“Let her go, Rory.” Parlan was not surprised when the man laughed but he had seen no harm in trying for Aimil’s release.
“And they say I am mad.”
“They also say ye are dead. Did the Devil spit ye up from hell then because he couldnae stomach ye?”
“Ye mean to goad me but t’willnae work. That was a clever ploy, wasnae it? It worked just as I had thought it would.”
“What poor innocent soul did ye murder to play out your game?” Parlan demanded.
“Some fool from the local tavern. A few coins and the hint of more and he followed me like some faithful puppy.”
“And died for his error in faith just as Geordie did.”
“Geordie’s blood stains your hands. ’Tis your fault I had to kill him,” Rory snarled.
That broke Aimil’s stunned silence. “Ye cannae blame us for that murder. Ye took his life with your own hands.”
“Because of ye!” he screamed then forcibly restrained himself. “I couldnae move, couldnae act, because ye hunted me. I had to put an end to that. T’was the only way. Ye had to think me dead. Geordie understands. He kens that I must have my vengeance, that ye must pay for all ye have done—both of ye.
“Ye were to be mine, Aimil, but ye chose this Highland rogue instead. Aye, rutting with him without a care or shame. So like your mother. Then ye had that Devil of a horse ruin my face. There is so much ye must pay for, my pretty whore.”
“I would be wary of what ye say, Rory, or I may need to cut your tongue from your mouth before I kill you,” Parlan challenged him.
“Such boasting. Killing ye will be no more trouble for me than swatting some bothersome fly.”
“’Ware, Parlan.” Aimil lightly touched his taut arm. “He means to dull your skill by blinding ye with fury.”
“I ken it.” He spoke softly through gritted teeth as he tried to speak to her without Rory hearing as well as fight the anger the man stirred in him. “Ye are to flee the moment the battle begins and I hold his attention.”
“Nay, I willnae leave you.”
“Ye will flee, woman. Curse ye, how can I fight my best if I must worry about ye? Run to Dubhglenn and get help.”
“By the time I could reach Dubhglenn, even if I were a swift runner, ye would be thrice dead. Aye, he could have buried ye and brought the pope himself from Rome to pray over your grave.”
“So be it but at least ye will still be alive.”
“Mayhaps living without ye isnae something I can view with any ease,” she said softly.
Despite their desperate situation, he felt his heart give an odd skip at her words. It was the first time she had put any hint of her feelings into words. He mused, a little crossly, that she had chosen the worst possible time for doing it. He wanted to hold her close, to make love to her, and to drag even more such declarations from her. Instead he faced a man who could attack at any moment and who meant to see him and Aimil dead. When they were both safe again, he would find a way to make her pay some penance for her ill-timing.
“Then do it for the bairn. He deserves better than to be left an orphan.”
That tender statement cut her to the heart. For a moment, seeing Parlan in such danger, she had forgotten their son and his needs. She had to think of their child. Although she knew Lyolf would be well cared for and loved, no one could replace his true parents.
“Aye, our son. He needs us both, Parlan.”
“I intend for him to have us both for many a year yet to come. Ye will run, Aimil, for my peace of mind, if naught else.”
She made no reply, and he took that to mean that she would obey him. He turned his full attention upon Rory. Rory did have skill and, if madness had finally given him courage, the man could prove a formidable opponent. Parlan was confident of his own skill but did not give into a false cockiness. Skill did not always determine the outcome of a fight. He also knew that, if Rory proved to be his equal, even the smallest of errors could prove fatal.
“Come, Parlan MacGuin, are ye ready to meet your fate?”
“Do ye think ye are man enough to deal it out to me?”
“As easily as I did to your foolish cousin. What was her name? Margaret? Aye, aye, that was it. A weak, puling lass.”
That nearly broke Parlan’s control. He could see poor Morna’s body in his mind’s eye, knew that Aimil’s mother and Catarine had undoubtedly looked the same, and ached to put an end to the life of the man standing before him. A soft word from Aimil stopped him when he would have charged at Rory, a mistake that could have cost him and Aimil dearly. He wished he knew Rory well enough to force the man into acting foolishly but his knowledge concerned Rory’s crimes and he doubted that the man could be angered by mentioning them.
