“You what?” Alex demanded.
“I miss you,” Brice snapped. The men stood staring at one another. Alex’s shoulders slumped.
“I miss you, too,” Alex admitted. “I miss training with you.”
“Then come back. Train with dirks, with a battle axe, with whatever you can wield. But come back,” Brice begged.
“A battle axe? You’d turn me into a Highlander? And what aboot when the men watch me fight like half a mon?”
“Why do you persist in saying that? It’s not half. You have two arms and two legs. Only one of those four isn’t working. And you still swear your cock does, even if you won’t go near a woman. As long as that’s still attached, you’re more mon than most I know.”
Alex sighed and cast his eyes toward the sky. It was still dawn, but he was aware the men were only now arriving at the lists. His lips flattened before turning down, but he nodded. “I’ll come today.”
“And tomorrow, and the next day, the day after that, and on and on,” Brice insisted. “Today won’t be easy. You may feel like a failure, but you didn’t walk back into the lists as you had before battle either of the previous times your injuries were severe. You had to train to regain your speed and your strength. Don’t let hard days defeat you, brother.”
Brice clapped Alex on his good shoulder and squeezed before pulling Alex in for an embrace. Alex hesitated, then wrapped one arm around Brice as they leaned against one another. When they pulled away, they grinned and playfully punched each other in the shoulder before turning back to the keep.
Two
“Alex, Brice,” Laird Tavin Armstrong called as he approached the brothers while they walked toward the lists. The men switched direction and met their father halfway across the bailey. “Alex, I need you to go to court. You leave in two days.”
“What’s happened?” Alex asked, preparing for the argument he was about to begin.
“The king is fed up with hearing the Scotts complain. He’s not so thrilled aboot hearing from us either. He demands a representative from the Armstrongs, Scotts, and Elliots appear before him.”
“And you think that should be me? Stand before the entire court to represent our clan with my arm dangling useless at my side while I stand beside a mon from the very clan that made me useless?”
“Back to that,” Brice muttered.
“You’re my tánaiste. Until I die and you become laird, you’re my representative in clan matters like this,” Tavin stated. As a child, and even as a young man, his father’s expression normally made Alex cease the conversation with agreement and a nod. But he was no longer a child, and he refused to shame his clan.
“And I’ve told you I shouldn’t be any of those. You want to humiliate our entire clan? Then send me. If you want to prove to the Scotts that they can’t have our land, our cattle, or our keep, then send someone who represents our clan’s strength.”
“Strength is not only muscle, and well you understand it, Alexander,” Tavin stated as he crossed his arms. “This is not a time for muscle. This is a time for diplomacy and strategy. There is no one better suited than you.” Tavin spun on his heels and marched back to the keep’s steps. He glanced over his shoulder at his sons, a hard edge to his stare before he disappeared into the castle.
“Let’s go,” Brice said as he nudged Alex and turned toward the lists.
“I can’t go to court looking like I came out on the losing end of a fight.” Alex shook his head.
“Then don’t lose.” Brice cocked a brow, his expression taunting Alex as it had since childhood.
“Very well, little brother. I hope you didn’t exhaust yourself already.”
Men noticed Alex enter the lists, drawing one of his longer dirks. He sensed many wanted to stare, learn what he could do, discover why he’d finally come back. But they all had the sense not to be too conspicuous. Alex weighed the feel of the blade in his hand and remembered his third-and-ten saint’s day, when his father gifted him with the dirk that had once been his. Alex recalled how he’d polished the hilt every day until his father teased he would wear it away. It felt natural in his hand, as though he’d never put it down. He turned toward Brice, who once again had his sword drawn. Alex froze.
“You cannot expect me to always best you, or even match you, if you have a sword and I have a dirk,” Alex whispered as he leaned toward Brice.
“You’ve never ‘always’ bested or matched me,” Brice scoffed. “Your memory is what’s gone, big brother. I will knock you on your arse if I can, but I’m confident I’ll end up on mine just as often.” Brice inched forward, causing Alex to move away as they began circling one another, leaning forward, light on their feet. They waited, neither one intending to strike first.
“Aren’t you going to swing that gigantic sword? You claim it’s always hard,” Alex taunted, hearing men around them laugh.
“Aren’t you going to thrust with that tiny knife of yours?” Brice replied, causing several snickers. He raised his arm, adjusting his stance, and it was the opening Alex needed. He barreled forward, his good shoulder slamming into Brice’s chest as he swept Brice’s feet out from under him.
“I don’t need a tiny knife when you have my size,” Alex boasted as he reached down to help Brice up. Brice attempted to pull Alex off-balance, and Alex pretended to stumble, only to place his boot on Brice’s shoulder. It was Alex’s turn to cock an eyebrow. He stepped back, allowing his brother space to get up on his own. They repositioned themselves as Brice grasped his sword; Alex twisted the wrist that held his dirk, readjusting it in his palm. Once more, they circled.
Brice raised his arm as if to strike overhand, but at the last minute slashed toward Alex’s legs. Dancing away, Alex used his slightly longer reach to press the tip of his knife against Brice’s throat, as the latter’s sword swished through the air, striking nothing. Brice knocked Alex’s arm away and shoved him backward, their taunting over and their competition fully heated. Brice sliced an arc through the air as he brought his sword down toward Alex’s right ribcage. Alex lurched backwards, allowing Brice’s momentum to unbalance him. He pressed his blade against Brice’s sternum.
They separated and repositioned themselves. This time, Alex went on the offensive. He feinted left, then right, as he tried to maneuver himself to where Brice couldn’t defend his ribs with his enormous broadsword. But Brice spun at the last minute and slammed his shoulder under Alex’s chin, making his head snap back. Brice’s sword hilt landed in Alex’s gut and knocked him to the ground. Brice stepped back as Alex sprang back to his feet and launched himself into Brice’s abdomen, knocking them both to the ground. With his forearm against Brice’s throat, he shifted to get a knee on top of each arm, pinning them to the ground.
