Page 37 of Darach

The dead woman vanished as another man came to stand beside the war master. Fyn saw the red-gold hair of the MacRoss laird, and crouched down and held his breath.

“Nor should you,” Taveon told Luthias. “Now that you’ve come, mayhap you should go and order your chieftain down from the balcony, and your armorer back to the forge.”

“I cannae nursemaid them forever,” the laird said, and sighed. “’Tis time the two of them sorted out how ’twill go with her.”

The war master leaned back against the granary wall, making it creak. “So you’ve seen how ’tis for them.”

“They’re no’ lads anymore, Brother, and the clan, we’re under threat again.” Luthias patted the back of his shoulder. “You may keep watch, but dinnae meddle unless you see blood drawn.”

“Oh, aye, for no blood, ’tis reassuring,” the war master muttered as the laird walked away. After a moment he also left.

A large hand covered Fyn’s mouth, making him grab his dagger.

“Be still,” the master whispered against his ear as he disarmed him. “I see ’tis tempting, but you cannae yet end her. Only the chieftain dies tonight. I must learn why the Fire sword chose her, and what she brought with her from the future.”

He sagged back against the big, strong body. “You’ll permit me watch you torment this one, aye?”

“Of course, my beloved lad.” The master’s hand stroked over his snarled hair. “I’d never deprive you of your delights. Now, wait until the chieftain stands alone, and then you may kill him. If no’ tonight, then in the morning––and Fyn.” His fingers grabbed a handful of his locks, tugging on them painfully. “Dinnae disappoint me again, else I cast you into the shadow realm, where you shall forever be tormented by those you ended.” He held in front of his nose a glittering slice of icestone etched in black.

Tears of pain and fear burned in his eyes, but something in Fyn’s twisted heart grew as cold as the Fae charm. “I shallnae, Master.”

* * *

From the balcony above the lists Darach watched Charlotte, who stood staring in disbelief at the target she’d hacked apart. The gentle scent of the flowers climbing the wall beside him perfumed the air, but even their sweetness could not soothe him. Her back had been turned toward him when she had used the practice blade, but the ferocity of her strikes and complete lack of hesitation told him she had been in a blind fury. He suspected Camdyn had said something about her attacker to trigger such rage. As soon as the armorer left the lists Darach drew back and then stalked down the passage to intercept him.

As soon as Camdyn saw him he stopped in his tracks. “Eventide, Chieftain.”

Two guards at the other end of the passage looked over at them, and one nudged the other.

“’Tis naught, lads,” Darach called to them, and then shoved open the door to a storage room. “A word in private with you. Now.”

Once inside the armorer leaned against a wall and folded his arms. “Before you again clout me, I told the lady to ask you train her. She didnae wish to trouble you, and chose me.”

“So you looked upon her face, yet bruised and cut from the bastart who near beat her to death, and said aye.” Darach unbuckled his belt. “Disarm.”

“I shallnae tussle with you,” Camdyn said, straightening. “’Twas at her bidding. I’m bound to protect her, the same as any MacRoss.”

“No, you reckoned ’twould anger me to learn you’d train her. Or you wished watch the lady make a fool of herself in the lists, so you’d crow on her as yet another useless wench.” He removed his hooded cloak, and set aside his sword and daggers. “You may despise me all you desire, but Charlotte came to us to save the clan––to save your unworthy arse.”

“You reckon since you found her she’s yours?” the armorer countered, bunching his hands into fists. “You’re no’ the laird. She’s no’ Emery.”

Darach eyed him. “I’m her true protector, chosen by the sword.”

“Ever you’ve been a fool for wenches,” Camdyn said, sneering the words. “To what avail, Brother? None may even look upon you without shuddering.”

Suddenly he knew something the surly armorer didn’t wish him to see. “Aye, but she’s kissed my ugly face, and confessed she wants me. You she but bids train her, and you so handsome a lad.” He smiled. “Och, well, there’s yet Ailsa, eh?”

The armorer’s expression turned ugly, and he threw a punch that Darach easily avoided. Using his lightning speed he hooked Camdyn’s leg and sent him sprawling, and then hauled him to his feet. This time the armorer brought up his fist, intending to strike his jaw, but Darach flung him away before he could land the blow. Camdyn fell against a table that collapsed under him, but pushed himself up and wiped a streak of blood from his chin.

“Never moved you so fast,” he said, taunting. “You’d use the sword’s boon to prevail over me, and at last prove yourself to her the better man? You shame yourself.”

“Shut your facking mouth.” Darach seized his arm and wrenched it behind his back as he shoved him face-first into the wall.

“The truth makes you squirm, I ken.” Camdyn grunted as he twisted, trying to free himself. “She’d rather train to fight than rely on your protection. What should your Charlotte think of you now as you beat me bloody for helping her, Chieftain? Shall she beg you make her yours?”

“You eejit,” Darach said as he fought to keep him pinned. “I’ve belonged to the lady from the moment she dropped out of the sky. Since she held the Fire sword at my throat. Since she looked upon me and didnae shake with fear. I ken you covet my place beside Luthias, and command of the garrison, but Charlotte, she’s no’ mine. I’m hers. Aye, and so I’ll be forever.”

The armorer suddenly went still. “Now you shame me.”