Page 69 of A Constant Blaze

In the sudden tension, Bernard’s fingers twitched, curling and then straightening, as if he had to force himself not to seize his sword. Malcolm didn’t move.

Fergus curled his lip. “You’re pretty careless with other people’s lives, old friend. Did you even tell him what he was walking into?”

“He knew you from up there,” Malcolm said dryly, pointing over his shoulder to the hill. No one had yet raised the alarm, and the second scout was visible now, farther round the hill and descending. “I doubt many people ever call him stupid.”

“Then let me be the first,” Fergus snapped, swinging on the young soldier. “You doknowthis is Malcolm MacHeth you’ve so foolishly allied yourself with?” Beyond their heads, he saw that his second scout seemed to be dragging two people by a leading rope. Captives. It was a relief in some ways. He hadn’t expected Malcolm to be quite alone save for a tame Norman lordling.

He flicked his attention back to the young de Brus, who merely gazed back at him, giving nothing away. Fergus grinned. “Did he tell you no one would kill him, except in battle? Certainly, the king will not, nor would his grandfather or great uncles. Because, you see, despite their modern ideas of kingship, despite their rigid holding to primogeniture and intolerance of rebellion, they can’t quite shake off the old ways, the old respect for one so close to the throne. Our two Malcolms would happily slaughter each other in a battle that compelled hundreds of their own people to die with them, but they would never stoop to assassinate each other and give the people a break from war. The trouble is, my friend, I doubt the protection extends to his sons, and it most certainly doesn’t cover you.”

Fergus never objected to getting his hands dirty. Although the mere nod of his head would have instructed the nearest soldier to cut the de Brus boy down, he reached for his own sword instead.

Which was when, without warning, an arrow whizzed into the ground at his feet.

“What the—” Fergus stared at it, already knowing there was no point in leaping backward. He could be shot just the same. His gaze flew toward the hill, but no band of outlaws or soldiers streamed down it, only his own scout with his captives, rounding the foot of the slope in their direction. He swept his eyes to the left and found the first scout, still mounted, bow held high over the heads of Fergus’s men, and a threaded arrow aiming straight at Fergus’s heart.

Only, the scout was wearing a cloak now. Surely, he hadn’t when he’d left? And the man’s face beneath the helmet…was not a man’s at all. In spite of himself, Fergus’s heart rose into his mouth.

The lady whose son he’d betrayed controlled the arrow. Which must, he realized with sudden relief, have been a damnably lucky shot. Especially at this distance. She was coming closer, the horse picking its way forward without obvious guidance, though, more worryingly, the bow and the arrow remained steady.

Malcolm turned unhurriedly. There was a pause, then, “Not quite as we discussed, but it’s true my lady wife is the best shot in Ross.”

Fergus saw at once what he was doing and couldn’t help grinning. “The Lady Halla is an archer now?”

“Always was,” Malcolm said fondly. “I’ve always treated her with care since she shot me on our first meeting. I advise you to take similar precautions. After all, she’s had nothing much to do for twenty years except practice.”

“I take issue with that,” Halla said clearly. “But the idea is correct. If anyone touches a weapon, Fergus of Galloway is dead.”

Fergus spread his hands, taking a step nearer her. “Oh come. It isn’t in your nature.”

Halla pulled back on the bow. “You betrayed my son. Try me. Please.”

A few dull thuds and the odd clash of steel sounded as those who’d already drawn weapons hurriedly dropped them.

“Captain,” Malcolm said, “I think you have enough information. It must be time you rejoined your men before they can catch up with you here.”

Bernard de Brus hesitated.

“It’s important,” Malcolm said impatiently, “to the king.”

Fergus laughed. “To you, you mean. But even if he does go as you bid him, Malcolm, what then? Will you ride off, too, leaving the lady to threaten me alone, indefinitely? Do you think no one will shoot her as she turns and gallops after you?”

Malcolm shoved his Norman ally. “Go.”

“I can’t allow it,” Fergus warned as Bernard began at last to lope off toward the cover of the hill.

“You have no choice,” Malcolm said and leapt.

Dear God, Fergus had forgotten the sheer quickness of the man. Partly, of course, he did the unexpected and took advantage of your surprise so that you imagined he moved with supernatural speed. Halla’s horse spun around, not restive, but guided by her so that Malcolm could leap up behind her. No one could touch her now without shooting Malcolm in the back. And clear as day, they meant to close in behind the Norman and protect him, too.

Sheer rage propelled Fergus after them. He hurled himself at Malcolm’s leg, shoving wildly. “A challenge!” he yelled. “I challenge you, Malcolm mac Aed, to single combat!”

Malcolm couldn’t even kick him without losing what was left of his balance and falling off. But at those words, Halla dug her heels into the horse’s sides. Her accompanying instruction to the horse to gallop sounded frightened and was lost as Malcolm’s hands closed over hers on the reins.

“Call them off!” he snarled at Fergus, presumably meaning the men who pursued Bernard de Brus with murderous intent.

“Then call him back and we’ll discuss the terms of the challenge,” Fergus panted, holding on to Malcolm’s leg for dear life. “Halt!” he yelled at his own men by way of goodwill. It was the only way he could still win this.

Malcolm didn’t need to call Bernard back. He was a chivalrous young fool and came anyway. Fergus was glad to notice him being met by the second mounted scout, who now cut his captives free in order to hold the more valuable de Brus. The freed captives, a soldier and a woman, rubbed at their wrists but made no attempt to run. The soldier, of course, would die for Malcolm mac Aed—sooner rather than later, if Fergus could arrange it.

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