McDougal was also the first to draw blood, Arran’s forearm catching the brunt of the sharp sword as it was brought down hard. Blood did not matter. This was a fight to the death.
He succeeded in drawing his own blood moments later, his sword slashing McDougal’s cheek as he failed to block Arran’s strike fully. Arran came around and hit him with his fist; the laird stumbled back, spitting into the dirt. His eyes sparked with anger as he came at Arran with a volley of moves that had him backing up into the clearing, his wrist aching from the twists to block the sword strikes.
With a cry, Arran caught McDougal behind the knee. The laird went down on the ground, losing his grip on his sword. Arran advanced on him as McDougal attempted to scramble away but soon found himself pressed against a tree.
“Ye tried tae kill mah wife twice,” Arran growled as he held his sword at McDougal’s neck, perilously close to his skin. “I should kill ye just for that.”
To his surprise, McDougal chuckled. “Seems I cannae get her tae die.”
Arran pressed the point of his sword into his skin. “The same wilnae be said of ye, McDougal.”
The laird continued to grin, though Arran could see the resignation in his eyes about what was going to happen. It was a fight to the death, and neither he nor Ainslee would have any peace if he let McDougal live.
“Wait!”
Arran heard Ainslee’s voice tear through the quiet clearing, his entire body tightening with both fear for her and anxiety at what she was going to say.
“Nay,” she said breathlessly, grasping his arm. “Dinnae kill him.”
Arran looked over at his wife, keeping his sword aimed at his opponent’s neck. “He tried tae kill ye, lass. More than once. He’s killed innocent lives, bairns. He deserves tae die.” He had seen the proof of the brutality with his own eyes.
“I agree with ye,” she said, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “but there has been enough killing, Arran. Let him rot away in the dungeon, but please, let’s just leave this place and go home.”
20
She was tired of the killing.
Ainslee gripped her husband’s arm tightly, the one that was holding the sword against her brother’s throat. It would have been easy to watch Arran end Liam’s life, to free her of his cruelty and give them peace knowing he was in the ground.
But she couldn’t. No matter how much she tried to hate him, tried to turn her back on the man who had attempted to kill her, she couldn’t let him die.
“Ainslee,” Arran growled, his muscles flexing under her touch. “Lass.”
She could see the indecision in his eyes, but also the anger that her brother had brought him and his clan. Arran had just as much of a reason than she did to want to kill Liam.
“Let’s go home, Husband. Let yer clan decide what tae do with him,” she said softly, begging him not to do this. She cared not about her brother or his suffering. But she did care about what killing him would solve. They didn’t need the blood of Liam McDougal on their hands for the rest of their days.
“Are ye gonna listen tae a woman?” McDougal jeered, his mouth twisted in a mock smile.
Ainslee waited with bated breath as Arran glared at her brother, his hand shaking with effort to keep the sword still and not run it through her brother.
Finally, he lowered the sword. “Aye,” he said softly, sheathing the blade at his back. “’Tis the clan that should decide yer fate. Do ye yield, McDougal?”
“Nay.”
Arran sighed. He was not surprised that the laird wasn’t going to give up so easily, but he was finished.
This was finished.
“Then the clan shall judge ye.”
Liam looked surprised that he was not going to die by Arran’s hand, but Ainslee did not speak to him, tugging on Arran’s arm to pull him away.
The other Mcaiwn warriors stepped in to subdue the laird as they stepped away, and Ainslee sobbed as she threw herself into Arran’s arms. “I thought I would never see ye again!”
His arms came around her, and he pressed his face into her hair, allowing himself a moment of weakness now that the threat was over with. She knew she had given him a scare unlike any other, and she detested the fact that she had put him through that. When the shoe had been on the other foot, she had not liked how she had felt inside.
“Why did ye leave? He could have killed ye, Ainslee.”
