Minutes after overhearing Fifi’s and Bullfinch’s conversation yesterday, he’d worked out her target was General Bolingbroke’s second lieutenant general, Walter Hawley. What would his wife do when she found out he had more in common with her than just being childhood friends? He couldn’t tell her he usedto work for the Movement and had just been reenlisted by Bullfinch, until the time was right. The less she knew, the safer and less distracted she’d be. Distraction can get a spy killed. Besides, knowing the Movement’s rules on secrecy, even among their own spies, they would want it this way, because it was safer for all involved.
Slade’s glance registered a recurring error in a young guard’s swordplay. “You are parrying too much with the flat of the sword. Your opponent can blow through your parry easily. This leaves you vulnerable. Parry with the edge of the sword instead,” Slade said.
Lachlan, who stood across from them and not far from where Chisolm was in quiet conversation with a guard, gave a dismissive wave of his wrist and yelled across the yard, loud for everyone to hear. “I don’t agree. Edge parrying is no better or worse than flat parrying.”
Slade’s body tightened with annoyance, not only at the interruption to the group’s practice, but at the manner of Lachlan’s contradiction.
While the issue of parrying with the edge versus the flat was a contentious topic, Lachlan contradicting Slade’s training in front of the guards was a direct challenge to his authority as warlord. If his brother had any tact, he would pull Slade aside and state the contradiction where they could discuss it one-on-one. But ever since they were boys, Lachlan always had about as much tact as a herd of charging cattle.
In fact, knowing Lachlan as he did, his brother’s intention was to exert his authority over Slade. And to do that, he would undermine him in front of the guards. Slade was used to Lachlan’s pride, in fact, he’d grown a tougher skin since the army. It had an abundance of arrogance.
Slade sent Lachlan a cursory glance. “Why not explain to the group here why flat parrying is no better or worse than parrying with the edge?”
Lachlan’s lips curled with impatience. “Because it just is!”
Slade decided the most efficient way to deal with Lachlan’s drivel was to meet it head on. Especially since he just decided, he could use Lachlan’s arrogance to his benefit.
“Care to demonstrate with me?” Slade asked.
Slade’s casual tone made Lachlan’s face redden.
“Why not,” Lachlan snorted.
The pitch of the hushed voices of the guards rose around them. It appeared his exchange with Lachlan was garnering an audience. Lachlan reached for his longsword, strapped at his back. Slade himself turned and strode toward the yard’s gate where he’d rested his own spare rapier in its scabbard. As he unsheathed his weapon and turned to face Lachlan, he noticed in his peripheral vision that Chisolm had ceased his conversation with a guard and was now among their audience. It was a pleasant surprise that his father’s presence didn’t distract him now, as it had done countless times during his youth, when he’d been trying to impress his father with his fighting skills.
As he took a step towards Lachlan, his brother’s lips stretched into a mocking smile. “You sure you want to be using a rapier? As far as I’m concerned, those foreign weapons are far inferior to the Scottish longswords,” Lachlan said.
Sniggers sounded in the background. Now why didn’t Lachlan’s comment surprise him? Lachlan had no love for foreigners, least of all their weapons. But Slade had mastered the longsword years ago under the tutelage of the MacDonell warlord. And he’d become quite adept at using the rapier during his years in the army. The truth was, he could prove his technique with either. As a matter of fact, from the way Lachlan was holding his longsword, Slade ventured a guess Lachlan’sfighting technique hadn’t changed much from when they were lads. It was always driven more by brute force and intimidation than skill.
“Well then, my rapier should make it easier for you to prove your point, shouldn’t it?” Slade said.
His sarcastic tone drew a sneer from Lachlan.
Slade responded with an unperturbed smile. “En garde,” Slade said coolly.
Lachlan started out spinning his sword. This was reserved for clearance or to drive several forward-charging opponents back. Or in this case, done for show.
Slade paused, warily eying his brother. When Lachlan turned his spin into a powerful undercut strike towards Slade, he was ready. Slade blocked it with an echoing clash, using the edge of his rapier, but he was also pushed back from the sheer power and force of Lachlan’s strike. His brother was built like an ox and had the charging force of one as well. With some effort Slade expertly trapped Lachlan’s strike with his cross guard, forcing his brother to slide his blade away.
Lachlan’s smile was derisive. “The next time I come at you, you won’t be so lucky,” Lachlan said.
Slade decided to adopt non-typical maneuvers. Surprise would be his ally.
Slade followed with a downward strike of his rapier, and Lachlan responded with a piercing clash, blocking with the flat of his sword. Lachlan’s parry, although powerful, allowed Slade to slide along Lachlan’s sword, reversing his own sword’s direction into a slash straight for Lachlan’s skull. With a loud grunt and immense restraint, Slade halted his sword’s trajectory an inch away from his brother’s head, who was now frozen except for his hard and fast breathing. Slade ignored the petulant voice in his head saying he should have knocked Lachlan out to prove his point. But it would have meant Lachlanhad succeeded in goading him. As a lad he would have dealt the blow, but now he had Fifi to consider, and an aim to achieve.
Slade withdrew his blade and inclined his head towards Lachlan, a smile easing the side of his mouth. “Care to try again?” Slade asked, starting to enjoy himself.
Lachlan’s face twisted with anger. Slade had learned years ago never to attack in anger, a lesson his brother seemed to have missed. Lachlan came at him with a hard downward cut. Slade blocked it, his edge trapping Lachlan’s sword in his cross guard. His brother withdrew. Slade pushed forward with a strong offensive strike towards Lachlan’s crown. Lachlan parried with the flat of his sword. Slade used all his strength to slide past, then followed up with a reverse strike of his pommel towards Lachlan’s face. But again, Slade halted an inch away from his brother’s body.
Their breathing was audible, but their audience had gone deadly silent.
Lachlan let out a series of curses and withdrew. Begrudging surrender etched its way across his brother’s face. Despite himself, triumph, and satisfaction pierced Slade’s gut. Slade eased his hold on his sword. He’d proven his point with just four thrusts of his weapon. He decided tact was better than gloating, especially since he needed his brother’s help.
Slade turned to the group of guards who were staring at him with rapt attention and admiration. “In a fight, you need to use whatever maneuver is available to you in order to escape injury. Sometimes you have no other choice than to block with the flat, depending on the position where your opponent’s strike catches you. But when feasible, blocking with the edge will work in your favor,” Slade said.
The young guards cheered in awe at their swordplay demonstration, and Chisolm joined in, with a hearty series of claps. When Slade glanced at his father, his chest warmed, forapproval shone in Chisolm’s eyes. “I am happy to see you are settling into your new position as warlord quite well,” Chisolm said. He might not have been seeking Chisolm’s approval, but his heart squeezed to know he had it.
Lachlan narrowed his eyes at Slade and sheathed his longsword. “You have to give me a chance to redeem myself, brother. How’s your aim with the musket?” Lachlan said.
