The situation was turning dark.
“It is not your right to kill my son,” he said, lowering his voice. “Stop being so ridiculous and understand the situation for what it is – there is no slander against your daughter. She loves Troy and he loves her. They demonstrated that love. May I remind you that you demonstrated your love to your children’s mother, many times, that resulted in your eldest child’s conception before you were married, only Caladora didn’t have an enraged father to defend her honor.”
Cracks were appearing in Paris’ stance. “That is completely different.”
“It is not.”
“Caladora was not fifteen years old!”
“Even so, you were the feral cat that you accuse my son of being, as you’ve been a feral cat your entire life,” William snapped back. “They say that it takes one to know one, and having known you since you were a child, I have seen your collection of deflowered women, so your anger against Troy is not only ridiculous, it is offensive. You were exactly what you accuse him of being, Paris.”
Paris stiffened. “That may be,” he said. “But those days are gone. I have daughters to protect – three of them. Your son violated my trust when he bedded my daughter.”
William could see that Paris wasn’t going to relent so easily. The man was angry, and incensed, and his argument kept moving from one reason to the next. William just looked at his friend, realizing that no matter what he said, Paris was going to find an excuse to punish Troy. He felt the de Norville family honor was at stake somehow.
Perhaps that was really what this was all about.
William finally looked away.
“You want to punish my son?” he said. “Then punish him. Do what you will. But whoever draws the first blood is the winner and when you leave, in whatever condition you happen to leave in, you will never return here. Ever.”
Paris’ brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
William looked at him, angrily. “You are forcing me to take sides,” he said. “Very well; I shall take a side. I shall take Troy’s side and anyone who tries to harm my son is my enemy. Even you, Paris. So, if this foolish surge of manly honor is worth the risk, then go ahead and fight my son. But if you do, it will be the last time I ever speak to you.”
With that, he turned away, heading back to where Troy and Kieran were standing. But as William drew near, he saw two more heavily armed knights emerging from the keep. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at Scott and Patrick, armed to the teeth as they prepared to defend their brother.
William was so angry at Paris that he was going to let them.
“First blood drawn is the winner,” he told Troy and Kieran as he walked past them. “Troy, if Paris de Norville lifts his sword to you, you have my permission to defend yourself. But if he insists on fighting you, then he is dead to me. I think you should know that.”
As William continued towards the keep, Troy and Kieran passed concerned glances. Troy looked positively shocked. Kieran finally held up a hand to Troy, silently asking him to remain where he was as he went to speak to Paris.
Paris was in the process of picking his helm off the ground, grunting unhappily when he realized he had scratched it up by throwing it into the dirt. When the man saw Kieran coming, he looked away quickly, trying to ignore him as he put on the helm.
“Save your breath,” he told Kieran. “I have nothing more to say.”
Kieran came to a halt. “Maybe you do not, but I do,” he said. “I was told about the situation with Troy and Helene. I take it you have come to avenge your daughter?”
“I would be a poor father if I did not.”
Kieran watched Paris, his jerky movements, and knew this situation was close to exploding. But he wondered if Paris really did.
“William says you are dead to him if you lift a sword to his son,” he said. “Knowing that Troy loves your daughter and wants to marry her, and knowing your daughter loves Troy and wants to marry him, are you still prepared to go through this ridiculous farce?”
Paris’ head snapped up, his blue eyes narrowing. “And just what would you do if one of your daughters became pregnant without the benefit of a marriage bed?”
Kieran shrugged. “I would not try to kill the son of my best friend,” he said. “Paris, you are angry for the wrong reasons. And given your past, I would think you would have some understanding when it comes to unrestrained young men.”
More cracks were appearing in Paris’ determination. “I know this cannot go unanswered, Kieran,” he said. “Troy bedded my fragile flower, my Helene. What in the hell would you suggest I do about it?”
“No daughter of Caladora Scott is a fragile flower,” Kieran said. “Did she come to you crying and carrying on that her virtue had been stolen?”
Paris frowned. “Of course not.”
“Did she beg you to avenge her?”
“She begged me not to.”
Kieran’s eyebrows lifted. “And still, you are here?” he said, incredulous. “Do you know what I think? I think you are doing what you think you should do. I think you are doing what all of those angry fathers did when you compromised their daughters. You know nothing else, so that is how you are behaving. Because it happened to you. The difference is that you ran from these fathers – do not deny it for I know it to be true. William and I helped you fight your way out of at least two instances that I can recall. And still, you want to kill Troy? Of course you don’t. I do not truly believe that. If you try, it is going to ruin
