Page 73 of A Constant Blaze

“Andsheobeysyou,” Fergus retorted, lunging once again.

Malcolm parried. “I wish.”

Death was easier, of course, a voice whispered in his mind, trying to distract him as he decided which blow to accept and which to avoid. He didn’t have the endurance any more to dance and dodge and still be able to fight in half an hour, or an hour, or however long this took. Death at least was certain. It was his imprisonment that had kept Halla prisoner, too, unable to move on.

But he didn’t want death. More than ever after last night, he yearned for more of this new, mature Halla, to have the chance of a life and love with her. With his children and grandchildren, gifts he hadn’t appreciated as he should when he was young.

But now, he knew. And God help him, he wouldnotdie for Fergus of Galloway.

Faster than he should have been able to turn it, Fergus’s sword swept down in a killing blow. Malcolm’s balance, the position of his sword was too wrong to ward it off, and so he allowed himself to fall, taking the massive blow on both forearm guards instead, grimly hanging on to his heavy sword at the same time.

It was a risk. If he’d used only one arm, his wrist would almost certainly have shattered beneath Fergus’s sword. But using two distributed the force just enough. He wasn’t afraid of the pain but of numbness that might prevent him from fighting back. He heard the effort in his own sudden roar as he slid his arms free, already turning his sword as he leapt to his feet. His forearms, his wrist, all moved, shrieking with agony as he knocked Fergus back with the flat of his sword, following it with a cut to the side, and as Fergus doubled up, he sent him flying with his knee.

Malcolm leapt on top of Fergus, tearing the sword from his weakened grasp as he lifted his own high and prepared to plunge it into Fergus’s heart.

“Malcolm.” It was Halla’s urgent voice, tugging him from the red heat of battle.

He couldn’t, shouldn’t look up, and yet he did. She sat still upon the horse, the bow and arrow still in her grasp. She’d turned the horse so that he gazed at their profiles.

Beyond them, he saw what Halla had. A movement on the hill beyond the tense, gasping crowd. A stream of horsemen in full armor, riding toward them at speed. Bernard’s men, it seemed, had found him after all.

Fergus’s arm twitched, snatching at the dagger in his belt.

Malcolm dropped the sword point over Fergus’s heart. “Don’t.”

Fergus tried to laugh. “Or what? You’ll kill me?” But his hand fell away.

Malcolm lifted his sword again, still holding Fergus down with his knee while he talked rapidly. “The king’s men are coming. De Brus’s. Do what the MacHeths would do. Melt.”

He rose to his feet, dragging Fergus with him. By then, the Galloway men had finally seen the attacking cavalry and were reaching for horses and weapons. Fergus uttered a few terse orders, throwing himself onto a horse that seemed to materialize by his side.

The horse pawed the ground, anxious to be off. “Why?” Fergus said between his teeth.

Malcolm curved his lips. “So that you’ll still owe me.”

Fergus’s horse erupted into a gallop after his men toward the covering trees on the western side of the loch. As he rode, he hurled a word back over his shoulder at Malcolm. It sounded like, “Bastard.”

Something very like laughter caught in Malcolm’s hoarse, panting throat. And then Halla slid from the horse, all but dropping into his arms.

“Where are you hurt?” she whispered. And nothing in the world had ever been sweeter or more terrifying than the fear and care in her voice.

“I don’t know. Nowhere. I’m fine.”

“There’s blood.”

“There’s always blood.”

“Malcolm—”

He tightened his grip on her. “Don’t make me lean on you.” He saw the acknowledgment flash in her eyes. That great men were never hurt. They must always, always appear strong enough to lead, even when half dead with exhaustion or injury, no one could know.

She tried to draw back, but he held her now a moment longer, using the excuse to kiss her long and hard, like a lusty and victorious soldier.

“Now honor is satisfied,” he breathed into her mouth and released her, turning to meet the slowing flow of men from the hill.

“Fergus was right,” she said.

“About what?” Malcolm asked.

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