Duncan leaned back slightly on his stool, and surreptitiously followed the man’s line of sight. The two rough men were still immersed in their conversation.
Adrina also shifted her gaze to the strangers, and when she looked back at him, her brows raised in alarm. “Those men aresassenachs,” she hissed. “We should leave now!”
“Ye stay here,” he said, ignoring her alarm. He pushed his stool back and started to get up. There was no way that he would leave this town without finding out more information about the Englishmen.
“What are ye doing?” She reached over and gripped his forearm. “’Tis certain that they will kill ye.”
“I’m nae that easy tae kill,” he said, shaking off her hand.
“Are ye mad?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. She clapped her hand to her mouth, but it was already too late. At her outburst, the younger man at the table glanced over at them. The bored expression on his visage disappeared as soon as his scrutiny lit upon Adrina. Suddenly he slapped both palms on the table as if to draw everyone’s attention to his menacing presence. Pushing himself up from his seat, he sauntered over to where they sat.
“Is there a problem here, mistress?” he asked.
“Nay, there’s nay problem,” Adrina said, averting her face as if to dismiss him.
“’Tis certain that this bastard distresses you,” the man insisted. His leering eyes slowly scanned her slim body, and lingered on her breasts. He licked his lips. “I can take you away from him,” he said, flashing his yellow teeth. “You’ll like tumbling with me, I vow.”
For a split second the shock of his proposition drained the blood from her countenance, but then she thrust her chin into the air. “I dinnae lay with any man,” she said, her voice turning icy. Her gaze fixed on the foreigner while her hand lowered to the hilt of the dirk which she carried at her belt. “But if I did, I would definitely nae lie with a vilesassenach.”
“Och, she’s a clever lass,” Duncan interjected, drawing the other man’s attention away from Adrina.
“A Scot.” The man screwed up his face as if he smelled something rotten.
“Aye, ye will find many a Scots inScotland,” Duncan said sarcastically.
His companion on the other side of the room let out a bark of laughter.
“Shut up, Jop,” the lad said through clenched teeth.
Ignoring him, Jop let out another snort. “Leave them be, Harman,” he said before tilting his cup to his mouth. “We have far better things to do than associate with these dirty Scots.”
Harman leaned closer to Duncan, the smell of whisky on his breath. “I don’t like you,” he snarled.
“I dinnae like ye either,” he said. Standing up abruptly, he shoved the other man out from his space.
A startled yelp escaped from the lad. Losing his balance, Harman toppled to the ground like a heavy sack of grains. When he recovered enough to look up at Duncan, animosity radiated from his eyes, and angry red splotches sprang to his cheeks. He pushed himself off of the floor.
“You bastard!” he roared. “I’m going to slaughter you!” He started to pull his sword out of its scabbard when he caught sight of the small group of highlanders gathering behind Duncan.
“Ye can try it,” Duncan replied calmly, his hands clenched underneath the table. “But I doubt my friends will take too kindly tae that.”
“Then you’ll all die!” he said, glaring at them. He withdrew his sword and pointed the tip at Duncan. “You’ll go first. Jop!” he roared, calling for his friend to join him. He then gnashed his teeth, and lunged heedlessly at Duncan.
Before Harman could reach him, Duncan swiftly slid his claymore from its leather sheath. And when the man came at him, he deflected his sword blows, evading the knight at every turn. In a surprising move, the guard sallied his attack, relieving Duncan of his weapon.
But the hulking knight was exhausted. For a split second, he curved his back while his hands rested on his knees. It was during that moment of weakness that Duncan rushed at him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he lifted his knee and rammed it into the other man’s solar plexus. Harman grunted as he lost his grip on his blade. With one hand covering his chest, he groped for the sword on the ground.
But Duncan was already upon him. Summoning the power from his core, he snapped his iron fist back and connected with the bottom of Harman’s jaw. The violent blow jerked his head backward, arching his body, and sending him sailing through the air. A moment later, he crashed down on the wooden table behind him. He picked himself off of the floor, and staggered to his feet even though blood gushed from the side of his head.
Meanwhile, as Jop heeded the cry of his companion, he burst from his seat to help his friend. But before he reached halfway across the room, the tavern keeper had picked up a stool, and smashed it down over the man’s head. The wooden furniture splintered upon impact.
“Got him!” Torin shouted gleefully.
“They’re still alive,” someone from the crowd pointed at the tottering Englishmen.
“Charge!” another person from the crowd shouted. With that, the entire tavern came alive with fighting. By the end of it, neither Harman nor Jop stood a chance against the rabid highlanders.
When thesassenachswere beaten down to a bloody heap, Duncan ordered the mayhem to cease. Torin tossed him some rope, and he bound the two prisoners.
