“Ye think ye can end this, lad?” Chester taunted, his voice cutting through the storm. “Think ye have the strength to best me? I’ve fought more men than ye have.”
Alexander didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his focus unwavering. The forest around them felt alive with tension—the rustling leaves, the snapping branches beneath their feet, the faint bubble of the river somewhere in the distance. All of it blurred into the background as he advanced.
He swung first, his blade slicing through the rain. Chester parried with a sharp blow, the force of the impact reverberating up Alexander’s arm. The older man countered with a quick thrust, but Alexander twisted away, his boots skidding across the muddy ground.
“Ye’ve some strength in ye,” Chester said, laughing as he pressed forward. “But strength alone doesnae win a fight.”
Alexander gritted his teeth, blocking the man’s next strike and shoving him back. “We’ll see,” he growled, his voice low and steady.
The clash of steel echoed through the trees as their swords met again and again. Chester was fast for his age, his movements calculated and precise, while Alexander relied on sheer power and grit to match him. Their blades slid against each other, sparks flying as they pushed closer, their faces inches apart.
“Ye dinnae ken what ye’re doin’, takin’ me daughter,” Chester hissed, his breath hot against Alexander’s face. “She’s nay more than a bairn, too soft to survive yer life.”
Alexander shoved him back with a grunt, his muscles straining. “She’s stronger than ye’ll ever ken,” he declared, his voice rising with anger. “And she’s mine now. She made her choice.”
Chester’s laugh was sharp and bitter as he lunged again, their swords meeting with a deafening clang. The impact sent vibrations through Alexander’s arms, but he held firm, driving Chester back a step.
Behind them, Alexander could hear Helena’s voice, frantic and trembling.
“Alexander, stop!” she cried, her figure barely visible through the trees. “Please, dinnae let him drag ye down to his level!”
“Helena, stay back!” Alexander shouted over his shoulder, his voice firm but laced with worry. He couldn’t afford distractions, not now.
Michael’s voice followed, strained but determined. “Helena, ye’ve got to stay put! Let Alexander handle this!”
But Helena’s silhouette lingered in the distance, and Alexander’s heart clenched. He couldn’t let Chester’s poison seep any further into her life. This had to end.
With a roar, Chester swung wide, forcing Alexander to duck and counter with a heavy blow aimed at the older man’s side. Chester deflected it, his blade twisting toward Alexander’s arm, but Alexander stepped back just in time, the tip of the sword grazing his tunic.
Alexander steadied himself, wiping rain from his eyes. He couldn’t let Chester distract him. All he could think of was Helena—her voice, her face, her fierce spirit. She was the reason he fought, the reason he endured.
Chester swung hard, his blade slicing through the air toward Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander dodged, his sword coming up in a powerful arc that nearly caught Chester’s arm.
The older man growled, stepping back just in time.
“Nae bad,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. “But nae good enough.”
The fight carried them deeper into the woods, their boots crunching over fallen branches and leaves. The terrain grew rougher, the ground sloping downward toward the river. The sound of rushing water grew louder, mingling with the clang of steel and the ragged breaths of both men.
Helena followed at a distance, her skirts catching in brambles and her voice echoing through the trees.
“Alexander, dinnae let him do this to ye!” she pleaded desperately.
Chester smirked as he glanced over his shoulder. “Hear that? The lass is scared. Maybe she finally realizes she’s made a mistake.”
Alexander’s anger flared, and he surged forward, his blade clashing with Chester’s with a force that made the older man stagger. Chester recovered quickly, jabbing his sword toward Alexander’s chest, but Alexander sidestepped, using his body weight to ram Chester into a nearby tree.
The impact knocked the air out of Chester’s lungs, but he retaliated with a swift punch to Alexander’s side. Alexander grunted in pain, his ribs aching, but he didn’t relent.
With a burst of strength, he shoved Chester down a small hill. The older man tumbled through the wet grass toward the riverbank. He landed hard, but he was quick to scramble to his feet, his sword still in hand.
Alexander followed, his boots sinking into the muddy ground as he approached. The tall grass swayed in the wind, the river rushing just a few paces away.
Chester’s face was flushed, his breath coming in harsh gasps. But he still managed a cruel laugh, raising his sword again.
“Even if ye kill me,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain, “it willnae matter. Me men will hunt ye down, and they’ll destroy everythin’ ye’ve built. Ye’ll never have peace, MacAllister. And that lass ye’re so fond of? She’s nay better than a traitor to her people.”
Alexander’s chest heaved as he stared at the man before him. His sword was raised, ready to strike, but he hesitated. Chester’s words stung, not because they were true but because of the hatred they carried.
