Page 22 of Edge of Yesterday

Valdar’s eyes narrowed. “Are you the Mackay craven that killed Lady Elizabeth?”

Cailean glanced at the woman. “I did not touch your Ross whore.” The word ‘whore’ stuck in his throat.

Valdar lunged. Cailean sidestepped and Valdar spun, meeting Cailean’s sword with a ferocity that nearly caused Cailean to lose his grip. They hadn’t practiced like this during rehearsal. So Val wanted to play rough. Cailean smiled. About time.

“Back, lads,” he ordered his men. “This cur is mine.”

Cailean jabbed as they’d practiced. Val swung his blade downward and the momentum forced Cailean’s sword into an arc. Cailean fell back, and Valdar advanced. Left, right, a hard swing to the left that nicked the leather armband Cailean wore. Damn, the man knew how to use a sword. Cailean suddenly understood why he had been awarded this part. He’d not just been the best jouster or swordsman to win the most trophies, but no one else could’ve stood against Val.

Not believably, anyway.

Cailean wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. No wonder the great man chaired the committee. He might have some years on most of them, but he was a demon with a blade. Cailean fought the urge to grin. These people took their reenacting seriously. Cailean slipped on something, jumped back and spared a glance to the floor. A tiny puddle of fake blood.

As planned during their practice, Valdar drove Cailean back toward where the door would have been. Cailean’s men edged closer when Valdar jabbed at his belly and sliced open his shirt. Cailean glanced down, then jerked his gaze back to Valdar. It had been years since Cailean had sparred with anyone of Val’s skill. Damn, but he was glad for his years of practice.

“Bastard!” Valdar shouted as rehearsed, and leapt toward Cailean.

Valdar swung his sword in a mighty arc and caught Cailean’s blade at the hilt. Cailean shoved him back and Valdar slid on the blood. His blade flew from his hand and skidded across the floor. He roared and yanked a knife from a sheath strapped to his belt. Cailean recognized the wicked dagger Val had used during the sacrifice to the Blood Stone. This hadn’t been part of their rehearsal. But then, neither had they practiced slipping on fake blood. Valdar circled him, then lunged and slashed.

The room spun, the candlelight a circular blur of light. Cailean snapped from the stupor as Valdar dove for his sword, snatched it up as he tucked and rolled to his feet. He rammed the dirk into its sheath and jabbed at the nearest actor to Cailean’s right. A roar went up amongst the spectators when he broke through the men and raced out the imaginary door.

Cailean whirled, slammed his sword back into its scabbard, then caught sight of the thin line of blood on his left wrist. Bloody hell, Valdar had nicked him and Cailean hadn’t even felt it. That dagger was sharp as hell. Another war story to tell when he returned home.

Cailean shot after him, the other men on his heels. They turned south, toward the outskirts of the village. Spectators in the lower bleachers leapt to their feet and followed. Those lining the lane urged Valdar to run faster. With his cloak whipping in the wind and long hair streaming behind him, Valdar looked like a gothic hero. Cailean caught snatches of obscenities hurled at him and his men for chasing the love stricken warrior. He pumped his legs faster.

Cailean figured that before Valdar reached his horse, he first would give the paragon a small taste of his own steel. Turnabout was fair play and the crowd would love the extra drama. Cailean allowed Valdar to stay ahead of them, but when the last torch came into view up ahead, Cailean picked up speed.

The other men kept pace, and one said in a whisper, “Hey, mate, what are you doing? You’re supposed to let him get away.”

“Adding drama.” Cailean kicked into high gear.

Valdar glanced over his shoulder, then faced forward and ran faster.

Now this was a chase.

Cailean had the fleeting thought that he might be screwing himself out of a role at the next fourth-year festival. Then dismissed the thought when the spectators cheered louder. Val would thank him for making the show better. Valdar, on the other hand, would curse him.

Valdar shot past the last torch and the other men fell back as Cailean gained on him. Cailean drew his sword. Valdar skidded to a halt. Cailean shot past him then whipped around just in time to yank his sword up and block the downward swing of his sword. Steel rang on steel in the sudden silence and the jar to Cailean’s arm traveled clear to his shoulder.

If he hadn’t known better, he would say that Val intended that blow to crack open his skull. Valdar’s parries softened. Triumph clanged with each blow, but Cailean felt the immediate difference between the attack he’d just experienced and this swordplay clearly intended for show.

Valdar drove him back into the rising gloom and Cailean realized that he was following the script by the two of them disappearing into the mist. Valdar continued the light parrying well out of the torch-lit area. Cailean’s adrenalin still fired his blood, so he’d go along with the plan—with enthusiasm. They’d discussed every move in detail. Though Val had jokingly informed everyone that, at times, a bit of improvisation would be needed. In the main arena, everything was well choreographed. Once they left the audience at the cottage, they would make sure the sword fighting would clang loud enough to be heard by the audience, and would slowly fade as they continued along the path. Then after a few moment’s silence, they would return to the audience and take a well-deserved bow.

Valdar continued the light swordplay. They had left the crowd behind and, per script, the men playing Cailean’s warriors had splintered off, headed for other reenactments.

To Cailean’s right, the town lights flickered through the trees. “How much longer do you plan to keep this up?”

“Long as need be.” Valdar lunged.

Caileanblocked the blow aimed at his thigh. That was a bit more than swordplay.

“You are very good,” Valdar said.

Cailean laughed. “You’re no’ so bad yourself.”

Valdar advanced. Cailean retreated, allowing his opponent the luxury of easy dueling. His arm ached, but only a little, and he likely wouldn’t have the opportunity for testing his skill against such a good swordsman until, well, the next festival rolled around. If Val invited him back.

“I hope I didn’t offend you by chasing you down in front of the crowd.” Cailean leapt aside, avoiding his downward slashing blade. “You drew a little blood back there.” He circled Valdar, trying to keep a good footing on the damp, mossy ground. “I usually save blood giving for the Red Cross.” He parried around Valdar’s vicious swings. “I thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine.”