“Nay, I willnae let her curse come true. I will come to hell in my own sweet time.”
“The sweet time is now, Rory. If I die doing it, ye will pay for all the horror ye have done.”
“I gave none of them any less than what they asked for. Whores, the lot of them.”
“Even the lowest of whores doesnae deserve what ye do to a lass. The ghosts of those ye have slaughtered cry out for vengeance.”
“Let them cry, Satan. I willnae be taken before I am ready.”
“No one can choose their time, Rory, especially not filth like you.”
Parlan saw how close to the edge Rory was. For a brief moment he hesitated in pushing the man any further. A part of him strongly objected to the battle ending that way, wanted to end Rory’s life himself. Good sense prevailed, and Parlan regretfully knew that he was not sure he could fight any longer. He was stiff and sore from his fall and had several wounds that bled and weakened him. No matter how it occurred, the battle had to be ended as quickly as possible. Sighing, Parlan lunged, forcing Rory back that final step.
Rory hovered on the brink of the ravine for an instant, his arms waving frantically as he sought to regain his balance. With a scream of denial, he fell, his cry abruptly cut off as his body smashed upon the rocks below.
Aimil immediately rushed toward Parlan. He looked unsteady, and she feared he might follow Rory into the ravine. Upon reaching him, she tugged him back from the edge. He began to collapse, and, when she tried to help him stay upright, she was pulled down with him until they both knelt upon the ground. She was frightened by the weakness he displayed.
“Parlan?”
“Is he dead? I was unable to see.” He fought to regain some strength but realized that, for now, he had none left.
Although she did not want to, she cautiously moved to the edge of the ravine and looked down. Her stomach was turned by what she saw, despite the knowledge that the threat to her and those she loved was now ended. Rory lay upon the rocks below, his body broken, twisted grotesquely, his blood staining the stones. Hastily, she moved back to Parlan’s side.
“Aye, quite dead. Broken beyond repair. How is it that your fall didnae do much the same to ye?”
“There were no rocks at the bottom.” He smiled crookedly. “I near to broke more than I care to think on though.”
“Are ye sure ye havenae broken anything?”
“Nay, not fully sure. I may have cracked a rib or twa. ’Tis naught. But let me catch my breath and we will head back to Dubhglenn.”
“On foot? Ye will never make it.”
Before he could argue, she left him. He gave in to the need to lie down as he watched her collect up a few things to tend to his wounds. After a few moments of thought, he decided she was right. He would not be able to walk to Dubhglenn. He was fairly sure he would not have been able to ride either, even if they could find their mounts. What he was not really sure of was what to do next.
The moment Aimil returned and started to do what little she could to tend his wounds, he stopped puzzling over the problem. Pain combined with curiosity about what wounds he had suffered diverted him. He soon saw that he was a lot worse off than he had thought. It had indeed been mostly his fear for Aimil, his need to try and save her, that had been all, that had carried him on.
“Ye will have to go back to Dubhglenn and get help, Aimil.” He watched her closely as she knelt by his side.
Tossing aside the scrap of cloth she had used to bathe his wounds and sitting back on her heels, she grimaced. She had been afraid that he would say that. Leaving him here alone was the last thing she wanted to do but she could see no other course open to her. He needed more help than she could give him. So too there was no way to get him back to Dubhglenn without aid or, at least, a mount, both of which were at Dubhglenn.
“I hate to leave ye here alone.”
“The weather is fine and the dark is hours away, sweeting. I think ’tis the least dangerous course for me.”
She hated to admit it but she nodded. “I certainly cannae carry ye back to Dubhglenn.”
“Nay, and I fear ye would have to but a few steps down the road.” He reached out to touch her cheek, the bruises Rory had inflicted becoming livid. “Are ye sure ye are able? He didnae hurt ye more than I can see or ye have told me?”
“Nay. He but slapped me about, was rough. Ye rose up like some avenging angel before he had a chance to do his worst.”
“I feel it was a fine show. A shame I couldnae see it myself. Go on, dearling. Hie to Dubhglenn but dinnae push yourself too hard. I will be safe enough here.” He patted the sword she had placed at his side.
Bending forward, she kissed him then got to her feet. There were not that many dangers about, especially now that Rory was dead, yet it worried her to leave him alone when he was so weak. The unexpected could always happen and, for now, Parlan could put up little defense against anything. After tending his wounds, she was surprised he had faced Rory that final time and won. The only way to end her worry was to get help as fast as she could. As she started out for Dubhglenn, she prayed that someone had been given reason enough to come and look for her and Parlan.
“Not dead? Are ye sure?” Lagan stared at Lachlan in horror. “But, Parlan buried the man.” Malcolm and Artair, who flanked him, nodded agreement.
“Someone was buried, but it wasnae Rory Fergueson. I couldnae believe t’would end so simply, so bloodlessly. I had them dig up the body.” He smiled grimly at the shocked surprise of the three younger men. “There was enough left for me to be certain that it wasnae Rory. Aye, t’was Geordie but not Rory.
