Page 86 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Morag watched in terror as the two men circled each other like wolves, their blades catching the lamplight with every movement. Her wrists burned where the ropes cut into them, but she barely noticed the pain. All her attention was fixed on Colin—her husband, who'd come for her despite impossible odds.

"Behind ye!" she screamed as Fraser maneuvered Colin toward a low table. "The furniture!"

Colin heard her warning and rolled aside just as Fraser's blade whistled through the space where his head had been. The sword struck the wooden table with a resounding crack, embedding itself momentarily in the thick oak.

Fraser cursed and yanked his weapon free, but the brief delay gave Colin time to recover his footing. When Fraser turned back, Colin was ready for him.

Their blades met in a series of lightning-fast exchanges that made Morag's eyes water trying to follow them. Steel rang on steel in a deadly rhythm, sparks flying with each impact. Both men were breathing hard now, sweat mixing with blood on their faces.

"Ye've fought well, Armstrong," Fraser panted, his sword weaving defensive patterns as Colin pressed his attack. "But this ends now. I have almost two hundred men outside, and ye have—what? Barely more than twenty? Even if ye kill me, yer clan dies tonight."

"Then I'll die kenning ye willnae live tae see it," Colin replied grimly. “Because that was what really convinced MacDuff to agree tae an alliance. He accepted me offer of land, aye, but what he really wanted was me promise tae kill ye. And I dinnae care if me wife hears that now. I tried tae keep her from things she didnae need tae ken, that might hurt her, but now that she kens the rest, she should ken this too. I will kill ye, as I promised her faither!”

Fraser's response was a thrust aimed at Colin's heart. Colin parried desperately, but Fraser's blade slipped past his guard, the point scoring across his chest and drawing a line of fire through his flesh.

"Colin!" Morag screamed, struggling against her bonds as she watched her husband stagger backward.

But Colin wasn't finished. As Fraser drew back for the killing blow, Colin's left hand shot out, grabbing Fraser's sword wrist. The two men grappled desperately, each trying to control the other's weapon.

They crashed into the wall, Fraser's greater weight and size giving him the advantage. Slowly, inexorably, he forced his blade toward Colin's throat.

"Look at him, lass," Fraser gasped, his face inches from Colin's. "Look at yer mighty husband. See how he dies."

Nay. Nae like this. Ye cannae leave me like this, Collin.

Morag threw her full weight against the post she was tied to, feeling the wood creak under the strain. If she could just⁠—

The post shifted slightly, making a creaking sound.

On the floor, Colin's strength was failing. Fraser's blade crept closer to his throat, the steel edge gleaming in the lamplight. Colin's face was turning red with the effort of holding it back, veins standing out on his forehead.

"Any last words fer yer wife?" Fraser whispered.

That's when Colin's dirk, hidden in his left hand, punched up between Fraser's ribs.

Fraser's eyes went wide with shock as the blade found his heart. His sword clattered to the floor as his strength fled, his hands clutching at the dirk's handle.

"Nay, tae ye," Colin said quietly, twisting the blade. "Tell the devil Colin Armstrong sent ye."

Fraser's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath him. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his dreams of conquest ended forever.

But Colin's relief was short-lived. The four Fraser soldiers stood frozen for one heartbeat, but now they moved as one, drawing their weapons with deadly intent.

"Kill him!" one of them snarled. "Avenge our laird!"

Colin staggered to his feet, swaying slightly from exhaustion and the wound Fraser had given him. Blood seeped through his shirt where the blade had scored across his ribs, but his grip on his sword remained steady.

The first soldier lunged with a spear. Colin sidestepped, his blade sweeping in a deadly arc that opened the man's throat. But the movement sent fire racing through his injured side, and he stumbled.

The second soldier pressed his advantage, swinging a heavy axe toward Colin's head. Colin ducked under the blow, then drove his dirk up into the man's armpit, finding the gap in his leather armor. The soldier screamed and fell back, blood pouring from the wound.

"Colin!" Morag screamed as the third soldier's sword whistled past her husband's ear. "Behind ye!"

Colin spun, parrying desperately as the remaining two soldiers attacked in unison. His wounded side slowed him, making each movement an agony, but years of training kept him alive. His sword work was economical now, conserving strength while seeking killing opportunities.

A thrust took the third soldier through the heart. Colin's blade slid between ribs with practiced precision, then withdrew as the man toppled forward. But the effort left him gasping, one hand pressed to his bleeding side.