Gretna froze. He couldn’t mean that he would go to war with her clan because she wouldn’t wed him. He must have felt her pause for James looked at her, his eyes wild.
“Ye know wot will happen if ye leave mah, lass.”
Gretna’s eyes flew back to Remy and his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t know what she knew. He didn’t know that she had a secret that would make James let her go.
“Remy,” she started, wanting to let him know that she had a plan.
“Release her,” Remy said instead. “And fight mah for her.”
James chuckled, his grip tightening on her. “Nay, I donna need tae fight ye at all. Gretna consented tae be mah wife. There is nothing left for us tae say tae ye.”
There were murmurs around them and James’ chuckle died in his throat, a look of anger coming across his face as he realized that the clan was talking about his refusal to fight.
“Yer da would fight,” Gretna said softly, desperately trying to find something to get him to release her. “They expect ye tae do the same.”
With a growl, James thrust her aside, one of her guards catching her before she fell onto the steps. “Fine,” he called out, glancing back at his father, who remained impassive at the top of the stairs. “Let mah send this Wallace back tae where he belongs!”
19
Remy rolled his shoulders and waited for the laird’s son to charge him, primed for a fight. He detested that James had even thought to touch Gretna like he had, the claim that she was his sent a spurt of jealousy through Remy’s veins. He wasn’t leaving without her, unwed and unharmed. “Ye talk a big talk,” Remy taunted with a smirk. “Come and show mah wot ye can do.”
The younger Scot leaped off the stone stairs and straight at Remy, aiming for his midsection. Remy easily deflected him, sending him sprawling into the dirt of the courtyard, causing some of the crowd that had gathered to laugh at their future laird.
Remy easily spun on his heel and faced James, who was getting up from the ground, dust covering his fine tunic. His face was mottled with anger and Remy held his fists up, waiting for the next move. While he didn’t wish to hurt James, he knew that they were bound to come to blows, considering that Remy wasn’t going to leave without Gretna.
James grinned and went after Remy in a flurry of fists, landing one on Remy’s jaw. His teeth rattled as pain exploded against his mouth, the taste of blood coating his tongue, butRemy didn’t stop. Hand-to-hand fighting didn’t bother him. His men fought as such nearly every week.
“Come now,” Remy taunted. “Tis all ye have?”
James’ expression grew cold and he found his stance, holding up his fists. Remy nodded and they came at each other, blocking each other’s movements with careful precision. Though the young laird’s son seemed to have some training in fighting, he was no match for Remy, who had years of honing his practice. He barely heard the cheers from the crowd for their future laird, keeping him at bay by spinning around and putting some distance between them. His fist exploded against James’ cheek and the young man stumbled back, catching himself before he fell. The look on his face was murderous and Remy could understand why. He was embarrassed before his father and his clan. “Stop now,” Remy cautioned him. “And ye can fight another day.”
“Never” James spat, bringing up his fists once more. “Ye willna make mah yield.”
Remy snuck in a glance at Gretna, seeing her pale face and wide eyes, knowing that there was more than his pride on the line. If he didn’t win, they weren’t going to get out of here alive.
He was able to block James’ fist before it landed another punch to his gut, grabbing it hard with his own hand and pushing him away, putting distance between them. “Ye aren’t going tae win this fight, Wallace!” James yelled, spitting into the dirt. “Ye are on McCellan land!”
“Aye, I might be on yer land,” Remy replied evenly, watching for the Scot’s next move. “But tis still Scottish soil nevertheless.” It was where he was born and would someday be buried when his life ceased to exist. His blood had been spilled time and time again and today was no different.
James let out a yell and charged at Remy once more, bringing them both to the ground this time. The air momentarily leftRemy’s lungs as he hit the dirt, his head snapping against the hard ground and causing his vision to go dark for a moment. James was on top of him, but Remy had the upper hand in size and weight, easily shifting his weight and throwing James off him and into the dirt. A scant second later, Remy was on his feet once more, watching as James scrambled to his. The glint of a dagger appeared in the Scot’s hand and Remy swore inwardly, knowing that taking down James was going to be just a little harder. The dagger didn’t worry him so much. He would just have to be cautious of the sharp blade.
He heard the gasps around him and while it would be easy for Remy to pull out his own dagger and end the fight, he wanted to prove to James that he didn’t need to fight with a weapon.
He was a weapon.
“Och, now wot are ye going tae do?” James taunted, moving the dagger between his hands. “Yer hands are worthless against the strong steel of a blade!”
“Perhaps,” Remy drawled with a hint of a smile. “But I could beat ye without one in mah hands.”
James’ smile slipped and his face mottled with anger, which Remy quickly realized would be the younger Scot’s downfall. He was letting anger get the best of him and his actions would no longer be ruled by common sense.
This was the first notion Remy taught his guards. A clear mind made for clearer decisions. James charged with the dagger and Remy lowered himself to the ground, sweeping the man’s legs from under him and causing him to fall to the ground in a cloud of dirt and dust. Remy was on James in an instant, forcing the man’s hand that still had somehow held onto the dagger to his own throat, seeing the spark of fear in his eyes.
“Do ye yield?” Remy asked softly as James tried to fight against his hold.
“N- nay,” James blurted out, sweat dotting his forehead. “Kill mah now!”
Remy swallowed, not wanting to end the other Scot’s life. This was no reason to gut the man, even if he had put his hands on Gretna and threatened her in a way that had her frightened. A lesser man would push the blade into the flesh of his throat and not think of it again, but Remy found himself unable to do so.
