“Nay,” Arran said, keeping his movements still. One wrong move and it would give the laird a reason to slit her throat, which was something that Arran could not have happen. He could not lose Ainslee when he had just found her. “I married her tae protect her from the likes of ye.”
“It seems ye failed,” the laird called out.
Arran looked around him, seeing his own warriors, tired but alive, standing amongst the dead.
“Nay, McDougal. Seems thatyehave failed.”
McDougal’s smile faltered as he realized he was, in fact, on the losing end of this battle.
“I may have, but I have the one thing that ye want. What will ye give me for her?”
“Run,” Ainslee pleaded, tears streaking her dirtied face. “Please, Arran, just go.”
“Nay, not without ye,” he told her calmly, not letting her see his panic. It was not the time to panic. He had to find a way to release her from her brother’s grasp so that he could end this once and for all.
He looked at McDougal directly, pointing his sword at the laird. “I have warriors now marching tae yer unprotected keep, McDougal. In a matter of hours, I will have yer home.”
His words surprised the other man, and Arran grinned ferociously. It had been the thought of his own brother to attack the keep with a small band of warriors and Uncle Fergus at the helm, knowing that McDougal would bring his force to defeat Arran. He had no doubts about the success of the handpicked warriors they had sent, and soon he would be the laird over both clans.
That was, if he survived. In order to break McDougal completely, he needed to know that he had nothing in his arsenal.
“Ye have nothing left,” Arran continued, attacking the man’s pride. It was the worst thing imaginable, attacking one’s pride, especially when one thought they had it all reined in. That and he had taken any leverage that McDougal had hoped to have. His men were dead or dying; his home was now in the hands of his enemy. The man had nothing left to give.
“Give up now, and I will give ye a proper Scot’s death.”
The man’s eyes grew wild with anger. “Never!” he sneered, tightening his hold on Ainslee.
Arran allowed just the briefest flicker of concern at the sight of Ainslee in McDougal’s embrace. He would love to tear the man limb from limb for even touching his wife, but he had to be patient. He had to make certain that McDougal could never hurt them again.
“Then fight me like the laird ye are. Ye bested me once, McDougal. Show me that ye can do it again, and I swear that mah men will become yers.”
He heard Malcolm’s bark of protest, but fortunately, his brother did not voice any other opinion. Offering up his clan was the only way that Arran knew he could draw the laird into his trap. He had played to the fact that McDougal was a greedy bastard, and the thought of having control over a clan such as his enemy’s was far too much to give up.
The gleam in the laird’s eyes told Arran all he needed to know, and McDougal cast his sister aside, causing her to fall to the ground with a cry. Malcolm was right there beside her, shielding her from any impending attack. Arran let out a slow breath. She was safe for now, and if all hell broke loose, he would have to depend on his brother to get her out alive and away from McDougal.
“Alright, Scot,” McDougal said, palming his sword. “On yer word?”
Arran gave him a sharp nod. “On mah word.” Once a Scot gave his word, it would mean death if he went back on it. A word was ironclad, and there were enough witnesses that would share the word far and wide if needed.
“Arran.”
Arran heard the concern in Cameron’s voice, but he did not take his eyes off his opponent. “Nay, Cameron. If I die, ye will serve McDougal. No man shall interfere with this fight.”
“Aye, mah lord,” Cameron mumbled, withdrawing into the group that was watching the two lairds. The majority of the men left were his own, and while he had the upper hand, it did not mean that he would during this duel. This would be completely between the two lairds, and if anyone interfered, then it would only give the other a reason to force forfeiture.
Arran looked at his wife, who had gotten herself up on her feet with the help of his brother. Her face was frozen in fear for what was happening, and her eyes full of tears, but he gave her a nod of encouragement.
“Take care of her,” he told his brother, keeping the words he longed to say to his wife close to his heart. He would have a chance to say them to her.
He was not going to be bested this time.
“Enough!” McDougal growled. “’Tis time to end this between us, Mcaiwn.”
“Agreed,” Arran replied, rolling his shoulders.
Both lairds started in a slow circle, sizing each other up and looking for their opponent’s weaknesses so they could end this quickly. McDougal was the first one to strike, and Arran easily blocked his sword, the clang loud in his ears.
From there, they started their duel. Arran’s hands vibrated from his sword as he blocked McDougal’s advances, ensuring to give the laird a few of his own movements. The dust billowed up from their footing, but Arran kept his eyes on his opponent.
