“They won’t let him in.”
Hagen took off on a run toward the gates, glancing over his shoulder. “Jowell and Paden never saw Dugan on Tiree. They might let him in.”
His father heard Dugan. He could tell because the old warrior was saddling his horse.
Hagen’s blood ran cold. He had to stop this before it escalated. He mounted his horse and yelled at the stable lads. “Get more saddled and ready to go.”
Before he could ride out, he yelled back to Alaric, “Get everyone out of the hall and make sure the bairns are inside.”
Alaric ran at the keep shouting for assistance, Eli joining him. Logan, Maitland, Drew, and the rest of their guards were already mounting up.
Dyna raced up the stairs to the curtain wall, full quiver in hand and bow over her shoulder, Merryn and Brynja following. His sister would be a definite help on the wall.
Hagen rode through the gate first, heading down the path to meet the fool. “I’m here, Comming. You want a Grant? Face me.”
Dugan’s eyes lit with malicious glee. “The whelp thinks he’s a warrior now? I’ll carve you up just like I did your father.”
“My father lives, so think again about that power behind your blade. You’ll find I’m not so easy to cut down.”
Dugan raised his sword and came at him.
The battle was on.
Hagen met Dugan’s first strike, the clash of steel ringing across the hillside. The man was strong, but Hagen had trained with the best—his father, his uncles, men who’d fought in countless battles. He parried and deflected, his movements fluid and sure.
Behind him, he heard the thunder of hooves as the Grantham guards poured through the gate. The group fought in a spot down the path a bit, and the Granthams had about thirty men at the ready while Dugan had around a score joining him up the path. Maitland had sent a score on patrol, and they had left for different areas. How had they missed them?
Hagen pressed his advantage against Dugan, driving him back. For a moment, he thought he might end this quickly—until three of Dugan’s men broke away from the main fight and charged toward him.
An arrow whistled past Hagen’s ear and struck the lead attacker in the shoulder, spinning him sideways in his saddle. A second arrow found its mark in another man’s thigh. It had to be Brynja. Her aim was as deadly as ever. The third man hesitated,glancing up at the curtain wall where more arrows were already nocked, and that moment’s distraction was all Hagen needed.
He wheeled his horse, engaging the nearest attacker. His sword work was clean, efficient. One man fell. Then another. But the third—the one with Brynja’s arrow in his thigh—rallied and got past his guard, blade aimed at Hagen’s exposed side.
A black destrier crashed into the fray.
“Get away from my son!” Connor’s voice rang out, his sword deflecting the blow meant for Hagen.
“Da! What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here!”
His father said nothing, positioning Midnight Star between Hagen and the immediate threat. But Hagen could see it immediately, the way his father favored his one side, the slight hitch in his movements, the set of his jaw that meant he was fighting through pain.
Dugan turned his attention to Connor with savage delight. “I knew you couldn’t stay away, Grant. Come to let me finish what I started?”
Connor’s response was steady, though Hagen noticed how his father’s grip on his sword was tighter than usual, compensating. “Leave him be, Comming. Your quarrel is with me.”
“Nay, Da!” Hagen tried to intervene, but two more of Dugan’s men engaged him, forcing him to defend himself.
Through the chaos of combat, Hagen kept his father in his peripheral vision. Connor’s parries were strong, his technique as sound as ever, but his stamina was flagging. Each strike came a fraction slower than it should. His breathing was labored, evidence that he wasn’t healed completely.
Hagen dispatched one attacker, then the other, and fought his way closer to his father. “Leave him be, Comming. I’m his son, you bastard. See if you can take my sword down.”
Dugan swung toward Hagen, engaging him for several rapid exchanges, then the weakling did a cheap move and pivoted suddenly, trying to cut Connor down while his guard was down.
His father retaliated with a false move, pretending to be hurt worse than he was and almost falling off his horse, drawing Dugan in.
At least, Hagen prayed he was pretending. “Dugan, I’m coming for you.”
But Dugan went for Connor, his full attention on finishing the older warrior, giving Hagen the perfect opening. He struck Dugan in his flank, a death blow for sure. The man turned to glare at Hagen, shock on his face, and Hagen’s father gave him a shove with the flat of his sword, knocking him off his horse.
