Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (43 page)

Circling warily, she kept her guard arm up, kept her balance fluid as she moved. Facing her, Colin retained a tight, unaware smile, as if pleased by the prospect of besting her.

He held a longsword with a two-handed hilt, the blade lengthy and wider than her own sword. Her thruster was slender and tapered, its lighter weight and higher balance well suited to her size and strength.

She would need quickness and cleverness to compensate for the greater reach and strength of Colin's longsword. If she was to avoid his lethal blade, she would have to stay close to him, so that he could not extend and give the weapon its best use.

Taking a long step forward, she forced him to follow a tight circle. Colin flexed his hands on his sword's hilt as he moved. She stepped with him, her gaze on his, a wary initial test of wills.

At first, he tried to snatch the sword from her with a few impatient gestures, but she neatly avoided him. Then he swung his sword in an overhead strike. She blocked it efficiently and sidestepped close to him, turning so that she stood behind him.

Clearly astonished, he turned clumsily. Eva saw an opening and swung high, nearing his armored shoulder. He parried and shoved her blade back, but she pivoted swiftly. He pushed forward into nothing.

She waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet, as he made a lumbering recovery. Growling, he sliced toward her. She lunged forward, deflecting his sword by pushing the flat of her blade against his, extending her sword arm swiftly to angle her hilt against his head. The knock was audible. She spun behind him as he put a hand to his brow.

"Where did you learn that trick?" he demanded breathlessly.

"Not from the faeries," she said, shifting the pommel in her hand, stretching her fingers to release tension in her grip. She circled with him as he rounded heavily, like a bear.

"I do not want to hurt you," he said. "But you had better give me that sword." He struck, and she stepped diagonally, hanging her weapon down to guard her shoulder and back. Again the move took him by surprise, for when he lunged, she simply was not there, and he stumbled on the tufted grass.

He was lethal but predictable, his technique unschooled. Using his sword like an axe, chopping down, sideways, and in arcs, he was most dangerous because of his strength and the size of his weapon. But her training and greater nimbleness gave her a clear advantage. Although she felt as if she moved slowly and deliberately, with time enough to think and observe, she realized that she was moving like lightning. The feeling was heady; her heart raced, her breathing was deep, her thoughts were clear.

"Eva, I want that damned sword," he growled. Anticipating the reach and direction of his next strike, she danced sideways and turned. Again he struck into empty air.

This time he roared. Frustration and effort reddened his face. No doubt, Eva realized, he also battled the aftereffects of excessive drinking. He launched sideways again, his range longer than hers, and the blades clashed. She felt the jarring through her arm into her shoulder.

Stepping close to him, she pivoted around him, back to back, and whirled to face him again. He rounded, looking for her, but she was already waiting for his next strike. She sliced downward to tap him on the shoulder, a clang of metals.

Their circling took them into the widest part of the incline. She glanced then at Alpin, who had kept close. Past him, in the loch, she saw the boat drawing closer to shore.

Colin rounded again, and she with him, so that he came within a few feet of Alpin, who rested his hand warily on his sword. Breathing hard now, Eva lifted her blade and danced sideways expectantly, ready to counter Colin's next move.

The darkening hue of her opponent's face, his increasing fury and clumsy strokes told her that he no longer played a game with her. His anger made him an even greater danger. She came in closer, knowing that the two-handed sword he used needed a wide sweep.

She neatly circled him, her sword weaving slightly as she waited for him to turn. Colin growled low, and when she expected him to strike at her, he suddenly swung another way entirely. Using the long reach of his sword, he swept at Alpin. The old man snatched at his sword and stepped back, and Colin hit his knee with the flat of the sword. Alpin stumbled, and Colin was upon him before he could draw to defend himself.

In an instant, Colin had grabbed Alpin's plaid and hauled him forward. Casting the longsword aside, he drew a short dirk from his belt and caught Alpin under the throat, grabbing the old man's arm and twisting it back in a vicious grip.

"Give me the blade, Eva," Colin growled. "There is no doubt that it is a faery blade, with the skill it gave a mere girl. I want it!" He emphasized his demand by tightening his grip on Alpin, who stood unflinching as stone.

Eva caught her breath, glancing quickly at Simon, who stood in the open doorway. Then she flicked a glance at the loch, past Colin's shoulder, where the boat now met the beach. Lachlann leaped out, splashing through the shallows, her cousins behind him. Hope strengthened her, and she knew she could wait forever. But Alpin had only seconds.

Colin pressed the blade further, and Alpin flinched as Eva saw a trickle of blood below his jaw. With scarcely another thought, she hefted the hilt toward Colin.

He snatched the sword in midair, a neat catch, and shoved the old man away at the same time. Eva moved toward Alpin, but Colin lunged, snatching her up with one arm as if she were a doll. Hooking a powerful arm around her throat, he dragged her up the incline toward the gate, while she half ran with him to keep her feet beneath her.

Huffing hard, he pulled her close to the open doors, and his men stepped back. They no longer looked amused, but startled and uncertain—for they gazed past Colin to see the loch.

"Campbell!"

Hearing Lachlann shout, Eva gasped, pulling at Colin's arm around her neck as he dragged her over the grass.

* * *

"Campbell!" Lachlann roared, as he strode near them, his father's sword in hand. "Let her go!"

Colin turned, swinging Eva around with him, her heels skidding on the grass. Her captor held Jehanne's gleaming sword in his other hand.

"I have her, and the faery blade," Colin said, "and I hold this island. Do not think to take them from me, as your father tried to steal from my father." He backed toward the entrance and sidestepped, shoving Simon out of his way and growling an order to his men.

Lachlann saw Simon stumble and fall to one knee, his hands tied behind him, his dark hair wild over his bruised face. Then he staggered to his feet, attempting to trip Colin, who stepped out of range.

The Highlanders ignored Colin's order, arms folded. One of them waved Lachlann on, as if to signal that the conflict and the fight did not belong to them. Lachlann ran past them to reach the gate as Colin drew Eva into the gloom of the entrance tunnel. He knew the others followed to watch, heard someone creak the door wider, saw them gather like shadows behind him, but he did not turn.

Lachlann stepped into the vaulted space, his hands wrapped around the hilt of the longsword. "Let her go, Campbell."

Colin swept the blade in a wide arc, and Lachlann caught the blow deftly, steel smiting steel, shoving until Colin stepped back. Lachlann swung again, cutting low to catch Colin's leg, but the thruster caught Lachlann's longsword, the echo harsh inside the stone-walled tunnel.

Pushing Eva aside so roughly that she thudded against the wall, Colin struck again, but Lachlann rounded on him, sword ready, and deflected hard and fast, meeting the thruster blade and forcing it back. The force shoved Colin toward the wall.

Stumbling, Colin raised his arms to swing again, but swerved suddenly and aimed for Eva, who had little room to get out of the way. Lachlann pushed the smaller blade away, but Colin made another attempt to strike at Eva. He missed her when she moved like a flash out of range.

The power of his thrust drove the sword into the wall. With a strident grating, the shining steel blade sank into the mortar between two stones. Colin wrenched at it as Lachlann stepped toward him, sword raised.

As Colin pulled and twisted, the sword snapped audibly, and the hilt broke off in his hand.

"Ach Dhia!"
Eva moaned. Lachlann felt the force of the break as if it tore through him, body and soul.

Colin roared, the sound ferocious inside the vaulted tunnel. He jabbed the angled edge of the hilt piece at Eva, and Lachlann lunged forward quickly. But Eva raised a foot and kicked Colin in the knee. Buckling, falling backward, he braced an arm up on the wall as he fell hard against it.

Lachlann kept a wide stance, and held his sword warily, judging how to knock the hilt piece out of Colin's hand. Then the man seemed to seize up and sink to the floor. As he fell heavily, the broken hilt clattered out of his hand.

Eva sobbed aloud, her hands clasped over her mouth. She looked at Lachlann, her breath heaving, eyes wide. He stood over Colin, frowning. He saw the ugly wound under the armpit, and the broken blade that protruded from it, sunk deep into the rib cage, where the breastplate had not protected him.

"Oh, God," Eva said, dropping down beside Colin. "Did he hit his head? Oh, I did not mean to—"

Lachlann set aside his sword and leaned down, grasping Eva's arm and bringing her to her feet. He could feel her trembling as he gathered her into his arms.

In that moment Simon came into the shadowy tunnel, and Eva turned to him with a cry, throwing her arms around him. As soon as Lachlann freed his hands, Simon embraced his sister and then looked down at Colin.

"You did not kill him, Eva," Simon said. "I was watching. The blade in the wall got him."

"He would have recovered from that kick you gave him, to come at you again," Lachlann said quietly. "It was the faery blade that ended his life."

Still sobbing, she slid her arms around Lachlann's waist. He kissed the top of her head and looked up at Simon. The young man nodded approval, and Lachlann returned a sad smile.

Eva pulled away again and bent to pick up the broken hilt. She rose and handed it to Lachlann with shaking fingers. "Lachlann, I am so sorry—"

Silent, his heart rendered raw within him, he turned the piece in his hands. The break was similar to the original cracking, a few inches down from the cross guard, jagged and lethal.

"Her sword killed him," she said. "She would not have wanted that."

He gathered her close. "Look at this," he murmured, turning the hilt. "This is Jehanne's sword, the hilt piece. This did not kill him—nor did it harm you when he swung at you. The blade that took his life was the part that I crafted—with faery methods."

"The faery blade," Eva whispered. "The blade he wanted for his own."

"I can remake this, stronger and finer," he said. Eva wrapped her arms around him, and he rested his head on hers. "She would have understood what happened here," he whispered. "And she would have loved you, my friend." She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her lips. "My love."

Epilogue

I was a while at the smith's mystery.

—from an ancient Celtic poem

The fire crackled in the forge bed, and Lachlann turned away from its intense heat toward the anvil to set down the lump of steel that he held in the tongs. Striking the glowing mass lightly, he elongated its rudimentary shape. He worked on this piece at night when the darkness was deepest, and the colors of the steel were the most true—and easier for his faulty vision to discern, although Eva was always willing to help him with that.

He blinked, noticing the small lights dancing in his sight. One day soon he would send a message north to invite Aleck Beaton to Innisfarna. Not only did he want to introduce his friend to Eva, but he was ready to hear Aleck's opinion on his eyesight. His vision problems had not worsened in a long while, and the changes were tolerable. And he had Eva's help with the steel smithing now. If later in life the vision in that eye diminished, he knew he would have a loving family around him.

Setting the steel back in the forge fire, he resolved to hurry. He enjoyed the quiet nighttime hours when he could seclude himself in the smithy for a while. But this particular evening visitors were expected—in fact, he had heard voices and the sound of horses' hooves in the yard not long ago.