Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Roy reached the foot of the dais with blood warming one shoulder beneath his wedding coat. Smoke stung his eyes and clung to his face, while the blade in his hand shone red beneath the joined banners.
Men attempted to close around him, but MacIver and MacNicol warriors struck them from either side, forcing open a narrow path through the overturned benches. Roy moved through it all without looking away from the dais.
Cormac held Donaldina against him. His arm was locked around her body, and the edge of his dagger rested beneath her jaw. Roy’s grip tightened around his sword.
“Another step,” Cormac warned, “and she dies before ye reach her.”
Roy stopped, barely six paces away. Every instinct in him demanded that he cross that distance. Six paces were nothing. He had covered more under arrows, through mud, and against men who meant to kill him. He knew how swiftly he could move and exactly where his sword had to fall.
But Cormac needed only the smallest movement of his hand.
The hall raged around them, with steel ringing against steel, frightened guests calling to one another and smoke rolling beneath the rafters. Roy heard the crash of benches and the cries of wounded men, yet all of it seemed distant beside the sound of Donaldina’s heavy breathing
The scent of burning heather mixed with blood, sweat, and crushed rushes beneath the boots of fighting men. Somewhere near the western wall, a child cried. A woman called for help. Father Maol stood beside the altar, pale beneath the point of another attacker’s sword.
Roy saw it all. Battle had trained him never to overlook danger. Yet, he could only truly look at Donaldina. He did not let his gaze fall to the blade. He kept it upon her face.
Fear shone in her eyes, but pride kept her still. Roy now knew her well enough to see the courage beneath her calm and the rage she refused to surrender, even with cold steel at her throat. He wondered whether she could read what he dared not speak.
Dinnae move too soon.
Trust me.
I will reach ye.
His own terror pressed against his ribs, but he forced it beneath command. Fury burned through him, cold and murderous, yet he held it there. One careless step would spill her blood across the place where they were meant to speak their vows.
Donaldina’s gaze remained fixed upon his. Then, something changed in her expression. Roy saw the decision in her eyes a heartbeat before she moved.
She drove her heel backward into Cormac’s knee. His hold loosened.
Roy moved without thinking. He crossed the distance before Cormac recovered. His sword struck the dagger aside with a force that jarred through his wounded shoulder and down his arm. Steel spun across the dais and struck the stone steps below.
Cormac seized Donaldina’s gown and dragged her with him. The fabric tightened around her throat.
Roy caught her wrist and pulled. For one terrible instant.
Cormac’s grip held. Then, the sleeve tore beneath his hand.
Donaldina stumbled forward and struck Roy’s chest. Pain flared through his shoulder, but he scarcely felt it.
His arm closed around her, for one breathless moment of relief. Then, he drew her behind him.
Father Maol was knocked sideways against the altar as one of Cormac’s men attempted to flee the sudden clash. The ceremonial cup overturned. Salt scattered across the dark wood. The woven cord intended to bind Roy and Donalinda’s hands fell among the ashes, half buried beneath soot and blood.
Roy placed himself between Donaldina and Cormac. There was no time for tenderness, no room for comfort, but Roy managed to tighten his fingers once around her hand.
Then, Cormac attacked. Roy turned the first blow, though the force of it sent pain through his wounded shoulder. Cormac struck again, abandoning discipline for fury. His sword cut downward, sideways, then thrust toward the blood darkening Roy’s coat.
Roy gave ground a single pace. Donaldina moved with him.
“Me lady,” Malcolm urged, as he reached her and took her arm. “Back.”
She resisted, and Roy could sense her hand tugging at his coat. A part of him wished she would stay close enough to feel her presence. However, Cormac’s blade struck again, this time deliberately targeting his wounded shoulder.
Roy turned it aside again. Blood gathered at his cuff and darkened the edge of his hand, making the sword hilt slick within his grip.
“Donaldina,” he urged.
He did not turn. There was no time for argument.
She released him. The absence of his coat beneath her fingers felt like stepping away from shelter into open wind.
Malcolm drew her behind an overturned table where several guests crouched beneath the protection of MacNicol guards. Donaldina remained standing despite his attempt to lower her. She would not lose sight of Roy.
Cormac drove forward.
“Look at what ye have done!” he shouted. “MacIver and MacNicol beneath one roof, pretending old blood can be washed clean with vows.”
Roy answered with steel. He caught Cormac’s blade near the hilt, twisted and forced him sideways. Cormac struck the altar, scattering the ceremonial bread across the floor. One loaf rolled from the dais and came to rest beside a fallen sword.
Around them, the balance within the hall shifted. Hamish rallied the MacIver warriors near the eastern passage. Malcolm’s men closed the main aisle. MacNicol archers forced the remaining attackers away from the guests while servants dragged the wounded behind the shelter of the long tables.
Red and green moved together, not separately and certainly not by accident.
A MacIver warrior shielded an injured MacNicol elder with his own body.
Two MacNicol men dragged one of Hamish’s wounded soldiers from beneath a collapsed bench.
Commands passed between them without hesitation over which clan had the right to give them.
Cormac saw it. Hatred distorted his face.
“Ye think this is unity?” he demanded. “It is surrender. The Crown binds one clan tae another until none remember how tae stand alone.”
Roy advanced. Cormac’s sword met his again.
“The Highlands survived because nae King could hold them,” Cormac continued, retreating beneath the force of Roy’s blows. “One clan against another. One chief checking the next. Division kept us free.”
Donaldina stared at him. At last, the truth of him stood fully exposed.
It had never been love, not even the corrupted, possessive thing he once attempted to name love.
She had been blood, land and legitimacy, a MacNicol bride through whom he might rule Dun Ard and preserve the old fractures, calling their weakness freedom because division offered men like him room to rise.
Cormac had not feared the Highlands would be destroyed. He feared a united Highlands would no longer require him.
He looked toward Donaldina.
“Ye were meant tae understand,” he said. “Lachlan understood what happened when men trusted kings.”
Donaldina stepped out from behind the table. Malcolm reached for her, but she lifted one hand.
“Lachlan died obeying one,” she replied. “That doesnae mean he would have chosen ye.”
Cormac’s face hardened. “He would have chosen his own blood before a MacIver.”
“He did.”
The words came more quietly. Donaldina looked toward Roy.
“He signed the accord.”
Something broke in Cormac’s expression. Roy struck. The force drove Cormac backward from the dais. Their swords crossed beneath the joined banners while sparks leaped between the blades. Cormac fought like a man trying to injure the world before it abandoned him.
“Ye weakened her,” he accused. “Ye taught her tae mistake sentiment for strength.”
Roy’s expression did not alter. Cormac swung toward his injured side. Roy trapped the blade. For one suspended breath, the two men stood locked together, shoulders straining and faces separated by scarcely the length of a hand.
Cormac smiled through his exhaustion. “She will be the ruin of ye.”
Roy turned his wrist. Cormac’s sword tore free from his grip and struck the floor several feet away. Silence seemed to open around the sound. Roy drove him to his knees. Cormac’s breath left him in a broken gasp. He looked up at Roy, with hatred remaining even after strength had abandoned him.
Then his hand moved toward the dagger at his belt. Donaldina saw the flash of metal.
“Roy!”
Roy caught Cormac’s wrist before the blade cleared its sheath.
He twisted until bone cracked. Cormac cried out, and the dagger fell.
Roy struck him across the chest with the pommel of his sword, forcing him onto his back among the scattered rushes.
He planted one knee against Cormac’s arm and held the edge of his blade beneath the man’s throat.
The remaining attackers faltered. MacIver and MacNicol warriors closed in around ther.
One intruder dropped his sword, then another.
A third attempted to reach the side passage, but Hamish struck him to the ground before he crossed three paces.
The final men surrendered beneath a ring of blades bearing both clan colors.
Soon only the fire beyond the walls, the crackling hearth and the harsh breathing of the wounded disturbed the hall.
Cormac lay beneath Roy, with blood spreading from a wound in his side where the final struggle had driven steel through cloth and flesh.
Still, he smiled. It was a ruined expression, more bitterness than triumph.
“Ye have won naething,” he whispered.
Roy did not answer.
Cormac coughed, and blood touched his lips. “The Highlands will never remain united. Men will remember what their fathers lost. They will remember every boundary, every insult and every grave.”
His gaze drifted toward the banners overhead.
“Ye may hang those colors together for a day. A year, perhaps. But blood remembers.”
Donaldina moved closer despite Malcolm’s attempt to restrain her. Cormac’s breathing had become shallow. Each breath seemed dragged unwillingly from his body.
His eyes found Roy once more. “Men like ye always bring ruin tae those ye try tae protect.”
Roy remained utterly still. He offered no denial, no anger, and no final mercy disguised as comfort. Donaldina saw how the words struck him. A faint tightening passed through the hand holding the sword. Cormac found the oldest wound within him and pressed one final blade into it.
Roy gave him nothing.
Cormac waited for an answer that did not come. The hatred in his eyes flickered, then it went out. His body slackened beneath Roy’s hand.
The great hall fell silent. Roy remained kneeling for one moment longer, with his head lowered above the dead man. Then Donaldina crossed the blood-stained rushes and placed her hand upon his shoulder. He looked up at her.
Beyond them, the joined banners still hung above the ruined altar.