Chester sneered, raising his sword once more. “Try it, MacAllister. Let’s see if ye’ve got the spine for it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The rain fell harder now, mingling with the mud and blood on the ground as Helena sat frozen, her hands trembling in her lap. She could barely see through the veil of tears clouding her vision. Every clash of steel, every grunt of pain from Alexander or her father, felt like a dagger to her chest.
“Helena.” Michael’s voice was soft but firm as he knelt beside her, his arm wrapping protectively around her shoulders. “Dinnae watch if it pains ye. Look away, lass.”
But she couldn’t. How could she look away when Alexander fought not just for himself, but for her? For the truth?
Her doe eyes, wide and brimming with anguish, stayed fixed on the battle before her. Alexander’s sword swung in a sharp arc toward Chester’s chest, but her father dodged at the last moment, his injured leg slowing him just enough to stumble. He retaliated with a desperate swing of his own, and she cried out when she saw the blade cut into Alexander’s shoulder.
“Nay!” she screamed, her voice hoarse.
Chester let out a dark, guttural laugh, his face twisted with cruel satisfaction. He turned his head toward her, rain dripping from his brow. “It’ll be over soon, lass,” he sneered. “Yer next husband will be the key to it all. Power. Money. Enough to crush the Gordons for good. Ye should thank me.”
Helena balled her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as her entire body trembled. “Thank ye?” she spat, her voice rising. “Ye expect me to thank ye for murderin’ me braither—yer son? For killin’ me cousin—yer nephew? And for blamin’ it all on the Gordons? Ye’re nothin’ but a coward, a monster!”
Chester’s sneer deepened, but her words seemed to rattle him.
“Watch yer tongue, girl,” he barked, though his voice wavered. “I did what I had to do for the clan.”
“For the clan?” Helena choked out, her tears falling freely. “Ye did it for yerself. Yer greed. Yer pride. Ye sacrificed our family—our blood—for yer cursed power. And now ye want to destroy Alexander, to destroy me, too?”
Chester didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his attention back to Alexander, who had steadied himself, his sword raised despite the blood soaking his shirt. The two men circled each other again, their movements slower, more labored.
“Michael,” Helena whispered, her voice shaking. “Please, stop this. They’ll kill each other.”
Michael’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he shook his head. “Alexander made it clear, lass. He wants to end this himself. It’s his fight.”
Before she could protest, the sound of heavy footsteps drew her attention. She turned her head and froze as four men emerged from the trees, their soaked cloaks clinging to their broad shoulders. James was among them, his face grim as he strode toward the brawl.
“James,” Helena called, her voice cracking with relief.
James made to step forward, his hand on his sword, but Michael stopped him with a raised hand. “Nay,” he said firmly. “Alexander’s orders.”
James hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Ye’d let him die?”
Michael’s expression was unyielding. “Ye ken as well as I do that he’d never forgive us if we stepped in. He’ll finish it.”
Helena’s gaze shifted to the other three men. Her breath hitched when she recognized the largest among them. His face was weathered, his eyes dark with grief and anger. He had been Ian’s closest companion, loyal to him, and now, by extension, he was loyal to her.
He met her gaze, and without a word, she nodded. She saw the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he turned his attention back to the fight. He and his men wouldn’t harm them—a small comfort in all the chaos.
Alexander and Chester had lost their swords now, their weapons cast aside in the mud as they grappled like animals. Fists flew, each strike accompanied by guttural grunts and snarls. Chester’s age showed in his sluggish movements, but his rage burned bright. Alexander, though younger and stronger, was bleeding heavily, his exhaustion evident in the way he staggered with each blow.
Helena couldn’t tear her eyes away, even as her stomach twisted with dread. She watched as Alexander managed to shove Chester back, rolling away to retrieve his sword from the mud. Chester did the same, his breathing ragged as he forced himself to his feet.
The sound of the rushing river grew louder in her ears, and she shivered from the cold rain and dampness.
“Alexander, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the storm. “End this.”
As if hearing her plea, Alexander straightened, his grip tightening on his sword. Chester lunged forward with a feral cry, his blade aimed at Alexander’s chest. But he missed, his sword slicing through empty air as Alexander sidestepped at the last moment.
In one fluid motion, Alexander drove his blade forward, the steel piercing through Chester’s side. Chester’s scream echoed through the forest, raw and filled with pain. But before Alexander could move away, the slick ground beneath them gave way. Both men toppled over, their feet slipping in the mud as they fell toward the rushing river.
“Alexander!” Helena screamed as she scrambled to her feet, slipping in the mud.
She sprinted toward them, but it was too late. Both men disappeared over the edge, swallowed by the rising rapids. The sound of the water crashing against the rocks drowned out everything else, leaving her standing frozen, her heart pounding in her chest.
