“Laird Ross, we both know how this will end, but I would beg a favor, before thecoup de grace.”
For the first time since they began, the man frowned. “Aye?”
They separated with a hard push, then Ross attacked again. Gaspar deflected a blow and the swords slid together again.
Ross growled. “Speak.”
“Vow to me you will not allow Isobelle to follow me back. She will never be safe there.”
The man nodded once. “Aye. With or without a vow, I would never have allowed it.”
“I thank you just the same.”
They parted again and Gaspar fought against the pain of his breaking heart by attacking with all his might. As he was pulling away, he twirled the end of his blade, attempting to cut the man again. All he needed was to mark him! But Ross’ size did nothing to slow him. His arms and feet moved as deftly as a thin lad being chased by chickens.
Four times he thought his blade would connect with flesh. Four times, he’d been wrong.
He growled in frustration. There was nothing for it. He was about to lose Isobelle. A dozen blows more. He could defend a dozen blows more, that was all.
Was this God’s punishment? Was he truly unworthy of her?
He shook his head. No. That could not be. He might well be the only man who could love her as she deserved to be loved. He understood her like no other man could. What other man would understand the heart that beat inside Isobelle Ross—the woman who would sacrifice all for the sake of love alone, even if it was simply the love between two strangers?
No. He would not leave her. To love Isobelle was to stay at her side, no matter what the cost.
Gaspar had no choice but to use the weapon Lady Ross had placed in his hands. He thought himself above trickery, but he would sacrifice even his honor if he must. He couldn’t leave Isobelle. He couldn’t take her with him. So he simply would not go.
Gaspar found the strength to attack again—three blows,clang clang clang, then retreat, leaving Monty room to recover.
“Tell me, Laird Ross. Does yer wife have a brother?”
Ross delivered two powerful blows.Clang, clang. The second, Gaspar deflected.
“Nay,” the man growled. “Why do ye ask?”
Three more.Clang. Clang. Clang!Gaspar nearly dropped his weapon. He took a few deeps breaths, then was able to speak again.
“I wondered, if she’d had a brother…”
Two more blows.Clang, clang.He could defend two more, surely.
Ross frowned and lunged. Gaspar deflected and spun, but his foot caught and he fell to one knee.Clang.
One more. He had to stand and face just one more. But he couldn’t. He was barely able to raise his sword to point it at Ross. The big man slapped the blade away with his own.
Clang.
Gaspar could lift it no more.
“I wondered,” he panted, “what you might have told such a brother, once he learned you’d been holding Jillian prisoner in your castle?”
Monty’s sword hovered in the air, drawn halfway back to his shoulder. His frown made Gaspar wonder if, in his current state of fatigue, he might have slipped into the Italian language. He watched the long-sword, waiting for it to change direction and come for his head. But the tip of it drooped to the ground and Ross straightened. Then he sent a frown in Lady Ross’ direction, and Gaspar recognized the opening for what it was.
Hope alone lifted his own sword and he made amolinetto, a small circular cut, on Ross’s forearm. In reaction, the man’s sword jerked up and caught Gaspar on the chin. He stepped back quickly and offered a small bow of apology even while he was seething.
A small red spot bloomed on the big man’s flesh and he frowned at it for a moment before looking severely at his wife again.
Isobelle shrieked and jumped in the air with Morna and Juliet. Lady Ross stood stark still and stared at her husband. Eventually, she ducked through the center of the fence and started toward him, walking slowly, her strange green boots only slightly less disturbing than the fact she wore breeches. Her fingers were tucked into strange little pockets that did not show, and her look of remorse would sway any judge.
