Page 58 of Kilted Seduction
“Fight. I cannae back out without looking like a coward. I’ll simply have tae dae me best tae avoid taking a serious injury or giving one.” Aedan sighed. “I dinnae ken what he intends, but I dinnae have a good feeling about this situation.”
“Nay more dae I.” Thora swallowed. Her Gift was still clouded, not even the faintest hint of premonition to guide her actions. “The storm…”
“Too strong. We’ll simply have tae go along with his plans, until we have a chance tae leave.” Aedan gave her a small smile. “Dinnae fret, little trickster. I’m skilled enough tae weather whatever Laird Ross might try tae dae. And ‘tis only a demonstration match.”
Thora nodded, but his confidence did nothing to shake her sense of foreboding. She watched Mac compete in archery, and one of the Cameron guards represent the clan in the races. She joined the ladies in making yule cakes and treats, as well as passing out little sweets to the children, as was customary.
Finally, it was time for the match between Lachlan Ross and Aedan Cameron. Thora stood beside Mac, watching with bated breath as Aedan strode into the middle of the cleared square, rolling his shoulders to loosen them and testing his grip on the sword he’d been given to fight with. It was a slightly blunted blade - a glancing blow was unlikely to do any damage, but a blow with enough strength would cut, and any strike that connected would leave bruises.
The thought of Aedan taking a blow from Lachlan Ross with one of those blades terrified her, but there was nothing she could say to stop him from fighting. He was right, to refuse a ‘friendly’ match would compromise his honor.
“The terms o’ this match are as follows: combat continues until one man is disarmed or surrendered. Permanently crippling blows and killing blows are nae permitted, though touches tae indicate such are allowed as long as they are controlled.”
The stipulation did nothing to make Thora feel better. She knew as well as anyone else that accidents could happen. One wrong move and Aedan could be grievously harmed, or even suffer fatal injury. The worst part was that she feared Lachlan Ross intended exactly that.
The warrior in charge of overseeing the match raised his hand and dropped it. “Begin!”
Neither warrior was fool enough to simply charge in, blade swinging. Instead, they began to circle each other, blades held at the ready. Lachlan was the first to break the pattern, blade lashing out in a shoulder-high side cut that Aedan easily parried. Aedan responded with a thrust of his own, and the duel began in earnest.
Swords clanged, slow at first, then faster and harder as the two fell into a rhythm of attack and counterattack. Thrust, parry, counter, slash… the two were expert swordsmen, and it showed. Thora watched carefully, alert for any trick or hint that Aedan was dangerous.
Their strength was roughly equal, but Aedan was faster, and perhaps more skilled. Still, Lachlan Ross was skilled in his own right, and he had a deadly style that made Thora feel nervous.
Gradually, the duel began to change. A high blow by Lachlan came a little closer and faster than it should have. Aedan’s return strike was fast and low, a little more crisp and sharper than his previous blows. Lachlan parried and stabbed at his chest with a little more force than was necessary. Aedan dodged and returned the attack with a thrust of his own.
It was no longer an exhibition duel. It was rapidly turning into an actual duel, a contest of skill and wills that would end when someone was disarmed, seriously injured, or badly humiliated. Thora bit her lip, her hands clenched into fists as she watched the two men exchange blows across the length of the cleared floor.
The blows grew faster, and then Thora saw one slip past Aedan’s guard to land a punishing blow on his upper arm. The laird of Clan Cameron winced and stumbled a little but blocked the next blow and responded with one of his own that tapped his opponent’s ribs.
He was holding his own, but he was still holding back. Unlike Lachlan, Aedan was still mindful of the rules that had been given for the duel.
Parry. Thrust. Side slash. Overhand. Backhand. Thrust.
Block. Sweep. Dodge. Upward crossover. Parry and side slash. Side slash.
Forward and back. Attack and defend. It was a brutal exchange of blows that was no longer about providing a show - it was about establishing dominance, proving who was the stronger and better warrior.
And now, Lachlan Ross’s true style began to show itself. Feints, low blows that could hamstring an opponent, attempts to trip or grapple with Aedan. Perhaps they were tricks that might be used in a true battle, but they had no place in what was meant to be a friendly demonstration of swordplay.
Aedan held his own, but even Thora could see where he missed chances to respond to an attack because his counter would not adhere to the ‘rules’, or where he pulled back the strength of what could have been a disabling strike, in order to avoid a serious injury to his opponent, which would seem in bad taste.
It was hard to breathe, and Thora was grateful for Mac’s strong, solid presence at her side. It kept her from collapsing, or doing something rash, such as interfering. Indeed, Mac had one hand on her arm, as if he feared she was about to jump into the fray at any moment. She couldn’t deny she was tempted to do so, as each blow became more and more serious.
Parry, block, attack and counter. Thora winced as Lachlan’s blade came perilously close to Aedan’s cheek, then again as he took another heavy blow to the arm. She wanted to scream at the match overseer to call for it to stop, or at least deliver a warningabout out-of-bounds behavior, but she knew her words would go unheeded. The man was one of Lachlan’s warriors, loyal to his laird. And no one else would intervene, even if they thought the duel was becoming unfair, or disliked the disregard for the rules. They were too busy enjoying the spectacle.
Back and forth they went, both warriors beginning to perspire and breathe heavily. For a moment, Thora thought Aedan might be getting the upper hand…
Lachlan’s boot crashed into Aedan’s knee and buckled it, sending him reeling, right before a blow took him across the opposite of the ribcage with enough force that it would have hewed right through if the blades had not been blunted. As it was, if Aedan had not already been falling away from it, the force of the blow probably would have broken at least two of his ribs.
Aedan went down hard. His grip loosened on his sword hilt, but didn’t release it. It didn’t matter, however, because Lachlan’s boot came down hard on his wrist, eliciting a grunt of pain. “Lachlan….”
The blunted sword tip touched his throat. “Dae ye surrender?”
Aedan looked as if he wanted to spit in the other laird’s face. However, he was clearly at a disadvantage. He nodded. “Aye. The victory is yers.”
Lachlan’s smug look was enough to make Thora want to slap him or throw wine into his face. Only the necessity of avoiding toomuch fuss - that and Mac’s hand on her shoulder - kept her from storming forward to confront Laird Ross.
Lachlan released his hold, and Aedan sat up, massaging his wrist and grimacing at what were likely spectacular bruises forming on his ribs. “Ye fight rough fer a friendly match.”
