Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eilidh’s heart was securely lodged in her throat as she stood at the edge of the field, watching the scene unfold in front of her in horror.
The dreich weather, cold and gray, matched her mood.
There was no sign of the spring weather they had been having.
It was as if the world had gone dark along with her thoughts.
In the field, Alpin and Torquil faced off, wearing naught but their trews and boots. Shirtless, they each had their blades drawn, fighting stances held.
Tension hung thick in the air, so thick, Eilidh found it hard to breathe.
The men waited for Rory to call go. She would deal with her brother later for agreeing to officiate this ridiculous challenge.
Moira and Morven flanked her on either side as she wrung her hands together in worry. Alana had stayed home with the bairn. Rory should have done the same.
Errol stood with Rory, waiting and watching.
Eilidh rolled her eyes. Men on one side. Women on the other.
Rory straightened. “The only rule is we let Alpin and Torquil fight. Nay interference from any of us, as Alpin stated in his challenge.” Rory pierced her with a hard stare. She cocked her head to the side and returned a glare.
He held his hand up, paused. He dropped his hand and shouted, “Go!”
Thye exchanged the first few blows, Alpin lunging and Torquil dodging his blade.
Then parrying, jabbing at Alpin, who, in turn, stepped out of the way.
Eilidh held her hands to her mouth as she watched.
Both men were skilled. She was surprised at how well Torquil held up against Alpin.
This gave her the smallest amount of relief, but she kenned it would not last. Alpin was skilled.
He trained on the daily. And whilst it appeared that Torquil could put up a decent fight to begin, he would soon lose momentum, the more he had to dodge Alpin’s thrusts.
Both men were stubborn as they went back and forth.
First blood was drawn. Torquil took a blade hit to his side, but he did not fall. He stayed standing, but Eilidh could see him fighting the pain. She could also see the stubborn determination in his eyes. He began to pull back, clearly holding back his fight.
“What is he doing?” Eilidh whispered. “Why is he letting Alpin win? He’ll kill him,” she cried.
“Shhh,” Moira cooed. “I think he is trying to show Alpin that he will take the hits for ye.”
“That is absurd,” she snapped. She moved to go onto the field, but both her sisters held her in place.
“Ye mustnae interfere, sister. Let them work it out on the field,” Morven said.
As she did so, Alpin lunged, catching Torquil across the shoulder.
Eilidh cried out as Torquil dropped to one knee. “Fight, Torquil. Damnit. Fight!”
But he did not. Blood flowed profusely from the slice on his shoulder.
Alpin raised his sword to deliver the final blow, and Eilidh could not bear it any longer. Breaking away from her sisters’ hold, she rushed forward with a desperate scream. She threw herself betwixt them, her arms outstretched to take the blow Alpin meant for her husband.
“If ye strike him, ye strike me,” she cried, tears streaming down her face.
Torquil rose, furious, his face reddened in anger. “Ye could have been killed!” he shouted.
“So could ye!” she yelled back. “Why werenae ye fighting back?” She couldn’t stop the tears as they flowed down her cheeks.
“I was proving a point.”