Would that he might have lingered long enough to understand how two men so similar, but not brothers, had come to marry sisters that also mirrored one another. For all their lives, their children would likely mistake the wrong people to be their parents.
What brought his attention back to the battle at hand was his disgust with these people who took Isobelle’s wishes so lightly. Did Morna and Ivar not owe their happiness to Isobelle’s attempts to reunite them?
For shame. On them all. And it grieved him to think of leaving her in their hands, especially with the brother who worried more about his pride than the truth. Montgomery Rossdidn’t wish to believe his sister loved an Englishman, or that the Englishman loved her. He simply excused his actions with whatever of Gaspar’s sins he could find.
Imprisoning Isobelle was certainly a dreadful sin, though it was a sin for which he’d been forgiven.
He should have known better than to remain when the barbarian greeted him with his fist. He should have fought his way back into the travelling tomb and pulled Isobelle up with him. They would have found another home, one they could have shared.Together.
Gaspar finally set his regrets aside and watched the line of women standing along the side of the field with their backs to the sun. Why then did they have need to shade their eyes while he walked past them? Did he look as foolish as he felt with his legs wrapped so tightly? And the tunic he’d been given was little more than a second skin. He felt decidedly naked, but he could not worry over such things with his last chance to impress Isobelle looming before him.
Ivar held his sword out to him, but he hesitated. He turned and held out a hand to the woman who inhabited every fathomable inch of his heart and unfathomable inch of his soul, and he thanked God when she hurried to his side.
“Dinna fight him,” she begged. “We will refuse to obey him. We shall leave here, run away. My sister will aid us, I know she will.”
He smiled down into her eyes. “I will not run away, Isobelle. And neither will you. You have wanted so long to be back with your family, I will not take that from you.”
“I doona care, my love. If they send you back, I go as well. I go where you go.”
She twisted the thin cloth at his neck and pulled him down to meet her embrace. Her lips tasted like the most precious of nectars and he willed himself to remember it always.
“Swear it to me, Gaspar. Tell it back to me.I go where you go.”
He smiled again. “I vow…that as long as you live…I go where you go.” And he sealed it with a kiss.
She nodded and stepped back, but the tears on her cheeks told him the truth, that she knew he’d just lied to her. Did she also know that it broke his heart to do it?
“Enough of this bletherin’!” Monty bellowed. “Ivar, restrain Isobelle if ye must,” he pointed his sword at Gaspar, “but it is time to defend her honor.”
Isobelle raised her chin and walked back to the fence without an escort. Gaspar took the offered sword from Ivar, then faced the Scotsman. “Yes. It is time. But it is I who defend her honor.En guard.”
And with that, he attacked. The jolt of first engagement seemed to come just a hair’s breath before the sound of it. His bones shuddered as each blow was met with equal force, and he reveled in it. Occasions for concentrated battle had been rare of late.
If Ross was surprised by his strength, he hid it well. The man’s attention to his swordplay was frightening. Since he’d met the man, a storm of emotions had ever been at play across his features. But as soon he lifted his sword, all expression fell away. Gaspar did his best to do the same.
“I see ye ken yerdebolefrom yer hilt,” Ross said, beating Gaspar’s blade sideways, trying to knock it from his hand.
“I have spent a good deal of time fighting pirates, my lord.” He spun on his heel and came around to strike the back of Ross’s blade, but the man’s fingering was as sure as his own. He retreated a step when the man answered in kind.
A few blows later, they had theirjust distance. Gaspar was surprised to find his reach was slightly longer than his opponent, but he took no false hope in the knowledge. The man could easilypound him into the ground like a troublesome spike if he chose to, he was that powerful. And yet, his blows were restrained.
Gaspar could not afford to pace himself. His best chance to draw Ross’ blood would be to do so while his strength was fresh. So he attacked again. But the big man met his tempo with ease, never feinting, never retreating. And Gaspar realized with a certain amount of dread that the man was toying with him as a cat toyed with a mouse until it was bored.
The least he could do was to keep the man entertained.
He waited for the right opportunity and tossed his blade into his left hand, then attempted afalso filo, slipping his blade beneath Ross’s and flicking the tip of the blade to cut the man’s hand. For the first time, Ross stepped backward and corrected the angle of his sword, pointing it at Gaspar’s neck so, if he attempted the same again, he’d impale his neck on the tip of Ross’ blade.
They both broke the line and breathed deeply while they circled each other, taking half-hearted thrusts every few steps. Ross watched for Gaspar to reverse hands again, so he might take advantage. But he was soon to learn that the dragon was skilled with his left hand as well, and he attacked with force to test the strength of that arm.
“I have lived twelve years in Venice, my lord. We row a great many boats with heavy oars. I believe you will find me equal to the task.” He wasn’t going to divulge the fact that his servant rowed most of the time.
“Ye must have pitifully small boats, aye? Because ye seem to be flaggin’. Would ye like me to step back and give ye the chance to change hands? Seems yer right arm was a wee bit stronger.”
Gaspar laughed and shook his head. Then he dropped his smile to concentrate on defending a forceful attack. He was honestly surprised his blade hadn’t shattered, so powerful wereRoss’s blows. And Gaspar’s arms felt as if he’d already rowed out to his island, and that he may not have the fortitude to row back.
The other man’s jaw clenched and he lunged forward, his blade aiming low toward Gaspar’s legs. He parried and jumped just beyond the Ross’ reach, but he doubted he could react so quickly a second time.
Without daggers, he felt safe to move close and stepped forward, his blade sliding against Ross’ blade until their crosses caught. He spoke in a low voice so the others would not hear him.
