he had no intention of stopping. There was still plenty of fight left in him.

Swiftly, James weighed his options. He had the upper hand now, but that could easily change. His brother was fit and skilled and angry. Realizing it served no purpose to jab at Malcolm’s already bruised pride, James dropped the dirk and raised his hands in surrender. “Ye fight with skill and honor, brother, but these past five years I fought each day to stay alive. When yer life depends on the quality of yer sword, ye fast learn a variety of tricks.”

“Trickery? A true Highlander fights with honor.” Malcolm scowled as he got to his feet. He held out his hand to James. After a moment’s hesitation, James accepted the gesture.

“Nay, lads, a true Highlander fights to win!” The McKenna came forward and draped his left arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and the right across James’s. “Ye did me proud. Both of ye.”

“But they stopped before a true winner was named,” one of the men protested.

“It was a draw,” Aileen insisted.

“Nay, Malcolm was clearly bested by his brother,” a deep voice shouted. “James can claim victory.”

“Och, yer eyes must have been closed during the scrimmage,” another chimed. “’Twas obvious that Malcolm would carry the day.”

Aileen quieted the grumblings with a single stony stare of reproach. James dragged his arm across his dripping brow and watched in amazement as his mother brought the squabbling men to heel.

The McKenna turned to his wife and raised his beefy hand. A jolt of concern bolted through James. He moved forward protectively, only to watch his father tenderly caress her cheek. The natural, genuine display of love and affection struck James harder than any blow, for it reminded him of what he had once yearned to have.

And was now forever lost.

James grit his teeth against the pain that could still unexpectedly seize him. He blinked, then blinked again, fighting it back. Years on the battlefield had taught him never to betray a weakness of any kind. And he was determined to heed that lesson well.

The exhilaration of the swordplay passed slowly from him, leaving James once again restless. Striding across the practice field, he headed toward the stables, hoping a long ride in the brisk air would clear his head.

“James!” the McKenna boomed out. “Wait fer me in my private solar. We have much to discuss.”

Though used to obeying orders, James’s temper heated. He preferred solitude right now, not company. But one look at the expression of impatience on his father’s face told James he had little choice in the matter. Resigned, he turned away from the stables.

---