Page 70 of A Constant Blaze

Fergus’s eyes widened as the woman pushed down her hood, revealing glorious red-gold hair. “Did you bring your whole damned harem?”

“No, I left my other six wives in Ross. What is this about, Fergus?”

No doubt he remembered, as Fergus did, who the winner of their play and practice fights had always been. But that was before he’d spent the last two decades in a tiny room in Roxburgh.

Malcolm said evenly, “You lured me here because you thought you could finally defeat me? I see no point to that for either of us.”

“There isn’t one,” Fergus said impatiently. “Not every action in the world is about you. I told Brian of Kingowan about Mairead visiting Roxburgh because I thought it would bring your son, your mad son, Adam.”

Malcolm didn’t bother defending his son. Obviously, they both knew Adam wasn’t mad in any way that mattered. On the other hand, a flash of pure amusement passed over Malcolm’s face that Fergus was at a loss to account for.

“Well, you were wrong. It brought my wife.”

Fergus glanced from Halla, who still held her bow threateningly across her lap, the arrow still threaded, to Mairead, standing calmly by the side of the captured soldier. “What a strange friendship that is. The Lady of Ross never ceases to amaze me.”

“The Lady of Ross,” Malcolm said coldly, “does what is right. I believe you challenged me. Is it a verbal quarrel to the death? If so, I might concede, depending on the terms.”

Fergus remembered the many, minor irritations of being with the young Malcolm MacHeth. Along with the exhilarating company and the fun had always come a sneaking, unworthy jealousy. Although Fergus ranked higher, in his own belief if, in no one else’s, Malcolm had always assumed the lead, was generally right…and had married the exquisite Halla.

“If I kill you, I’ll marry her,” Fergus said, “according to the old ways. She will be honored.”

He didn’t look at the still figure of Halla. Malcolm didn’t move much either. “I don’t like your chances of surviving your wedding. Go on.”

“If you win, you leave freely with your people, including my captives.”

“And Bernard de Brus?”

“May go, too. If you win. No one interferes, no one fights but you and me.”

Malcolm’s gaze flickered to Halla and de Brus. Then he dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to the male freed captive, murmuring something without looking at him. Fergus didn’t look much at him either, though he seemed faintly familiar. One of the lady’s guards, no doubt, whom he’d met during his recent visit to Ross. Fergus didn’t care. He’d just gambled everything on one fight. Foolish and yet curiously thrilling. His heart thundered with fierce excitement that amounted almost to joy. He might die. But he might just win.

As everyone fell back, forming an arena around them, Fergus drew his sword with a sigh of pleasure and faced his greatest enemy who had once been his friend.

*

The watchers onthe hill had seen the scouts break away from Fergus’s main party and separate to approach the hill from two angles.

“Their helmets,” Halla observed, “and their weapons might be useful to us.”

The house guards grinned at each other, and one immediately crept off to the left. Tomas began to slope rightward before Muiredach caught his arm.

“You stay with the ladies,” Muiredach commanded.And you defend them with your life.There was no need to speak that command aloud. All the lady’s guards were prepared to die for her. Tomas’s look of doubt was clearly more to do with his lack of belief in Muiredach’s non-musical skills.

Well, it had been a long time. But some things were so ground in that they were never forgotten. Fergus’s scout, dismounted now and creeping through the undergrowth with a dagger in each hand, and a bow and quiver across his back, never saw Muiredach coming. His own dagger pricked the back of the man’s neck.

“Halt,” Muiredach said softly. “Not a sound, or I’ll cut your head from your spine. Drop the weapons.”

From there, it was a simple matter to tie and gag him, take the rest of his weapons, and his helmet, and drag him back to their watching position.

Tomas regarded him with new respect, while Halla tried on the helmet and examined the weapons with interest. Mairead’s expression was unreadable.

“Well,” she observed. “For a harpist, you are certainly full of surprises.”

“Don’t be too impressed. He was distracted.”

“Clearly,” Mairead agreed. “Maybe you should go and beat up his friend now.”

“Got to leave something for the soldiers,” he said, and Tomas grinned.

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