Page 65 of Bewitching her Highland Savior

Taking a few dazed steps back, Liam took a moment to assess his injury. Pain radiated through his skull. Though Macleod had hit him with his left hand, the punch still packed plenty of strength behind it and it left Liam reeling for a few seconds.

It’s fine. I’ve had worse.

Liam shook his head to clear it, and the first thing he saw when he raised his head was Macleod’s smug smirk, one that he instantly wanted to wipe from his face.

“That wasnae verra nice of ye, Laird Macleod,” Liam said. It was a dirty tactic but Liam had been expecting it.

Besides, Macleod wasn’t the only one who could fight dirty. Now that he had shown Liam that he was willing to go that far – he had no problem stooping to his level. It was the only way to deal with criminals and Macleod was nothing more than that.

“I didnae ken that I had to be nice to my opponent,” Macleod said; tone dripping with hatred. “Are we nae here to kill each other?”

Liam couldn’t argue with that nor did he have time before Macleod’s next attack. He didn't give him much time to recover but Liam was cautious now. He wasn't going to let him land another punch like that or pull another dirty trick on him.

Macleod’s next attacks came in bursts, one strike after another that Liam had to parry. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his brow and his breath came in shallow puffs but Macleod was in worse shape. His relentless attacks were tiring him out faster than they could drain Liam’s energy. He could hear it in his ragged breaths – he could see it in the slight trembling of his knees.

Good. Just a wee more noo.

Liam decided it was time to respond with an attack of his own. He swung his sword, not so much with the intent to strike Macleod down but just so he could throw him off balance. Macleod jumped out of Liam's reach in time, but he appeared surprised by the sudden move, as if he hadn't expected him to fight back.

“Did ye think that I was that overwhelmed by yer attacks?” Liam asked with a mocking laugh; eager to rile up Macleod even more. The more enraged he became, the more mistakes he was bound to make, though Liam was also aware that an enraged foe could be extremely dangerous; his rage fueling him on.

Macleod responded not with words, but with his blade; aiming for Liam’s neck. He ducked; heart beating fast at the thought that if he had moved just a few seconds later – Macleod would have had his head, quite literally.

It wasn’t often that his opponents went for the neck, preferring instead to aim for another vital spot that was easier to reach. Liam didn’t know if Macleod’s move was meant to hurt him or just scare him but it had managed to shake him a little.

It’ll take more than this for him to scare me, though.

Liam could see Muriel watching from the corner of his eye, her arms now tightly wrapped around herself. He despised seeing her so terrified, especially after everything she had been through since leaving Edinburgh. He didn't want to cause her any more pain after she'd already been through so much.

Macleod seemed tired already, panting with every step he took, even as he charged at him again and again like a wild animal. His movements were getting slower but no less brutal in their strength. Liam twisted his body, ducking, turning and jumping out of the reach of Macleod’s blade but the moment he saw an opening, he began his own attack. He raised his sword and brought it down with all his might, the clang of iron against iron deafening as their blades collided.

The force was enough to send Macleod to the ground, his back hitting the dirt. Liam was quick to stand over him, the tip of his blade pressing against the man’s neck. It would have been easy to kill him, then. So easy that Liam almost did, his only desire being to put an end to the fight and run to Muriel. But he couldn’t bring himself to kill a man who was already down even if it was within his rights.

“Yield,” he said; more of a demand than a request.

Macleod responded with a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What? Ye dinnae wish to kill me all of a sudden? What changed yer mind?”

“I still want to kill ye,” Liam assured him with a fake smile. “It just doesnae feel right when ye cannae fight back.”

“Pathetic,” Macleod spat. “Ye should kill me while ye have the chance.”

“Dinnae mistake me kindness for weakness,” Liam said; glancing briefly at Laird McNeil who was watching their every move. What would Muriel’s faither do if he let Macleod live? Even if he was the victor, there was no guarantee that Macleod or Laird McNeil would treat him like one.

Perhaps it’s wiser to kill him. I shouldnae have any sympathy for him anyway.

But before he could decide, a leg swept under him, knocking Liam to the ground. He was quick to get back to his feet, but so was Macleod. In fact, Macleod was faster, having already devised a strategy. He struck again and Liam only just managed to twist his body out of the way. Before he could flee, Macleod's blade slashed Liam's left bicep, ripping a growl from him.

Liam took a few steps back, putting some distance between them. The wound stung and he could feel blood dripping down his arm under his sleeve but it didn’t seem too deep. He tested his arm and found that he could still use it, though every movement sent searing pain through it.

He had no choice. He had to grit his teeth and bear it until he could defeat Macleod.

And this time, I’ll kill him. Nae more mercy for this bastard.

Liam took a few deep breaths, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening until his knuckles turned white. He was drenched in sweat by that point, his body hot from the fight and the sun. After a night of being offered nothing to drink, he was parched and his stomach grumbled with hunger, which only served to tire him out faster than he had anticipated.

Macleod's reddened face was twisted with rage, even more so than before. Perhaps his act of mercy had enraged him, he reasoned.

Macleod charged up to him just as Liam took his first step and the two collided in the middle; swords clashing. A gasp echoed through the crowd but he couldn't hear it over his own heartbeat, the rush of blood in his veins dizzying. He pushed Macleod with all his strength but the other man did the same, and their swords shook between them as they tried to overpower each other.

Macleod grunted and growled but Liam kept his breathing steady and gradually drew the laird's sword closer to him. He could almost taste his victory and Macleod's blood — he could almost hear Muriel sigh with relief.

“Liam!”

Liam was startled by the sound of his name being uttered by a familiar voice, as was the glint of a blade near Macleod's throat, a blade that wasn't his own. Ron stood next to them, out of breath and drenched in sweat, as if he'd run and fought his way into the courtyard. Liam had been so preoccupied with Macleod that he hadn't noticed his friend pushing his way through the crowd to stop them.

“Enough,” Ron said. “Let this end here.”