A tremor whipped through Cailin as he lowered his gaze to Elspet, her face fragile, like if he reached out and touched her, she’d break.
He closed his eyes against the burst of pain, then slowly opened them. She’d suffered so much, lost so much—her home and family. When most women would have given in, she’d stood her ground and sought revenge. God’s blade, what an incredible lass. Such bravado. To dare confront a Knight Templar. Confront? No, steal from him to save a stepbrother she loved.
A man who, in the end, had betrayed her.
By God, she, as others, had suffered enough!
Jaw tight, he met Rónán’s gaze, shifted to Taog, then to Odhran. “From this day,” he stated, “nay more will die beneath my uncle’s deceitful hand save one—him.” With a last tender look toward Elspet, Cailin stormed to his warhorse.
Rónán caught up with him. “What in God’s name are you going to do?”
He jerked the reins of his horse free. “I intend to issue an honor challenge to my uncle.”
The Templar stepped in front of him. “’Tis a challenge used for tournaments, nay battle.”
“I know what ’tis for.” Cailin started to walk around him.
Rónán caught his arm. “God in heaven, your uncle isna aman of honor!”
“A fact I well know, but my decision is made.” He glared at the fingers upon his forearm. “Release me.”
“Cailin—”
“Of anyone,” he growled, aware of his friend’s own tumultuous youth, “you understandwhy I must go.”
Pain flashed in his friend’s face, and Rónánreleased him.
Cailin checked his mount’s saddle. “If for some reason I dinna return and Elspet lives, take care of her. If I fail, ensure my uncle receives his due.”
“I will,” Rónán rasped. “That I swear. God go with you.”
The many things that could go wrong when he arrived at Tiran Castle flooded Cailin’s mind. Not giving a damn, he swung up on his horse.
The thrum of hooves shattered the silence as he cantered across the snow-smeared expanse. A short distance from the gatehouse, he halted his destrier. Clouds smothered the sun as he glared up at where his uncle stood, Elspet’s stepbrother, Blar at his side. “Your pathetic plan to kill me failed,” Cailin called up, finding a small bit of satisfaction as his uncle’s face darkened with outrage that he still lived.
“Come inside and we will talk.” The earl nodded toward a guard. “Sir Donnach, call toopen the gate.”
The knight turned toward the bailey. “Raise the gate!”
Chains rattled, then the scrape ofwood and steel.
Cailin didn’t move.
“Enter!” hisuncle demanded.
Did Gaufrid believe him a fool? If he rode into the stronghold, he would be killed. “The fight isna between those within the castle,” Cailin shouted so everyone along the wall walk and within the bailey could hear. “Just us. I challenge you to an honor challenge of single combat to the death, with the weapon of your choice!”
“Challenge me?” his uncle scoffed. “To a foolish tournament game for a titleIalreadypossess? Enter, before I order my guard to kill you.”
Blar smirked.
The bastard, he’d… Cailin’s gaze settled on the knight near his uncle, the one he’d called Donnach. Though years had passed, he recognized the strong cut of his jaw, the lean frame now crowded with muscle, and the black hair of his childhood friend.
Cailin met the warrior’s hard stare, prayed their youthful bond still held firm.
He slanted his gaze to his uncle. “I offered my challenge.” He kicked his steed to walk parallel to the castle wall where the guards standing above watched. “But,” he shouted, “are you a man of honor?”
Gaufrid’s face grew redder. “I gaveyou an order!”
