Instinctively, Chase raised the weapon he held, just in time to meet the downward blow of Ulfr’s sword. The leaf-shaped weapon felt natural as metal clanged on metal, as if it were an extension of his own arm. The lessons with his father rushed back to him. His vision tunneled on the man in front of him and he twirled, dodging the next attack, blocking from his mind Christiana’s scream and Halldor’s shout as the big man threw himself in front of the healer. Chase pivoted under Ulfr’s strike, slicing upward at the last minute. A thin red line appeared on his opponent’s forearm as he glided past.
Ulfr screamed, backing away, his free hand tightly clenched over the dripping wound.
“Excellent!” Torquil rose from his seat, clapping his hands in appreciation. “Expertly done, indeed. You wield that weapon as if you were born to it, O’Donar. The sword you hold is meant to be used, no to decorate a wall. It’s yers to keep, and the sheath, as well. As to a horse, take yer pick of any from my stables. Satisfactory?”
Chase’s heart pounded in his ears from the adrenaline pumping through his system. It had been a long time since he’d felt the rush that accompanied hand-to-hand combat.
“Satisfactory!” Halldor boomed.
“Noble,” Chase corrected quietly, turning to face the MacDowylt laird. This part of their charade had come to an end. Dishonesty didn’t sit well on his shoulders. He didn’t like pretending to be something or someone he wasn’t. He never had.
“What did you say?” Torquil stared at him, his lack of expression concealing his thoughts.
“My name is Noble, not O’Donar. Chase Noble.”
“My brother speaks truly. We do not share the same father,” Halldor interrupted with a shrug before throwing an arm around Chase’s shoulders to usher him from the room. “Why else would I have had to come all the way to Scotland looking for this one, eh?”
Chase considered refusing the offer of the weapon, but only for a moment. Torquil was correct. The sword was never intended to be a decoration gathering dust on a wall. It was meant for the hand of a warrior, and it fit his as if they had been made for each other.
He pulled away from Halldor’s grip and turned to face Torquil, lifting the sword in salute.
“My thanks, Laird MacDowylt. I pledge to use this weapon to the best of my ability.”
“If you use it half so well in yer service to me as you did a moment ago, I’ll consider it a gift well given.”
Chase dipped his head one last time and walked out of the room.
He’d pledged to use the weapon to the best ofhis ability. But he wasn’t yet completely sure that would mean using it in the service of Torquil MacDowylt.
IT COULD BEeither one of them.
Torquil stared after the departing men, frustrated by his inability to read which of them carried the fate of his destiny on their shoulders.
“I asked for a moment with you, my laird, because I have need of—”
“Silence!” He held up a hand to stop Christiana from speaking. His interest was not in whatsheneeded but in whatheneeded, a fact she so often failed to remember. “It’s one of them, isn’t it?”
A flare of irritation sparked in her eyes when they met his. Irritation and...was that defiance he saw there? Foolish girl. She had neither the ability to lie to him nor the intelligence necessary to trick him. For his part, he had neither the time nor the patience to indulge her in playing her usual word games.
“I want a straight answer. Is one of them the man you saw in your Vision? Yes or no, little sister. Don’t parse your words with me. I’m in no mood for it.”
Her lips straightened to a thin, hard line. “Yes.”
Good. Progress at last. Though it was like pulling nettles from the skin one by one to get the information he wanted from her.
“Which of them? Is it the elder brother, Halldor?”
That one certainly appeared the logical choice. It was he, after all, who’d rushed to escort her into the room; he who’d thrown himself in front of her like a shield when the swordplay had begun.
“I cannot with any certainty say it is he.”
The muscles in her jaw worked as if she tried to prevent herself from giving the answers he wanted. Pathetic Tinkler spawn. Had she any sense at all, she would have accepted her place—and her fate—long ago.
“But it is definitely one of them.” He stated the obvious, seeking her confirmation. “Is it no?”
“It is.” She bit off the words as if in an attempt to hold them back.
Leaving him with the challenge of determining which of the men he needed and what role that man would play. Torquil could think of only one way to accomplish the task quickly.
