Page 56 of Fallen
His breathing quickened.
So many years had passed since the pair of them had met face-to-face, since they’d looked each other squarely in the eye.
He’d heard many folk pass comment on the physical resemblance between them, but since the times were few and far between when Craeg ever glimpsed his own reflection, he would have to take them at their word.
Duncan hadn’t changed much over the years, although there were perhaps lines of severity upon his handsome face that made him look sterner, older. Those iron-grey eyes were the same though: cold and shrewd.
But as Craeg came to a halt around eight yards back from the destrier, he realized that something wasn’t quite right. Those lines upon his face, weren’t from age, but from strain. His skin had a grey tinge and sweat gleamed off his forehead.
“No horse for Craeg the Bastard, eh?”
Duncan MacKinnon’s greeting slammed into Craeg like a fist to the belly. In an instant he was transported back to that fateful day in Dunan. The last time he’d heard that voice, he’d been curled up fighting consciousness in an alley that reeked of stale piss.
That arrogant, drawling voice had echoed in his ears for months afterward.
But now all Craeg heard in his ears was the roar of his own breathing. His heart started to race, and he clenched his jaw as he resisted the urge to bare his teeth.
Hatred rose within him, clawing up from his gut like a beast that had been waiting far too long for reckoning.
Finally, after all these years, the time had come.
23
The Yoke Breaks
WHEN CRAEG DIDN’T answer, MacKinnon smiled. It was a cold expression, full of malice.
Of course, his half-brother had waited a long time for this day too.
“Still proud,” MacKinnon drawled. “Still believe ye are my equal, don’t ye?”
“We’re not equals, Duncan,” Craeg said finally. The calmness of his voice surprised him. No one would have suspected the turmoil that churned within. “I’ve always been yer superior … and ye and I both know it.”
The response was inflammatory, designed to anger, and when MacKinnon’s smile faded and his gaze narrowed, Craeg knew he’d hit his mark.
“Ye have been a burr up my arse for too long, Bastard,” he murmured. “I shall enjoy watching ye die.”
Craeg smiled back, showing his teeth this time. “Ye should have killed me that day. Ye have made many mistakes over the years, but that was yer most foolish.”
MacKinnon’s dark brows knotted together, something feral moving in his eyes. He shifted his attention from Craeg then, just for a few moments, his gaze sweeping the line of warriors upon the brow of the hill behind him. “Coira is with ye, I take it?”
Craeg went still, his fingers flexing as the urge to draw his sword surged within him.
Seeing his reaction, MacKinnon’s eyes gleamed. “Enjoying my whore, are ye?”
A taut silence settled between them then. The cold knot of hatred in Craeg’s gut drew tighter. The impulse to rush howling at MacKinnon was almost overwhelming, yet Craeg mastered it. Instead, he let those words hang between them, let battle fury kindle in his blood.
Long moments passed, and when MacKinnon realized that Craeg wasn’t going to bite, his mouth twisted. “Coira will be mine again soon enough. Get ready to taste steel, Bastard.”
Once again, Craeg didn’t reply—he didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he turned his back on his half-brother and walked away up the slope, back to where his men silently waited. All the way up, the skin between his shoulder blades itched. He almost expected his brother to throw a knife into his back.
Yet no such strike came.
Still, it was a long walk up the hill, and Craeg was sweating when he reached Gunn’s side once more.
The big red-haired warrior met his eye and raised a ruddy eyebrow. “Well?”
“He’s sick,” Craeg replied.
