Page 38 of The Highlander's Dare
Graham grinned down at her. “Then aye, lass, we can.” And he kissed her again, his hands roaming over her body, making her moan in delight once more.
11
Dressed in full armor Graham was mounted on his horse beside Cormac, their two men Duncan and Lachlan, and the rest of the men on the away team. Across the field facing them were those of Lord Yves's team, which included Baston and Brodie Ross, their three brothers and another seven or so of their men. The battle would start on horseback, then descend into hand-to-hand combat as knights were unhorsed.
Though the melee was supposed to be Lord Yves’s team against the away team, after their conversation and agreement the day before, the Sutherlands would be focusing on the Rosses and vice versa.
Four against a dozen seemed like terrible odds, except that it wouldn’t be the first time Graham and Cormac had gone up against that many men and all week they’d been honing their fighting skills to win matches against the Ross men.
The Sutherland knights knew the Ross moves, and now was time to take advantage of that. Graham’s biggest concern now was not whether he could win, but how many of the weapons in the Ross's hands went against regulations. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were all of them.
Anticipating that, the Sutherland men had prepared for the melee with heartier weapons that could do maximum damage, rather than their swords, and each of them had daggers stuffed in their boots in case it came down to a fight to the death. Graham and Cormac were armed with maces while their men carried pikes that were longer than a man’s height and could easily ward off the enemy at a longer distance.
Bloody bastards were about to get what was coming for them—a sound beating, and then Graham and Cormac would hightail it back to Scotland with their women and their coin, and the best part about it was that he and his brother were damned happy. Men in love. That made them all the more passionate about the fight, all the more determined to win.
The Ross brothers only had hate and treachery on their side. Today, honor would win.
Graham tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He rolled his shoulders, preparing himself to kick some bastard arses. His horse pawed the ground excitedly.
On his platform, Lord Yves stood and called out for the melee to commence, followed by the sound of the horns that blew them all into action. A surge of battle lust roiled through Graham’s veins, and he had to rein it in before he called out a war cry and galloped his horse into the action without thinking.
Aye, he wanted to beat the Rosses, but he wanted to beat them smart and not spontaneously.
“They’re coming,” Cormac said.
Graham nodded and raised his bladed mace. “To victory,” he replied, but his brother was already past him. His heart pounded as he went into a full charge.
Brodie Ross went straight for Cormac, but Graham was confident his brother could hold his own. Duncan and Lachlan bellowed battle cries as they slammed their pikes into the guts of advancing Ross men, and then arced for second blows to the next set.
With his eyes on Baston, Graham grinned and swung his mace in a powerful arc, blocking a blow from the whoreson’s war hammer. Baston had come prepared to beat Graham into a pulp; the bloodlust in his eyes was clear through the slits of his lion’s helm. But Graham was not about to cower. In fact, knowing that this man wanted to kill him and take Clara away from him only seemed to give Graham more strength and reinforce his determination.
Graham swung again, this time catching Baston on the shoulder, hitting him at such an angle that Baston was unhorsed. From the ground, Baston retaliated, swinging his weapon. The blow landed at Graham’s hip, jolting pain down his leg. But pain was part of the game, wasn’t it? Shaking off the blow and resituating on his horse, he retaliated, thwarting the next crack of Baston’s hammer, and circling him. Bloody hell, but he wanted to slam his mace into the lion’s maw.
Three Ross men came from behind Baston, almost as if he’d shite them out of his armor, and Baston stilled, allowing his henchmen to come at Graham swinging. Graham had anticipated something like this in advance and took it all in stride. Swinging two-handed with his mace first into one man’s head and then the next, he knocked them both unconscious and took a swipe from the third man in his gut.
Thrown backward by the hit, Graham tried to stay seated on his horse, but it was to no avail. The mace had slammed into him too hard. He landed on the ground, quickly getting to his feet, backing up a pace to catch his breath. Baston laughed and took that opportunity to attack him, hammer overhead. The third Ross man turned his hammer on Duncan, who’d rushed him from the side to help. But that man underestimated Duncan, who easily caught him in the chest with his pike, pushing him back.
Graham waited until the last possible moment and then launched his body forward, surprising Baston when he tackled him around the middle, causing what would have been a massive blow from the war hammer to be a mere tap against Graham’s back as they fell to the ground. Graham was quick to jump to his feet, giving Baston a swift and mighty kick to the ballocks.
From somewhere in the clash of bodies and bellows, Graham recognized his brother’s deep, guttural bellow of anguish. A glance up saw Lord Easton storming toward them, and a shudder of fear went through Graham.Nay…
Brodie Ross saw what was happening and ordered a man to fight Lord Easton. Bounding to his feet, Baston seemed filled with renewed energy and a determination to keep Graham from going to his brother’s aid. Ross men on foot swarmed around him like flies, while the other brothers launched themselves at Cormac and Lord Easton.
“I’ll bloody kill ye,” Graham threatened, swinging repeated blows at Baston and his men as they attempted to overwhelm him. Every bash of his was met by a whack from Baston. Every bellow had an answering cry. What was supposed to be an easy victory was more and more looking like an outnumbered ambush.
The distance between Cormac and Graham grew until Graham felt it like a physical ache, as though the Rosses had managed to amputate a limb or cut him in half. There were too many of them. They were not prepared. And he was too far away from Cormac to offer his brother any help.
CLARA SAT IN THE STANDS;her fingers numb from clutching them so hard. She was surrounded by cheering onlookers who took the melee in stride, enjoying every bloody moment and calling out for the knights they wished to win. No one seemed at all disturbed by the display, as emotionally involved as she was. Was she overreacting? Were they all hiding their true feelings? For how could this melee be seen as anything other than a disaster?
The joust had been a mild dance compared to the melee, which was all-out violent chaos. Men were not supposed to kill each other according to the rules, but from what it looked like to her, blood was all the knights were after as they hacked at one another with weapons that were supposed to be blunted but drew blood all the same. Unhorsed men were being dragged off the field and held for ransom while others were being beaten until they submitted, fell into unconsciousness, or God forbid, died.
How was this supposed to be a game? How was this supposed to be for sport? It was madness.
This was the bloodiest, most violent form of entertainment that Clara had ever seen, and she’d be mightily pleased to never see it again. Ever.
Those in the stands cheered, the sounds deafening, and only outnumbered by the thuds of men beating each other, and the answering shouts of pain. She tried to keep track of the Sutherlands and Rosses, tried to make out their forms on the field, but the rush and movements of the bodies made it hard to see who was who and what was happening, other than the repeated rise and fall of weapons, the buckling of knees.
Lord Yves had made a mistake in allowing a melee. Especially when bringing together so many knights with vendettas. It would have been one thing, perhaps, if it were all English men, all men on King Richard’s side. But bringing into the mix men of Scotland, Ireland, France, men of King Richard’s and Prince John’s opposing factions, was only asking for trouble. Made the entire tournament undignified and ruthless.
