“I say the MacDonalds of Sleat refuse to join us because they are poor fighters.” The man paused, then added, “Or else they are just cowards.”
“That’s it,” Duncan said, as he unsheathed his claymore. “Who’s first?”
“I’ll fight ye,” the same fool said, and stepped forward to meet Duncan.
“Who’s next?” Alex whipped out his sword—he couldn’t let Duncan defend the honor of the clan alone. “How about you with the ugly face?”
As Alex fought the MacLeod warrior, he watched the other fight out of the corner of his eye. Duncan fought with his usual cool control. His opponent was red-faced and cursing as he fell back, again and again, under the pounding assault of Duncan’s claymore. In no time, the man was flat on his back with Duncan’s foot on his chest and the point of Duncan’s sword just beneath his weedy beard.
After Alex and Duncan defeated three or four opponents each, tempers cooled, and the other men resumed their practice as if nothing had occurred.
“That felt good,” Alex said, as he and Duncan rested against the castle wall. They watched the others, commenting in low voices on their skill or lack of it.
But then Alex’s attention was caught by a woman who came out of the castle gate. She made an abrupt turn and walked toward them at a furious pace with her head down.
“Is that Glynis MacNeil?” Duncan asked.
“Aye. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” There were other women at the gathering, but they had the sense to stay inside the keep or stick close to their men.
Alex caught her arm as she charged past him.
“Ye can’t go—” The words dried in his mouth. He’d forgotten what an impact her face had on him. He tried telling himself that she wasn’t any more beautiful than a hundred women he knew—but there was something about her that stole his thoughts away.
Glynis was staring right back at him with her luminous gray eyes. Though he knew it was a mistake, he let his gaze drop to her mouth. Her lips were parted. The memory of that kiss on the beach sang through his body, bringing everything to full attention.
Alex gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t let that happen again.
“You look upset,” Alex said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But then she glanced back toward the gate, and the color drained from her face.
A heavily muscled warrior with a full black beard and black eyes to match had just come into the field. He had his claymore strapped to his back and looked as if he meant to join the practice. But when his gaze fell on Glynis, he stopped in place. The tension running between the two of them was as palpable as a taut rope holding a sail in a storm.
“Who is he?” Alex asked.
“The chieftain of Clanranald,” she said so low he could barely hear her. “Magnus, my former husband.”
“He looks as if he harbors a grudge against ye,” Alex said.
“He would have preferred I left our marriage for the grave.”
“You!” Magnus roared, as he pulled his claymore from his back.
“Take her.” Alex shoved Glynis toward Duncan and positioned himself a few paces in front of them, his stance wide and his sword ready.
“Watch yourself,” Duncan said in a low voice behind him. “This one knows how to fight.”
The Clanranald chieftain raised his claymore over his head and roared again as he ran headlong toward them. The blow was so strong that Alex felt the vibration to his feet.
“Ye forget you’re a guest here,” Alex grunted between their next exchange of blows.
The man’s eyes were wild with rage, and he swung his sword with the force of a boulder crashing down a cliff. For a man so heavy with muscle, he was quick, too. It took all of Alex’s skill and strength to force him toward the middle of the field. When Alex had him well away from the wall, he risked a glance to be sure Duncan had gotten Glynis inside the castle gate.
Diverting his attention for even a moment was a mistake. Alex had to drop to the ground to avoid the Clanranald chieftain’s next swing. He felt the wind of the blade in his hair. Before he could get to his feet, his opponent brought his sword straight down with a loud grunt. Alex rolled out of the way just before the blade thudded to the ground.
This was no practice fight—the Clanranald chieftain was trying to kill him.
The two of them crossed swords up and down the yard. Alex spun around and hit Magnus’s back so hard with the flat of his sword that he nearly knocked the chieftain off his feet. When a cheer went up, Alex became aware that a crowd had gathered to watch them.
But Alex wasn’t putting on a show this time. He was fighting for his life.
Sweat poured down his back as he alternately blocked Magnus’s sword and swung his own. At last, he sensed his opponent tiring. They leaned into each other, swords crossed, and faces inches apart.
“Only a weak man would let a lass upset him so much,” Alex taunted him.
“She doesn’t upset me,” Magnus hissed, his black eyes bulging with fury.
When they broke apart, Magnus came at him hard, but his swings were less controlled. Alex spun and danced around him, swinging again and again, wearing him down.
“I hear she cut your ballocks off,” Alex said just loud enough for Magnus to hear him, “and left ye less than a
