Ian muttered a curse as helooked around the crowded bar. God knows he was no more equipped to step intothis battle than he had been for Ruel's boyhood frays at Glenclaren, but hecould see no help would be forthcoming from any of the roughly dressed mensitting at the tables in this disreputable hovel; the miners were staring at thetwo combatants with only amusement and a curiously hungry look distinctly moresinister in nature.
Yet it was becoming evidentIan must do something. He could not permit Ruel to commit murder even inself-defense.
Barak lunged again and Ruelwhirled away. A long, bloody cut suddenly appeared on Barak's upper arm.
"You're beginning to boreme, you son of a bitch," Ruel said.
Ian recognized the signs; Ruelwas toying with Barak, but he was beginning to get impatient and would soon goon the offensive. He would have to do something—
Barak had drawn blood.
Ruel had been a tenth of asecond too slow, and Barak's machete had grazed his rib cage.
"Excellent."Incredibly, Ruel nodded with approval. "You should always take advantageof an opponent's overconfidence. Perhaps your wits aren't as thick as Ithought."
"You lied to me. You donothing."The woman beside Ian released her death grip on his arm. "Don't youunderstand? Hehelpedme. He made them—and you will let him die whileyou stand there and watch Barak—" She darted across the room toward thetwo men circling each other.
"No!" Ian movedforward, grabbing a whiskey bottle from the table beside him. He heard a shoutof protest from one of the miners at the table and murmured, "I do begyour pardon, but I may need this."
Ruel was laughing again, butIan could detect the slightest hardening in his expression. He was not foolishenough to ignore the warning of Barak's pinprick and would move to finish itnow.
"Barak!" Mila jumpedon the giant's back, her wiry arms encircling his thick neck.
Ruel stopped, disconcerted,and then started laughing again. "Get off him, Mila. He's having enoughproblems."
Barak shook himself like asodden bear and broke Mila's hold. She fell to her knees on the floor.
Barak whirled toward her, themachete raised.
"No!" The laughtervanished from Ruel's expression. "Me. Not her, you bastard. You wantme." He lunged forward and the tip of his dagger drew a thin red line onthe back of Barak's neck. "Do I have your attention, you stupid ox?"
Barak cursed, whirled back toface Ruel, and took a step forward.
Ruel balanced on the balls ofhis feet, his blue eyes glittering wildly, his nostrils flaring."Now,youthieving son of—"
Ian stepped forward and saidquietly, "No, Ruel."
Ruel froze. "Ian?"His gaze flew from Barak to Ian, his eyes widened in shock. "What the hellare—"
Barak sprang forward, and themachete sliced into Ruel's shoulder. The blade had been aimed at his heart. IfRuel hadn't spun away at the last moment, it would have cleaved his chest as ithad his shoulder.
Ian heard the scream of thewoman kneeling on the floor, saw Ruel's face contort with pain, and actedwithout thinking.
He took a step forward, liftedthe whiskey bottle, and brought it down with all his strength on Barak's head.
Glass shattered; liquorsprayed.
The giant grunted, tottered,and fell to the floor.
Ruel swayed, his knees beganto buckle.
Ian stepped forward and caughthim before he could follow Barak to the floor.
"Why—" Ruel stopped,flinching as pain washed over him. "Dammit, Ian, why the hell are—"
"Hush." Ian shiftedhis hold and picked Ruel up in his arms as easily as if he weighed no more thana child. "I've come to take you home, lad."
As soon as Ruel opened hiseyes he realized he was back in his own shack. He had lain looking at the starsthrough those cracks in the ceiling too many nights not to recognize hissurroundings even through this haze of feverish pain.
