Torches flickered, casting death shadows upon the walls of the Great Chamber. The Hall was filled with all members of the Ó Banníon tribe, soldiers whom he’d once called friends. He suspected most of the men knew of Deirdre’s treachery, but as her father was blind to it, they could do nothing but watch the fight.
Sweat beaded Connor’s forehead, his body feeling overly warm. He drew his sword with his left hand, circling Flynn. The older warrior had not suffered from age; rather, it had toughened him. Though his hair was nearly white, Flynn moved like a much younger man.
Connor gripped his sword, his stance relaxed. He awaited Flynn’s swift attack, knowing that his enemy preferred to strike immediately.
Steel flashed and he blocked the first blow from instinct. He poured every year of training, every ounce of knowledge he held, into the fight.
Flynn struck hard and with a steady hand, Connor held fast. ‘I never touched her, you know,’ he said. He wanted Flynn to know the truth, to undermine his confidence.
‘You touched nearly every woman in my fortress,’ Flynn retorted. His blade moved again, slicing toward Connor’s middle.
Connor dodged the sword and circled from the opposite side.
‘I enjoyed the company of a maid or two, but I did not dishonour them.’
For a time, it seemed that Flynn toyed with him, as if drawing out the fight. Then without warning, his blade struck with an arm-numbing blow. Connor’s wrists ached with pain, but he held steady. Flynn saw his reaction and grunted with satisfaction.
Though Connor tried to take the offensive, his efforts focused on defending himself from Flynn’s force. Each hammering blow intensified the pain.
‘You were always a good fighter,’ Flynn said, his gaze penetrating.
‘I was trained by the best.’ Connor swung his blade, metal biting against metal.
‘You’ve healed better than I thought you would.’
Connor circled his opponent, judging Flynn. They were equally matched. He was glad of it. When he brought his enemy down, all would know he had regained his full strength.
The fight continued, each testing the other for weaknesses. Then abruptly, Flynn twisted his blade to the flat side and struck a savage blow to Connor’s wrists. Pain lanced from the impact, his right hand crumpling. Struggling to grasp the hilt, Connor barely defended another harsh jolt from Flynn’s sword. The chieftain seized his advantage. He moved in, and with another violent blow, Flynn disarmed him.
Connor dove across the floor, reaching for his sword. Flynn slashed downward, the edge biting into Connor’s upper arm. But his hand found the hilt, and he lifted his blade in time to defend another strike.
‘You cannot win,’ Flynn said softly. ‘But my daughter begged for your life. I may grant her wish, so that you may be shamed before our people.’
Blood streamed down Connor’s arm, but he felt none of the pain. Behind Flynn, in front of the others, he saw Aileen. Clad in a green overdress andléine, she wore a simple green ribbon in her hair. He remembered the night he’d given it to her.
In her face, he saw the stark fear. Like everyone else, she doubted his abilities and believed he was going to die. Her lack of faith cut him to the bone as surely as any sword.
He had intended this fight to prove himself to her. But she saw, as the others did, that he was losing. Though he remained on his feet, the continuous twisting movements strained his wrists. His grasp slipped upon the hilt.
Seeing her sadness drained him of strength. He twisted to dodge another blow, his muscles burning.
Then she turned her back on him and left.
She would stop this fight, no matter what the cost. Aileen pushed her way through the crowd until she found Patrick. Reaching toward his waist, her hand closed over his dagger.
He gripped her wrist. ‘What do you want that for?’
‘I need it. This fight has gone on long enough.’
‘Do you intend to fight Ó Banníon yourself?’ A warning gaze filled Patrick’s eyes. ‘Do not be foolish.’
‘Not Ó Banníon. His daughter.’
Patrick released her, amusement darkening his eyes. Aileen strode back toward the dais, rage brimming within her veins. Unless she acted, Connor was going to die.
She moved toward Deirdre Ó Banníon, while the crowd jeered. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Connor on the ground, with Flynn moving in.
Stealth guided Aileen behind Deirdre. None seemed to notice the motion, for all eyes were locked upon the battle between Connor and Flynn.
