The other councilmen cried out, scrambling out of their seats and away from Andrew. Fergus moved forward, reaching for his own sword, but Evander held out a hand, urging him back.
“I can handle this,” he murmured, his gaze trained on Andrew. “This ends here and now, ye and me.”
Some of the councilmen made a break for the door. Evander saw them out of the corner of his eye, leaving the door swinging open. Just as many remained, however, clustering at the safer end of the room in mingled horror and fascination.
Fergus, of course, stayed behind, hovering behind Evander and watching him anxiously.
Andrew and Evander circled each other thoughtfully, the table between them.
“I cared for yer faither, ye ken,” Andrew sneered. “I killed for him. Stole for him, lied for him, did what I could to help him as Laird. And I considered it all a worthwhile sacrifice. Then he abandoned us. The man spied for the bloody English, for God’s sake. He’s responsible for the death of the previous LairdMacCrimmon. Because of him, the other clans nearly turned on us. They could have wiped us out if they’d had the chance. And ye are his son, his spawn. How can yer rule be any better?”
“I’m nae like him,” Evander bit out. “I’ll spend me life working hard to make sure I am nae like him.”
Andrew sighed, and for a moment, he looked like a tired man at the far end of middle age.
“I wish I could believe ye,” he murmured.
Then, with a spryness Evander had not expected, he leaped up onto the table, bringing his sword down with powerful force.
Evander leaped aside. The edge of the blade bit into the side of the table. Andrew tugged it free, leaving a fresh nick behind it. He recovered quickly, moving across the table and raining blows down on Evander.
Evander found himself constantly on the defensive, since Andrew was at least four feet higher up than he was, with the advantage of higher ground and therefore more force to add to his swings.
Fergus shouted something, but Evander couldn’t quite make out what it was. His blood pounded in his ears.
“Do ye ken what the funny thing about all of this is, Andrew?” he rasped, his teeth gritted.
“Do enlighten me,meLaird.”
“I might have let ye live, even after all of this. But ye dared to take what’s mine from me.”
Andrew’s brow furrowed. “What on earth are ye talking about?”
Evander smiled tightly. “I am talking abouther.”
He swung his sword sideways, only a few inches above the table’s surface. It was a move Andrew had blocked several times already. This time, however, he was a split second too slow.
The blade bit into the side of his ankle. He gave a strangled scream, toppling sideways. His blade fell from nerveless fingers, clattering across the floor. Fergus leaped upon it, snatching it up and out of the way.
Silence fell.
Andrew crouched on the floor, groaning. Evander watched him, waiting. He couldn’t stand on that ankle, that was for sure.
Growling, Andrew pushed himself up onto one knee. Tipping back his head, he met Evander’s gaze squarely.
“Come on, then,” he hissed. “Finish it. I’ve had enough.”
Wordlessly, Evander brought up his blade. It sliced through the air, razor-sharp, and neatly took off Andrew’s head at the shoulders.
There was a moment of silence. The councilmen stared on in horror. Andrew’s body fell forward with a sickening thud and lay still.
“That was a more merciful death than he had planned for ye, I wager,” Fergus said, breaking the silence first. “Or for Lady Skye.”
At the mention of her name, Evander’s whole body stiffened, his heart lurching in his chest. Slowly, he turned to face the rest of the councilmen, packed up in the corner of the room, their eyes wide as owlets.
“If any of ye have any other grievances against me, anything to confess, then now is the time to speak up,” he said wearily.
One by one, the councilmen mutely shook their heads. The balding fellow who’d spoken earlier took a tentative step forward.
