“Sign them.”
Aaron clenched his jaw.
He straightened, reaching for the inkwell to uncork it. He tilted it once. Only slightly. Then he drew his brows together and corked it again, placing it on the desk.
“The ink has dried.”
MacFaris clicked his tongue impatiently. “Must ye make this difficult?”
Aaron did not blink. “I cannae sign if the ink is dry.”
MacFaris’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The old bastard is suspicious.
As much as it satisfied Aaron to watch him fall into his trap, he did not let it show.
“Hopeless,” MacFaris said as he reached beneath his cloak to pull out a small leather writing case, his other hand still holding the knife against Edith's throat.
Aaron’s pulse quickened.
MacFaris shifted, moving to place the case on the desk. He was still holding the knife, but he had stepped away from Edith, and from the look on his face, he had not realized it yet.
“Now sign,” he said.
Aaron opened the case. Inside rested a stoppered inkwell and a neatly trimmed quill. He uncorked the inkpot, dipped the quill, then paused.
MacFaris frowned. “What now?”
Aaron glanced at the deed. “Ye daenae need to watch me sign,” he said, meeting his gaze calmly. “Unless ye believe I will somehow keep half me lands to meself.”
Take the bait.
MacFaris hesitated, but his greed won quickly. He stepped closer, close enough that Aaron could smell stale ale on his breath. “Write.”
Aaron lowered the quill. Its tip hovered above the deed. Then he stopped again, sending MacFaris over the edge.
“What are ye?—”
Aaron wrapped his hand around the inkwell and hurled it, the glass hitting MacFaris squarely in the face. Fresh black ink spilled over his eyes, and he roared.
“Me eyes!”
He staggered backward, clawing wildly at his face. The knife disappeared beneath the flood of ink as he stumbled blindly into the edge of the desk.
Aaron moved then.
He crossed the room faster than he had ever moved in his life, every ounce of fury and terror he had been holding back finally finding its release. MacFaris, now half-blind, twisted toward him with surprising speed for a man his age, drawing another blade from his belt.
He slashed wildly into the air, and Aaron caught his wrist, pushing him with a force that sent both men staggering backward. The desk overturned beneath their weight, wood splintering loudly beneath them.
Age had not robbed MacFaris of his strength. He fought hard, twisting viciously as he tried to wrench his knife free while driving his shoulder into Aaron’s chest.
Aaron answered with a hard blow to the ribs, and MacFaris grunted, his elbow slamming into Aaron’s jaw.
MacFaris tore free, still half-blind, lashing out with desperate fury.
“Stay down,” Aaron growled as the man approached Edith, and she rocked violently against the chair.
