Chapter 39 #2
Their blades rang together in a complex exchange. High, low, feint, thrust. Tavish read Keir's patterns, anticipated his movements, stayed one step ahead.
From somewhere nearby, Maighread shouted. Tavish's attention flickered for a fraction of a second. Enough for Keir to land a glancing blow across Tavish's ribs. Pain flared, hot and sharp.
"Ye're distracted," Keir taunted. "Worried about yer precious wife?"
"Nae worried at all. She can handle hersel'.
As if to prove the point, Tavish saw Maighread throw her dagger with deadly accuracy. It caught a Sinclair soldier in the throat just as he tried to circle around Greg. The man went down choking.
Tavish's chest swelled with fierce pride. His wife. His warrior.
"She's magnificent, isnae she?" Tavish said, his voice almost conversational. "Strong, brave, smart. Everything ye're nae."
Keir's face purpled. "Shut yer mouth!"
"That's what really eats at ye, aye? Nae that she chose me. But that she saw through ye. Saw the pathetic, grasping, weak man underneath all that arrogance."
"I said shut up!"
Keir attacked wildly. Tavish sidestepped, letting momentum carry Keir past him. As the Sinclair laird stumbled, Tavish's blade came down across his sword arm. Not deep enough to disable, but enough to hurt.
Keir howled in pain and rage.
Greg's voice cut through the chaos. "Tavish! Finish this! More reinforcements coming!"
Indeed, Tavish could hear shouts from the castle. MacEwan guards responding to the sounds of battle. They'd be here in moments.
Time to end it.
Tavish pressed his advantage, driving Keir toward the garden wall with a relentless series of attacks. High strike, low strike, feint left, thrust right. Keir's defense crumbled under the onslaught.
"Ye cannae win," Tavish said. "Yer men are dead or fleeing. Yer ambush failed. And ye'll never, ever touch me wife."
"I'll see her widowed first!"
Keir made one last desperate lunge, throwing everything into a wild overhead strike meant to cleave Tavish in half.
Tavish stepped inside his guard.
The world slowed. He saw the opening clearly, saw exactly where his blade needed to go. His sword drove forward with all his strength behind it, punching through leather, through flesh, through bone.
The point emerged from Keir's back.
Keir's eyes went wide. His mouth opened in shock. Blood bubbled at his lips.
"Ye lose," Tavish said quietly.
He yanked the blade free. Keir staggered, tried to raise his sword, then collapsed to the stone path. His body convulsed once, twice, then went still. Dead eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.
Tavish stood over him, breathing hard, his sword dripping blood.
Around them, the last of the fighting died. The surviving Sinclair soldiers saw their laird dead and broke, fleeing toward the garden's edge. Greg's men pursued, cutting down those who were slow.
Silence fell.
Tavish spun, searching. "Maighread!"
"Here!" She emerged from behind a hedge, her dress torn, blood on her hands, but alive. Whole. His.
He crossed to her in three long strides and pulled her against him, one hand cradling her head while the other wrapped around her waist. She came willingly, her arms circling his neck, holding just as tightly.
"Are ye hurt?" His voice was rough.
"Nay. Ye?"
"Scratched. Nothing serious."
They stood like that, clinging to each other, while around them MacEwan guards poured into the garden. Greg appeared beside them, breathing hard, his sword still drawn.
"Everyone alright?" Greg asked.
"Aye." Tavish reluctantly released Maighread enough to check her over properly. No wounds, just blood from the men she'd killed. "We're fine."
Greg clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Hell of a fight, braither."
"Ye arrived just in time."
"I heard the clash from the battlements. Brought every man I could grab." Greg's gaze swept the garden, cataloging bodies. "Keir?"
"Dead."
Maighread pulled back slightly, looking up at Tavish. Her face was pale but her eyes were fierce. "Is it over? Truly over?"
"Aye. Keir's dead. His men are scattered. The threat is done."
She sagged against him, the adrenaline finally draining. Tavish held her upright, supporting her weight easily.
MacEwan guards surrounded them now, weapons drawn, scanning for remaining threats. The captain of the guard approached, his expression grim.
"Me lady, are ye harmed?"
"I'm fine." Maighread's voice strengthened.
Tavish turned to the captain of the guard. "Check the perimeter. Make sure nay more Sinclair forces are hiding in the grounds."
"Aye, me laird." The guards dispersed, moving through the garden. Greg organized them, his voice carrying commands. Within minutes, the area was secured.
Tavish finally allowed himself to breathe properly. Maighread was safe. Keir was dead. The castle was secure.
It was over.
He looked down at his wife, taking in every detail. Torn dress, disheveled hair, blood-stained hands. The pendant he'd given her still gleamed at her throat, untouched by the violence.
"Ye fought well," he said softly.
"So did ye."
"I was terrified. Seeing ye in danger like that…"
"I ken. I felt the same watching ye fight Keir." Her hand came up to cup his face. "But we survived. Taegether."
"Always taegether."
Greg returned, sheathing his sword. "Perimeter is clear. Found two Sinclair soldiers hiding in the stables. They're being questioned now."
"Good." Tavish forced himself to think tactically again. "Send riders tae the border villages. Make sure there are nay more attacks planned. And double the guards on all approaches."
"Already done. Ye’re thinking like a laird now."
"I'm thinking like someone who nearly lost everything."
Maighread's arms tightened around him. "But ye didnae. We're here. We're alive. We won."
Tavish pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her mouth. Soft and claiming and grateful beyond words. When he lifted his head, Greg was smirking.
"Should I give ye two some privacy?"
"Nay." Tavish kept one arm around Maighread but turned to survey the garden properly. Bodies lay scattered across the paths. Blood stained the stone. The peaceful place where he'd given his wife a cherished heirloom was now a battlefield.
But they'd won. That was all that mattered.
"Help me check fer survivors," Tavish said. "Anyone injured gets taken tae the healers. The dead…" He glanced at Keir's body. "Wrap them and send them back tae Sinclair lands with a message. Their laird attacked MacEwan Castle and paid the price. Any further aggression will be met with total war."
Greg nodded approvingly. "Aye. That should discourage future problems."
They moved through the garden systematically, Greg and Tavish checking bodies while Maighread directed the guards. Most of the Sinclair soldiers were dead. Two were injured badly enough to need carrying. They were taken under guard to the healers.
When they reached Keir's body, Tavish paused. He should have felt feel triumph. Victory. Instead, he just felt tired.
"What a waste," he said quietly.
Maighread appeared at his side. "He chose this path. Ye gave him every chance tae walk away."
"I ken. Daesnae make it less pointless."
"Nae. But it makes it necessary." She took his hand, squeezing. "Come. Let's get ye cleaned up and checked fer injuries."
"I'm fine."
"Humor me. I'm yer wife. I get tae fuss."
Despite everything, Tavish smiled. "Aye. Ye dae."
They walked back toward the castle together, Greg trailing slightly behind. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grounds.