Page 50 of A Plaid Case of Loving Ye
Instincts born of years as a Hunter had him whirling about, shoving Nicola behind him and yanking the kilt from his shoulder.
He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Henry MacDonald standing across the clearing, sneering at them. The stump of his arm was still wrapped in dirty bandages, but in his other hand he held his sword, already pointed at Ramsay’s heart.
“Shite,” Ramsay whispered again.
“Should I take off my kilt?” mocked MacDonald. “I dinnae want it said I had an unfair advantage, being dressed.”
“Unfair advantage?” Ramsay’s gaze darted to his sword—still lying sheathed beside the water, too far away—and back again before the other man could move. “Ye’ve only got one hand.”
“And yer cock is waving about in the breeze!”
From behind him, Nicola murmured, “That isnae such a bad thing.”
The comment should’ve reminded him that she was vulnerable, and he was all that stood between her and MacDonald’s evil. But instead, he was surprised by his own smile.
Which seemed to anger the other man. “Yearsehole,” spat MacDonald. “How dare ye—howfooking dare ye! I’ll kill ye today the way I should’ve killed ye all those months ago! I would’ve killed ye on the way here, if ye’d stopped long enough for me to get into position.”
So, Ramsay’s instincts had been correct; hehadsensed someone following them. But not bandits, nay.
Since the other man had begun to circle the clearing, Ramsay turned too, keeping his body in front of Nicola. After knowing what MacDonald had done to Lady Helen, there was no way in damnation he’d allow the bastard near the woman he loved.
“Yer anger will get ye killed, MacDonald.” Ramsay tried to be nonchalant about the way he wrapped the unused plaid around his forearm. Again and again, twisting his arm until the long length of sturdy wool could offer a bit of protection. “Why do ye wish to kill—”
“Because I’ve been dreaming about spitting ye on my sword for months! I didnae die of infection, ye arsehole, but ‘twas just barely. My man wanted to take me home for treatment, but I stayed near ye and fought the fever. Then, when I told him I was going to follow ye and yer Oliphant slut, he refused to follow me. Said I was mad for revenge.”
“And he was right.” Ramsay bent his knees and felt Nicola step closer to him. “What right doyehave to be—"
“Because ye took my hand!” roared MacDonald, lunging forward.
Ramsay grabbed Nicola behind him—thank fook she was plastered against his back—and twisted, tossing her away as he whirled to face MacDonald. He heard her stumble—curse his blind side!—and prayed she’d remain safe.
Nay, he’densureshe’d remain safe.
“I took yer hand, ye mewling bastard,” he bellowed, twisting out of the way of another attack, “because ye ambushed me!”
MacDonald might’ve been fighting with his off hand, but at least hehada blade. Ramsay was forced to duck and weave, desperate to lead the bastard away from Nicola.
“I ambushed ye because ye were hunting me!”
Ramsay spun yet again and misjudged the distance to a tree root. Damn his lack of peripheral vision! He came down hard and stumbled to the side, raising his forearm in time to deflect the blow of MacDonald’s sword.
“Fook!”he hissed in pain as the blade sliced through the wool, catching his skin. The plaid immediately became slick with blood, but he was finally in the position he wanted.
Without pausing, he threw himself to the side, rolled, and came up holding his sword.
Now he could block MacDonald’s next swing, although the blow caused the leather scabbard to crack.
“I was hunting ye,” he roared, yanking the scabbard from his blade and tossing it and the belt aside, “because ye raped Helen Douglass, and the King wants yer head!”
The news caused MacDonald to stumble back, looking momentarily paler. But then he shook his head and lifted his sword into a guard position—or as much of one as he could manage with one hand.
“Why would the King bother with one slut? She wanted it—she wanted me.”
“She kenned what ye were,” hissed Ramsay, circling, his sword held high and the bloody remains of his plaid-turned-shield trailing behind him. “She saw the truth about ye, which is why she denied ye.”
MacDonald scoffed, although there was fear in the depths of his eyes. “She was ready to marry me!”
“And then she changed her mind, and ye raped her. She fought ye, aye, called ye the worst of names.”
