Kieran was surprised at the amount of power that Stone seemed to possess as their swords clashed against each other, over and over. He deflected several heavy hits from Stone, forcing Kieran onto his back foot more than once. Each time their swords locked, the strength with which Stone fought back, pushing his blade against Kieran’s, it surprised Kieran to no end. The man clearly had gained strength from his bitter rage – he was a small, reedy man, not made to be a warrior, but his anger was clearly greater than even Kieran had thought.
He cursed himself for underestimating his opponent.
It could have cost him everything if he had not realized what he was up against in time.
After several more minutes of parrying, thrusts and lunges, all of which fell short on both sides, Kieran noticed that Reginald was beginning to tire. His breathing was becoming more labored, coming in short gasps, as he clutched at a stitch in his side with his left hand. The man was grimacing in pain and exhaustion, but he refused to stop.
He refused to give quarter and walk away with his life.
Reginald started moving backward towards Vivien, forcing Kieran to follow him to maintain the gap between them. He could not afford to let Reginald escape the length of his thrust – he needed to be within striking range if he were to walk away from this with Vivien safely at his side.
Reginald held his sword out in front of him, sneering at Kieran, as he pulled Vivien to her feet, not breaking eye contact. She gasped in pain as he pulled her in front of him again, moving his sword across her body.
Kieran stilled, his blade almost slack in his hand as he trembled in fear. Stone was at a point where he would do anything it took to hurt Vivien and Kieran – whether he died or not did not seem to matter to him.
“You embarrassed me, you heathen,” Reginald screamed at Kieran, squeezing Vivien tightly against him as he held her hostage with his sword, his sheathed dirk at his waist.
“Ye embarrassed yersel’, old man,” Kieran said, trying to sound calm. It would not help Vivien if she could hear the panic in his voice.
He thought frantically, trying to find a way out of this, to find a way that would save her life, if not his own.
Reginald cackled, a cold, terrifying sound. He appeared to be completely demented, his eyes wide, spittle flying from his mouth as he grinned broadly. The only steady thing was his sword arm, crossed over Vivien’s chest.
“It is not my fault the woman is broken,” Reginald sneered. “She is a useless broodmare; I cannot imagine what you want to do with her. After all, you are nothing more than a broken little pony,” he spat into her ear.
“I will nae hear ye speak tae her like that,” Kieran all but growled.
“And what will you do about it?” Reginald laughed hysterically. “You cannot do a thing about it, Laird MacBride. I think that bothers you more than anything else, does it not?”
“There is plenty I can dae, Stone. Ye will not walk away from this, not after all ye have done to her. Yer time has come, old man,” Kieran frowned, watching the way the man weaved and wobbled on his unsteady legs. His love for his wine had clearly gone to his head – and legs – it seemed. Kieran needed patience more than anything else; he would find the opening he needed to take the man down soon enough.
Patience, he screamed at himself, knowing that he had none.
“You made an arse of me,” Reginald replied, ignoring Kieran’s threat, “You made me into a fool – the entirety of London will know before the summer that my wife left me to consort with the likes of you.”
“The likes o’ me, eh?” Kieran raised an eyebrow in mock consternation. The more he aggravated the man, the worse his legs seemed to wobble beneath him.
“Yes, you. You are barely more than a caveman – you offer nothing of use to society. You are nothing, nothing in this world. I am a man of knowledge; I am part of the parliament that runs the Crown’s great nation. And you? What do you do? You steal another man’s wife and attack the Crown while you do so.”
Kieran watched in horror as Reginald lifted his blade to Vivien’s throat, any reply he had died on his lips. Her eyes grew wide in horror and terror as she tried to struggle against Reginald’s grasp around her throat with his other hand.
“Now, no one will ever touch you again, Vivien,” Reginald said, a maniacal look in his eyes, “It is time to end this.”
As Reginald was about to drag his sword’s blade across Vivien’s face, Kieran bolted forward, knowing there was almost nothing he could do to save her, knowing that he would have to watch her die.
Kieran never reached Vivien’s side.
* * *
A flash of light so bright split the night right before Vivien’s eyes. She shielded her eyes from the sharpness of it with her forearm as she felt herself slipping down, her feet losing their purchase on the stones of the ramparts.
The lightning had struck the ramparts between Kieran and Reginald; with a sickening crack, the battlements gave way beneath Reginald’s feet, pulling him inexorably down into the maw of the hole that had formed beneath his feet.
With his grip on Vivien, he began to drag her down with him, his screams of desperation and panic drowning out the wild clap of the thunder surrounding them.
Vivien kicked at Reginald’s hands, where he was grasping around her ankles, trying to save himself. She kicked him hard in the face, feeling the crack of his nose breaking beneath her foot as his hands slipped and he fell.
He fell, down the steep cliff of the battlements, plummeting to his inevitable death on the rocks far below them.
