Chapter Seventeen #3
William’s eyes followed Eoghan’s hand and copied the movement, not risking being caught at a disadvantage.
With the Highlands having spent years with the clans at each other’s throats, William loathed drawing his sword against his own cousin and friend to perpetuate that conflict.
So much blood had already been spilled. To do battle this way with Eoghan seemed such a waste.
Yet the warrior within him leaned into the training and survival instinct beaten into his hands. The smoothness of his sword handle caressed his palm as he drew his blade.
“I must, to protect the Grants and all the Highlands,” Eoghan announced. “‘Tis the best for everyone. When I win, I’ll make sure she’s in a Grant dungeon for the rest of her days.” He cut a sharp glare at Ailith. “Many an accident can happen in a dungeon.”
Eoghan did not bother to hide his smirk as he spoke. He had overstepped, and rage blazed in William’s head.
“Nay!” William roared at his cousin’s implication.
What had driven Eoghan to this dark end? He seemed mad in his belief of Ailith’s guilt. What had changed so much in so few days? But then, hadn’t Eoghan made more than one comment about Ailith’s behavior? And William, the friend that he was, had not realized the malicious intent behind it.
William spun his sword easily in his hand. “I’ll have to best ye, again. Then she’ll be free of ye, and I’ll take her back to MacDougal lands.”
Eoghan snorted. “Ye’ve seen how she is! Bucking convention and her own safety!” His eyes narrowed into slits. “How long before she uses another as she uses ye? Or before the violence of the Highlands claims her as a victim?”
He was suggesting that not only might Ailith leave him or cuckold him, but that someone else would find their vengeance against her in their own way. A Grant. Someone like Eoghan, if not Eoghan himself.
Fury burst through him in a red explosion, and William’s vision was bathed in his rage.
Eoghan struck first without warning, thrusting his sword straight and fast, aiming for William’s heart.
A twinge of shock at Eoghan’s deadly thrust entered William’s mind, then passed through just as quickly as William reacted.
He swept his left leg back and crossed his sword over his body to knock Eoghan’s sword to the side.
His cousin wasn’t fighting for a win; he was fighting to the death. That was how intent he was on bringing Ailith low.
His behavior was unimaginable.
William continued the strike with a backswing that brought his sword around, blade parallel to the ground. It careened straight and fast, designed to remove Eoghan’s head from his shoulders fast and clean.
If Eoghan fought toward a deadly end, then William would follow suit, no matter how these actions pained him. He’d not leave Ailith’s freedom, her safety, her very life to chance.
Eoghan had no opportunity to bring his sword up in time to block William’s blade, but leapt back without a scratch from the lethal tip.
Pain exploded in William’s right knee from his movement, and he was forced to shift his weight to his left leg.
Eoghan stood poised, ready for William to attack, but when William did not advance, Eoghan’s eyes dropped to William’s favored knee.
William grimaced. If his combatant had not known about William’s injury at the start of the combat, he did now.
Eoghan sneered as he lunged forward, his sword coming down directly for William’s head.
It was an obvious strike, not designed to touch flesh but to force William to block and move back to block again.
Each time William stepped with his left leg, he dragged his right one with him.
Eoghan gave William no respite, striking again and again to weaken William’s good leg and gain the upper hand.
Feckin cheat! William thought as he blocked again. But then, any warrior worth his sweat used his enemy’s weaknesses against him.
That thought gave his mind pause as his arms worked to block sword blows. Enemy? When had that happened? And why?
He had to focus on this swordfight, not the reasoning for Eoghan’s betrayal.
Wiping sweat from his forehead with his shoulder sleeve, William changed the momentum by not stepping back but stepping to the side, using his legs more effectively to favor his right.
He then sliced down as Eoghan lunged past him.
William’s blade slashed into and through Eoghan’s tunic, from his left shoulder blade to the middle of his back, scoring it.
The cut was not too deep but enough for Eoghan’s blood to flow freely in a scarlet line.
Eoghan bellowed, and the small crowd shouted at the point struck, emphasized by the blood seeping through Eoghan’s shirt.
Eoghan spun around to face William, his sword in his right hand and his knife in his left. William followed suit, drawing his long Seox knife. When he moved, Eoghan cringed, and his eyes crinkled as his skin pulled taut.
William hoped the blood draw would be enough to wake Eoghan from this madness and make him see reason, but he was wrong. It only drove him on. Eoghan's sword slashed out, followed by his knife.
“I mean it this time, William,” Eoghan panted, his blade tips pointed at him. “I’ll do what I must to save ye from this tainted lass. To save all of us. Ye are injured and defending a witch who has entranced ye. I have the kirk and strength on my side. Her charms will no’ help ye now.”
William’s lips tightened at Eoghan’s harsh assessment of his wife.
“Dinna make me kill ye, Eoghan. ‘Tis my wife ye are threatening. My wife! Friend or no’, I made a vow to God in a kirk to protect and defend her.”
Eoghan spat on the ground. “What difference does that make if she’s a pagan witch? What does God mean to her? Your vow means nothing.”
Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, William stood tall, glaring down his nose at Eoghan.
“More importantly, I made a vow to her. No matter what lies ye might have told her or who calls her a witch, a pagan, or a danger, she is my wife, and I made a vow to her to defend and protect her until the end of my days. And I say to ye now, Eoghan, today is no’ the end of my days.”
Eoghan thrust again as William finished his words. He blocked the strike with his sword and Eoghan’s knife with his Seox, but not Eoghan’s foot as the man kicked out. Eoghan’s kick struck William square on his right knee, dropping William to the ground like a sack of turnips.
William cringed and grunted as his knee gave out completely, but his mind somehow stayed in the moment, and he rolled to his side without thought. The sound of Eoghan’s blade hitting the ground and Eoghan grunted with effort far too close as he rolled away from the deadly strike.
William crouched with his left knee up and swung blindly to keep Eoghan at bay and buy time to get back to his feet.
Eoghan pressed forward but was forced to give ground, dodging William’s blade.
With his sword straight and without shaking or reservation, William pointed it toward Eoghan’s throat, keeping several feet between them.
Eoghan grinned at William’s crouched position, although it was plain to all that he was hurt and in as much, if not more, pain than William.
He sweated through his blood-stained tunic as he trod backward and rotated his left shoulder, trying to assess the damage caused by William’s blade.
His movement allowed William time and distance to stand.
Though it seemed an odd maneuver, William knew Eoghan was not being generous but measuring William’s strength and extent of injury to William's knee so as to gain the advantage.
Something William would not permit Eoghan to do.
William pushed off with his left leg to stand. As weight came down on his right, an arrow of pain shot up his body. Ailith may have been right. William’s pride would be to be the cause of his own death and Ailith’s.
If he let it. If he didn’t change tactics.
Nay, I’ll no’ allow that to happen, William told himself.
Willpower alone could not heal bone or ligament, but if he shifted his mind enough, he could ignore the screaming pain. And he had to make sure he moved around the injury, not into it.
He started to press forward but froze as he realized he’d fall onto his face if he tried. He could only stand or step back if he wanted to stay upright and alive.
Eoghan struck out again, this time swinging his sword for William’s leg, knowing that William couldn’t move it out of the way fast enough.
In a flash of memory and inspiration, his left arm thrust forward against Eoghan’s right wrist, knocking his arm and slashing blade away.
Then, just as Ailith had taught him, William spun in a circle on his good leg and brought his elbow up, striking it hard against Eoghan’s jaw.
Eoghan made a choking sound as he stumbled backward, lifting his sword in an awkward defense.
William took advantage of the opening Ailith’s move had granted and lunged forward on his good leg, bringing his sword down to block Eoghan’s weak slash.
While he could block, William overestimated his leg and overextended himself, stumbling.
Before he fell to the ground – which would have meant the end of his fight with Eoghan – William stabbed his sword into the damp earth and hopped on his left foot to catch himself, using his sword like a crutch to hold up his weight.
With his smirk returning to his face, Eoghan stepped forward to chop down on William’s neck.
In a move that surprised everyone, William dropped to the ground and brought the tip of his blade forward and up into Eoghan’s unprotected path.
While Eoghan’s sword breezed through the air over William’s head when William crashed to the ground, his Seox blade impaled Eoghan just under the rib cage.
William’s sword ripped out of his hand, and he rolled away, expecting Eoghan to slash down at him again.
Yet he heard no footsteps, no sweeping of a sword, no movement to give chase.
William paused to find Eoghan standing, sword tip protruding through his chest and out his back.
A pale expression of shock covered his face.
The crowd gasped, and William blinked at the hideous vision of his dear cousin breathing his death rattle.
Eoghan! William’s pained mind struggled to match the stabbed enemy to his cousin. Why did ye bring us to this end?
Eoghan’s sword fell from his limp fingers and thumped to the ground. He stumbled back a single step. His knife fell next, but Eoghan somehow managed to stay on his feet. Eoghan’s white, shocked face coughed up a mouthful of blackish-red blood before he sat backward onto his arse.
The crowd fell silent as William crawled over to Eoghan.
“Yield now,” William begged. “It may not be too late for a healer to get here.” It was probably too late – the wound looked to be a mortal one – but William had to cling to the last bit of hope.
And if the sword wound was not fatal, then Eoghan must yield, so William was not forced to take that final, devastating step to the end of this combat.
“I’m sorry, William,” Eoghan coughed out, more blood spraying his lips. “We canna let someone like Ailith live. She’s too dangerous, to ye and to the Highlands. I’ll not say otherwise.”
William dropped his head as he came up on his knees, ignoring the burn from his right knee by shifting the weight to his left. He raised his hands and grasped his sword handle that extended impossibly from Eoghan’s chest.
With a scream of unbridled effort and heart-wrenching remorse, William ripped the blade from his friend’s body. Eoghan slid backward to the ground.
Why? The question echoed inside William’s head as his gaze remained fixed on his dear friend. Why were we driven to this? Why so much death when it could have been avoided?
With the wound now free of the blade, Eoghan bled like a broken dam. The very sword that had killed him had been the only thing keeping him alive. Eoghan's brown eyes closed as his chest stopped moving.
If he hadn’t been condemned to hell before, he felt like he was walking through that damned perdition now.
William’s eyes filled with tears as he crouched down to Eoghan and rested his hand on Eoghan's shoulder.
“I told ye ‘twas no’ the end of my days, dear cousin. Go with God.”
William might be alive, but this was no victory. A brutal fight to the death to save himself and his family, his future with Ailith, and it seemed to have happened for the most trifling reason. A reason that William could not share, nor would Eoghan have understood.
Instead, he had been forced to do the one thing he did not want to do – the last thing he ever thought he would do. Waves of sorrow, guilt, and relief battled in his chest.
How had it all come to this dark moment?
And what would happen to the alliances between the clans now?
Keeping his hand on Eoghan’s lifeless body, William sat back on his heels and let his tears wet his cheeks.