Finally, the clearing came into view, and Marcus’ chest tightened. Struan MacCormack was already there, his presence unmistakable with the MacCormack banner fluttering in the wind. His guards stood at attention, their postures rigid, but Struan himself appeared tense, his brow furrowed in anger as he spotted Marcus and Noah approaching.
Struan’s voice broke through the silence, harsh and demanding. “What are ye doin’ here, Marcus?” he bellowed, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the two lairds. “Ye and Noah both have a lot of nerve comin’ to me land. What’s the meanin’ of this?”
Marcus dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud, and gave a nod to Anthony and Eli, signaling them to do the same.
Marcus stood tall, meeting Struan’s gaze with a steady, unwavering stare. His anger flared briefly at the accusation, but he bit back the words threatening to spill from his lips. Instead, he spoke in a calm, controlled tone, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand.
“Why did ye lie to the lairds and say I attacked their people, Struan?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Struan’s face flushed with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “I didnae lie,” he snapped, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as if to emphasize his point. “I’ve nay idea what ye’re talkin’ about, Marcus. The MacLennans’ have been a thorn in me side, and I’ll nae let ye accuse me of such things.”
His deflection was quick, but Marcus could see the flicker of unease in his eyes—a crack in the otherwise steadfast exterior.
Marcus stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them, his eyes sharp as a blade.
“The evidence is plain, Struan,” he said quietly, his voice low but filled with intent. “Ye’ve spread lies, and I’ll nae stand for it any longer. Ye will answer for yer actions.”
His words hung in the air, and the tension in the clearing grew thick, each of them waiting for the other to make a move. Marcus’ mind, though still clouded by thoughts of Annabeth, was focused now—he had to resolve this matter first, and then he would deal with the consequences later.
Anthony’s words cut through the air, sharp and accusing. “We’ve proof Marcus dinnae do the raids, Struan,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “So why did ye come to me and say he did? If ye have nay real reason, then yer lies will be exposed for all to see.”
Struan’s face darkened at the challenge, his jaw clenched as fury overtook him. Without warning, Struan’s hand shot out, signaling his guards to attack. His voice was a roar of anger as he commanded, “Take them down!”
The guards rushed forward, swords drawn, their feet pounding the earth with a thundering urgency. Marcus barely had time to react as the first MacCormack guard lunged at him, but his instincts kicked in, and he sidestepped with fluid precision, drawing his own blade in one smooth motion.
Anthony and Noah were already engaged in the fray, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they defended themselves and their men. The clearing quickly became a battlefield, filled with the sound of clashing steel and grunts of exertion.
“Marcus!” Eli shouted in warning about Struan, who was already charging at Marcus, fury burning in his eyes. The two men collided in a violent clash, swords meeting with a loud crack that echoed through the clearing.
Marcus parried Struan’s strike, feeling the force of the blow rattle through his arm. His feet shifted, positioning himself to counterattack, but Struan was relentless, pressing forward with brute strength. Each strike from Struan was powerful, the swing of his sword aimed to kill, but Marcus matched him with skill and speed. Sweat dripped down his face, but he focused solely on his opponent, the world around him fading into the background as his every movement became instinctual.
Struan’s breath came in ragged bursts as he swung his sword at Marcus, his eyes wild with fury. “Ye should just die, Marcus!” he snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Let me have me revenge, once and for all.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he lunged again, his blade slashing through the air with deadly intent.
Struan growled with frustration as his sword came down in a powerful arc, aiming for Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus barely managed to deflect the blow, the edge of Struan’s sword grazing his side. The pain was sharp, but he ignored it, forcing himself to stay focused. He countered with a quick jab to Struan’s midsection, but Struan was quick, sidestepping and bringing his sword down in an upward motion toward Marcus’ throat.
“Revenge?” he grunted, his sword a blur in the air. “For what, Struan? What’s this all about?” His eyes locked onto Struan’s, searching for any sign of clarity, but all he saw was madness flickering behind the man’s eyes.
Both men strained against each other, their muscles burning with the effort. Struan’s breath came in heavy bursts, his rage evident, but Marcus was just as determined, his grip on his sword unyielding. In that moment, Marcus could feel the weight of the confrontation, not just as a matter of honor but as something far deeper—the lies, the betrayals, the animosity that had built up between them.
“Yer faither,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “Yer faither stole what was mine! He took it all, and now, I’ll take everythin’ from him—andfrom ye!” His words seemed to lose all sense ashe continued to rant, each sentence more fractured than the last, the rage consuming him completely.
Marcus’ mind raced as he tried to make sense of the accusation, but before he could react, Struan’s eyes narrowed with malicious intent.
“Ye’ll regret this, Marcus,” Struan snarled through clenched teeth, his eyes wild with fury. With a sudden, violent twist, Struan broke the deadlock, shoving Marcus backward. Marcus stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his eyes narrowing as he saw the opening in Struan’s stance. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, striking low, aiming for Struan’s legs.
Struan tried to pivot away, but Marcus’ sword found its mark, slicing through the side of Struan’s leg with a sharp hiss of steel. Struan staggered back, a roar of pain escaping him as he fell to one knee. Blood oozed from the wound, staining the ground beneath him, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to surrender. Marcus stood over him, sword raised, ready to finish the fight, but he hesitated—something in Struan’s defeated posture told him the fight was near its end.
In one swift move, Struan swung his sword underhanded and caught Marcus off guard. The blade sliced across Marcus’ side, pain flaring as the sharp edge tore through his flesh. Marcus gritted his teeth against the pain, his hand instinctively clutching his side as he fought to keep his balance.
“Yer faither—he took what was mine!” Struan shouted once more, his voice almost pleading now, but his eyes were filled with a deep-seated hatred. “Heruinedme!”
Marcus’ sword came down in a sweeping arc, and with a final, powerful strike, he disarmed Struan, sending the man’s sword flying from his hand. Struan stumbled, falling to his knees, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Marcus stood over him, his sword poised but not raised to strike.
“Enough, Struan,” Marcus said, his voice low but firm, his heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline. “Ye’ve lost.”
Struan looked up at him, eyes filled with both anger and the weight of a lifetime of bitter memories. But Marcus wasn’t going to kill him—he wasn’t going to let the madness of this grudge consume them both and then start a war between clans.
Meanwhile, the battle around them raged on. Anthony and Noah were holding their own against the MacCormack guards, their swords dancing through the air in a blur of motion. Eli and the guards were keeping the rest of the attackers at bay, ensuring that no one else could interfere with the duel.
