She stared at him mutely for a moment before storming out of the room.
“If ye willnae put an end to this ridiculous war, then I will. Mark me words, I will,” she vowed in a hushed whisper.
CHAPTER TWO
“Be careful, Braither, it would be a shame to die like this,” Alexander teased as he swung his claymore over Michael’s head again.
His dutiful man-at-arms parried the strike with a solid defense of his own. He brought his blade within centimeters of Alexander’s calf as he sidestepped the attack.
The two brothers had been training since just before sunrise. The courtyard of MacAllister Castle had stayed relatively quiet until just a short while ago, when the servants started going about their daily business.
The servants gave them a wide berth, keeping wary eyes on them. Absolutely no one was eager to interrupt the Laird during his training session—anyone in Clan MacAllister knew better.
Alexander Gordon wasn’t known for his patience or his forgiveness. Rather, he was known for his cruel but capable leadership.
“Getting tired, Braither?” he goaded.
He tapped his younger brother on the shoulder with the side of his blade as he twisted past him again.
“Nae in the slightest. What about ye, old man? Ready to quit?” Michael parried and advanced in a countermove.
With a wide grin, Alexander took two ground-eating steps forward. Swinging his claymore sideways, blade perpendicular to the ground at the back of Michael’s knees, he caused him to fall to the ground ungracefully.
“Ugh. Walloper,” Michael muttered while rolling away from the next strike and jumping back on his feet.
He shook off the dirt and gravel that clung to his blue and green tartan. Rubbing a hand over his battered knees, he stood stiffly.
“What are ye plannin’ to do about the border issue, since old Fraser willnae meet with ye to discuss any sort of truce?” he asked, his voice taking on a serious edge.
The two men resumed circling one another, each looking for an opening, an opportunity to knock the other flat on their arse. The air shifted around them at the change in subject.
“I dinnae ken. Laird MacPherson seems to be even more stubborn now than he was a year ago. At least when Broderic was alive, we had a fightin’ chance for peace, even if we had to wait for the old man to die before we had it,” Alexander said, his heart sinking slightly at the mention of their dead friend.
Despite their best efforts, they had not yet been able to discover the truth of Broderic and Ian’s deaths. The blame had solely fallen on Alexander’s shoulders thus far, as he had been the last one to see the two men alive. It didn’t help that Laird MacPherson had branded Alexander a murderer and sabotaged any other alliances he could have made with other lairds. The war the wretch had waged on Clan MacAllister also left their coffers bare.
“Ye ken, we may just have to take matters into our own hands,” Michael remarked as he raised his sword over his head to block Alexander’s swing.
“What do ye propose? Sneak into MacPherson Castle and poison his dinner?” Alexander quipped. “Our grandfaither tried that, and it didnae work out so well for him, did it?”
All it had done, in fact, was escalate the conflict. From that day forward, neither clan had invited the other beyond their gates, fearing another attempt. Any discussion about politics had taken place in neutral towns such as Glencoe, along their borderlands.
“Well, nay, obviously. I’m just sayin’ that with spring in the air, they will become even more problematic. Like a bear wakin’ up from hibernation when the snow melts. Famished and furious,eager to hunt,” Michael prodded as he aimed his sword at Alexander’s torso once more.
Alexander spun to avoid it, easily anticipating the move. “Ye need to learn some new tricks, Braither.Ye’ve become so predictable! And quit tryin’ to distract me.”
He rocked back on his heels and swiftly lifted his sword to his little brother’s neck, causing him to freeze in place.
“If I’m so predictable, how come ye continue to practice with me, eh?” Michael challenged, a mischievous grin on his handsome face.
“Neither yer predictability nor yer yammerin’ helps, ye ken. Perhaps we should practice with ye in a gag from now on?” Alexander snorted, smirking at him. He could never resist the urge to poke some fun at his brother.
His goading worked exactly as intended.
Michael charged, and Alexander sidestepped to the left, catching him by the arm. Twisting it behind his back, he forced him down to his knees. He pressed the cold, sharp edge of his blade to the side of his brother’s neck.
Michael gave a signal of surrender and a chortle.
Alexander dropped his blade from the man’s neck, resting its tip on the ground in front of him. Leaning on it with one hand, he used the other to wipe the sweat from his brow.
