Page 134 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

He looked toward Donaldina.

“Ye were meant tae understand,” he said. “Lachlan understood what happened when men trusted kings.”

Donaldina stepped out from behind the table. Malcolm reached for her, but she lifted one hand.

“Lachlan died obeying one,” she replied. “That doesnae mean he would have chosen ye.”

Cormac’s face hardened. “He would have chosen his own blood before a MacIver.”

“He did.”

The words came more quietly. Donaldina looked toward Roy.

“He signed the accord.”

Something broke in Cormac’s expression. Roy struck. The force drove Cormac backward from the dais. Their swords crossed beneath the joined banners while sparks leaped between the blades. Cormac fought like a man trying to injure the world before it abandoned him.

“Ye weakened her,” he accused. “Ye taught her tae mistake sentiment for strength.”

Roy’s expression did not alter. Cormac swung toward his injured side. Roy trapped the blade. For one suspended breath, the two men stood locked together, shoulders straining and faces separated by scarcely the length of a hand.

Cormac smiled through his exhaustion. “She will be the ruin of ye.”

Roy turned his wrist. Cormac’s sword tore free from his grip and struck the floor several feet away. Silence seemed to open around the sound. Roy drove him to his knees. Cormac’s breath left him in a broken gasp. He looked up at Roy, with hatred remaining even after strength had abandoned him.

Then his hand moved toward the dagger at his belt. Donaldina saw the flash of metal.

“Roy!”

Roy caught Cormac’s wrist before the blade cleared its sheath. He twisted until bone cracked. Cormac cried out, and the dagger fell. Roy struck him across the chest with the pommel of his sword, forcing him onto his back among the scattered rushes. He planted one knee against Cormac’s arm and held the edge of his blade beneath the man’s throat.

The remaining attackers faltered. MacIver and MacNicol warriors closed in around ther. One intruder dropped his sword, then another. A third attempted to reach the side passage, but Hamish struck him to the ground before he crossed three paces. The final men surrendered beneath a ring of blades bearing both clan colors.

Soon only the fire beyond the walls, the crackling hearth and the harsh breathing of the wounded disturbed the hall.

Cormac lay beneath Roy, with blood spreading from a wound in his side where the final struggle had driven steel through cloth and flesh.

Still, he smiled. It was a ruined expression, more bitterness than triumph.

“Ye have won naething,” he whispered.

Roy did not answer.

Cormac coughed, and blood touched his lips. “The Highlands will never remain united. Men will remember what their fathers lost. They will remember every boundary, every insult and every grave.”

His gaze drifted toward the banners overhead.

“Ye may hang those colors together for a day. A year, perhaps. But blood remembers.”

Donaldina moved closer despite Malcolm’s attempt to restrain her. Cormac’s breathing had become shallow. Each breath seemed dragged unwillingly from his body.

His eyes found Roy once more. “Men like ye always bring ruin tae those ye try tae protect.”

Roy remained utterly still. He offered no denial, no anger, and no final mercy disguised as comfort. Donaldina saw how the words struck him. A faint tightening passed through the hand holding the sword. Cormac found the oldest wound within him and pressed one final blade into it.

Roy gave him nothing.

Cormac waited for an answer that did not come. The hatred in his eyes flickered, then it went out. His body slackened beneath Roy’s hand.