Chapter Nineteen #2
“From those who would guise themselves as my kin?” The heat in her eyes kindled. She jerked free of his grip and tossed back
her head, her anger almost sparking. “They will skewer you before —”
“Have you so little faith in my sword arm?”
“I have all confidence in your skills with a blade.” She swiped a hand across her cheek, glaring at him. “But those are not
ordinary men. By your own admission, they —”
“But, my sweet, they once were mere men.”
He left out how greatly he was counting on that truth.
Glancing aside, he stared for a long moment at the deep pine woods where he knew they waited. For so bitter cold a day, the
skies were slowly brightening and several slanting rays of morning sun slipped through the clouds, gilding the tops of the
trees and the broad sweep of hills rising behind them.
A few cloud shadows drifted over the high moorlands, shading them inky-blue and softest lavender, colors he’d not seen there
in years.
The sight gave him hope.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to change his plan.
“I do not like it.” His lady raised her chin. “ ’Tis foolhardy.”
“Nae, it is the only way.” He took her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him. “And you will obey me this time. I’ll know you and everyone else safe within these walls until my return.”
The words spoken, he drew her tight against him. But she brought up her hands between them, splaying her fingers across his
chest and pushing back to peer up at him, her eyes glittering.
“Please.” She blinked, her usually strong voice quivering. “Will you at least tell me where you mean to tryst with them?”
“When the deed is done, aye, but not a moment before,” he vowed, lowering his head to kiss her. He slanted his mouth over
hers in a devouring kiss, claiming her lips and giving her his passion, trying to show her beyond words that he had no intention
of letting her go.
Or of endangering what he now knew they had together.
“Return to the keep and turn a braw face to my people.” He pulled back to smooth his hands over her hair and rain light kisses
across her face, neck, and shoulders. “Show them what a brave lassie you are,” he urged her, nipping the soft skin beneath
her ear, then nuzzling her neck again. “Do it for me, for us.”
“I would rather ride out with you.” She remained defiant.
Ronan shook his head, unrelenting.
Then he stepped back and folded his arms. “Go now. Away into the keep with you or” — he gave her his fiercest look — “I will
carry you back inside and chain you to one of the hall pillars.”
She bristled. “I will not wait gently,” she vowed, but spun about and strode through the gates. “Don’t forget I’m a MacKenzie,”
she called back as she disappeared into the gatehouse arch.
“See that she doesn’t leave the keep!” Ronan tossed the order to the guards, then swung up into his saddle and spurred toward
the trees, not stopping until the prickles down his spine told him that he’d ridden into the midst of his foes.
He’d no sooner reined in than they stepped from shadows, a band of gaunt, sunken-eyed old men, their dark robes lifting in
the morning breeze, their faces solemn.
They didn’t look anything like MacKenzies, and Ronan knew a swift surge of hope that they didn’t try to cozen him with such
a ploy.
“So we meet again, Raven. I greet you.” Dungal Tarnach came forward, leaving the others in a quiet circle behind him. “Have
you brought our stone or” — he lifted his staff and it glowed orange-red — “must we take it?”
Ronan ignored the threat. “I will bring the stone and —”
“I am rejoiced to hear it.” The Holder smiled, his wand sparking. He lowered it at once, his expression almost benevolent.
“ ’Tis overlong that one of your race —”
“And,” Ronan continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you may attempt to take the stone, but in a fair trial of strength and will.
And not here —”
“So! You would challenge us?” The other’s smile faded. His voice rose. “And for that which is rightly ours?”
Ronan lifted his own voice, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I would challenge you on your honor, if it means aught to
you. And” — he raked the company with his stare — “for the safekeeping of this glen and we who dwell here.”
Withdrawing his blade, he offered it blunt-end first to the Holder.
“My blade in exchange for yours,” he said, following Torcaill’s advice to gain the other’s steel before his own could be charmed.
“We meet in single combat at the Tobar Ghorm before the light fades — unless you fear an honest fight.”
The Holder scowled, but took the blade, grudgingly handing over his own.
For a beat, his eyes flickered a faint, faded blue and he looked worried, but he caught himself as quickly. “The Tobar Ghorm
is an odd place for —”
“The Blue Well is the only place for honest men to settle a matter of such import.” Ronan fixed him with a stare, encouraged
when the older man looked away first.
“I can think of fairer ground . . .” The Holder pulled at his beard.
“You know it must be the well.” Ronan broke the quiet when the other man fell silent. “We spoke of the like the last time
we met there.”
Dungal Tarnach’s brow creased.
Ronan waited.
He closed his hand around the hilt of the strange blade, the deep lines in its owner’s face and the stoop of the man’s shoulders
bothering him more than it should.
Even worse, he felt a concession forming on his tongue.
“If you feel unable to accept my challenge yourself,” he heard himself saying, “then I will face your best sworder in your
stead.”
Dungal Tarnach hesitated, but his gaze flicked to a younger man standing nearby. Stocky, fierce-eyed, and ruddy of complexion,
the man strode forward now and took Ronan’s sword from Tarnach’s hands.
“I will cross blades with you,” he announced, his voice ringing.
“Then so be it.” Ronan nodded. “If I better you, you tell me how to destroy the stone and then you leave our territories forthwith
and forever. If I lose, you take your stone and leave as well, ne’er again setting foot in these hills.”
“It is agreed.” Dungal Tarnach returned the nod.
The other Holders looked on in silence, but finally inclined their heads as well.
It was enough.
And more than Ronan had hoped for.