Iolanthe made a sound of protest but quickly stifled it at Charles's renewed pressure on her throat.
"I was too hasty the last time," Charles said. "I could take my pleasure of her and not count myself sullied, I think." He looked at Thomas and shrugged. "If I find the act distasteful, I'll kill her afterward. That should alleviate any affront to my sensibilities she might have caused."
Thomas stood there and wondered just what in the hell he was supposed to do now. He was trained to fight a man coming at him with a sword. He knew how to climb mountains and negotiate inanimate rocks and ledges. He could survive in the wilderness for weeks at a time with nothing but a knife.
But he didn't have a clue how to barter for his love's life with a man who obviously thought nothing of killing when he felt like it.
Thomas grasped his sword and prayed for help.
It came, amazingly enough, in the form of Connor MacDougal.
The MacDougal came up behind Charles and clapped him smartly on the shoulder. The man had to have felt it, because Thomas heard it from where he was standing.
Charles jumped in surprise. Thomas started to call out to Iolanthe, but she wrenched away as Charles spun around to see who he faced.
Iolanthe bolted clear of him. Thomas grabbed her and jerked her over to him.
"Are you all right?" he asked, not taking his eyes from a very unsettled Charles.
"Nicked myself on his damned sword," she groused. "One finger bleeding, but 'tis not a mortal wound. I should have poked him with my dirk. I would have, had he not snuck... up ... on—"
Thomas felt her freeze at his side.
Her stillness almost immediately became his stillness. He realized that he hadn't felt that kind of quiet coming from her in quite a long time. For at least a month.
Since he'd gone back to save her.
He realized she was groping for his hand. His fingers met hers and she held on to him so tightly it was almost painful. He looked at her to find she was staring at Lord Charles. He suspected, though, that Charles wasn't really what she was looking at
"Merciful saints above," she breathed.
She looked around the circle of men, never releasing Thomas's hand. Then she looked up at him.
"Merciful saints above," she repeated, sounding stunned.
"See them?"
"Aye."
Apparently, so did Lord Charles. He held his sword up, turning himself around a time or two, glaring at one and all.
"This is unfair," he said. "Are you such women that you must needs pit yourselves two score against one?"
Duncan cleared his throat. "Ach, but we've no mind to fight ye, ye wee fiend. We'll leave that to the laddie there. He'll see to ye right proper."
Well, no time like the present to either prove his mettle or get himself killed. He smiled briefly at Iolanthe, then released her hand to get down to his own business. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside. He pulled his sword from its sheath, then felt hands take the leather from him.
"I'll hold that," Iolanthe said.
Thomas smiled briefly, then turned back to consider his situation. The men around him weren't heckling him. He looked at Iolanthe. She didn't look uneasy. She hadn't made any derogatory comments about his past displays of sword-play so far. Things were looking up.
The downside was, of course, that he was going to have to kill the man facing him, and that was enough to give him pause. It was one thing to do in a bunch of thugs in the Middle Ages. Somehow, the century just seemed to demand that kind of thing. But this was the twenty-first century, and he knew for certain that murder was severely frowned upon.
"He would have slain me, Thomas," Iolanthe said quietly. "Indeed, he did once. You've no need to fear that you shed innocent blood."
She had a point there. This could definitely be called self-defense.
"She's right, Tommy lad," Ian said from the sidelines. "Do the bastard in. He deserves it."
Thomas looked to his left to find not only Ian there, but Jamie, Patrick, Zachary, and Jamie's minstrel Joshua as well.
Great, an audience.
Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't had one before during his training. But his cousins and Iolanthe's garrison at the same time? At least none of the mortals were making any comments. They were too busy gaping at the ghosts. All except Jamie, who only folded his arms across his chest and put on the frown he usually wore when assessing Thomas's skill. It felt comforting somehow.
Thomas wondered how he should begin the ... well, duel, for lack of a better word. His contemplation was cut short by Charles bellowing out his rage and rushing toward him.
Thomas realized, idly, that he had improved since last they'd met. Charles, however, was angrier than he had been the time before, so perhaps they were still unevenly matched, with Thomas still being on the short end.
He shoved aside any concern for repercussions. It was clear even to him that the man who was angrily hacking at him with a broadsword had every intention of killing him if he could. There were half a dozen mortal witnesses to the fact, should it have come down to an inquest.
And Iolanthe had a point. Charles had murdered her in cold blood once. If that didn't demand some kind of redress, he wasn't sure what did.
"Thomas, quit thinking!" Ian yelled. "You've your lady's life to fight for!"
Thomas nodded curtly, then turned his mind to the task at hand, namely ridding Charles of his sword and using his own to end the other man's life. He emptied his mind of all thought and concentrated on watching the other man's eyes. His sword became a sharp extension of his arm. It sang through the air like faint pipes.
He frowned,
