Unless this Neil’s memory returned in a surge, he could in no way defeat Calum now. That didn’t make him any less who he was. This test wasn’t right. She wanted to shout, No!
Choking back the outcry, she shifted her focus to Neil. His steady gaze passed from the challenge in Calum’s flinty stare to the claymore in his hand, and then to her. His expression was unreadable, but the light in his eyes told her he would accept.
Protest tumbled from her open mouth. “He’s injured and only just come! Surely a wee rest and some refreshment first?”
His mother echoed her plea. “Can ye not sit and take bread together before ye come to blows?”
Neil brushed aside their protest. “Pass me a blade, Calum MacKenzie. I no longer bear my own sword.”
Calum shot back, “What man loses his ain sword?”
“One rendered senseless by the MacDonalds,” Mora interjected.
Aunt Margaret entered the hall with two servants bearing trays piled with steaming roast pheasant, fish, bannock, small cakes, pitchers of ale, and silver tankards. She took in the scene before her. “Food and drink will await their match, She calmly gestured for the repast to be spread on the table. Sending the maids scurrying, she took a seat by the fire. “Begin when ye like. Only, do not murder each other.”
The same plea rose in Mora’s throat, but she quelled it knowing neither man would heed her.
Fergus held up a hand. She’d wondered how long he would keep still. “Hold on,” he intruded. “As Neil’s faithful friend and second, I am within my rights to take a moment and prepare him. Let me better bind his wound. Give him a swallow to moisten his throat.”
Calum shrugged, but waited, shifting from foot to foot in evidence of his impatience. “As ye like.”
The old Niall had best swiftly return.
****
“Are you insane?” Fergus hissed in Neil’s ear.
“Quite possibly,” he whispered, “but there’s nothing for it other than to fight him. He’s bent on having his way and will hound us until he succeeds.”
“Fine time to go all fatalistic on me. What we need is enterprising.”
“Not courageous?”
“Foolhardy comes to mind.”
“And here I thought I was being brave.”
“Oh, sit down.” Fergus motioned Neil to a high-backed chair at the opposite end of the long table. As far out of earshot from Calum as they could get.
He sagged onto the crimson upholstery, anticipating his sound defeat. Whether now, or a few minutes hence, what difference did it make? He had no great plan, only a faint hope that memories from the past, particularly those imbedded with fencing, might come back to him in a flash.
Open the floodgates, he was ready, but recollections came in fits and starts, unpredictable and not at his will. His gaze returned to Mora. The paleness of her face contrasted with Calum’s heightened color. Doubtless, he’d relish exposing this imposter and meting out Highland justice with his blade. His mother’s expressive features revealed a blend of confusion and dismay.
Aunt Margaret, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed, but her countenance tended toward the inscrutable. She regarded them with the apparent nonchalance of a disinterested cat. If she knew Neil was about to be cut to ribbons would she speak out to prevent the contest, or assume his demise was inevitable?
Fergus thrust a frothy tankard of ale in Neil’s hand. He washed the cold brew over his dry throat while Fergus fished in the many pockets of his specialty windbreaker.
“Here.” He produced a bright orange tape for wrapping sports injuries. “Left over from the time I sprained my wrist.”
Neil swallowed. “After a marathon stint of Game Boy.”
“But I won every level of The Legend of Zelda.” Even with their dire circumstances, Fergus couldn’t suppress a smug smile.
“Hats off to the mighty victor. You should be the one dueling.”
“Doubt I could even lift one of those swords without several weeks of weight training.”
“Told you to work out.”
“Maybe I should have, and taken fencing,” Fergus conceded. “Appears you could use a wing man. I’ll wrap your knee. You can’t move lightly on your feet with that limp.”
“I must’ve twisted it along with the gash.”
After tugging up Neil’s torn pants leg, Fergus crouched down and wrapped the flexible tape snugly around his afflicted knee like a trainer preparing a player to go back out on the court. Only this was for a potentially far more deadly purpose than a basketball game.
Eyes squinty, Fergus glanced up at him. “This’ll give you some support.”
Neil doubted it would give him much of an edge. Even so, every little bit counted. “Thanks.”
“Too bad I can’t shoot you up with Red Bull. That would get you moving.”
“No steroids, uppers, speed?” Neil quipped.
“Fresh out. Wait a sec.” Fergus straightened and reached back into the recesses of his windbreaker, returning with a small red packet of melt in your mouth energy strips. “Three of these have as much caffeine as a power drink, loaded with vitamin C and ginseng, instantly delivered to your system.”
Neil made no objection to the energy boost but wondered if Fergus truly thought he’d live to benefit from the extra vitamins. “Calum should’ve challenged me to a foot race. I’d run circles around him even with this bum knee.”
“Oh, stop muttering and just swallow them.”
He slipped the strips into his mouth. They tasted tartly of cranberry. “Not bad.” Not that it mattered if they were the flavor of the month, considering. Still, he appreciated his friend’s efforts.
Fergus nudged him, and Neil glanced around to see a mini laser pointer concealed in his hand. “What are you up to?”
He bent nearer and spoke in Neil’s ear. “I’ll aim for Calum’s eyes, distract him.
“Take care no one sees you,” Neil cautioned in the barest whisper.
“It’s the violet laser, less conspicuous than the green one. Besides, no one even knows what this is.”
“They’ll conclude it’s magic and you’re some kind of wizard.”
Fergus chuckled under his breath. “Maybe I am one here. Like Harry Potter.”
Neil wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “Until you run out of tricks.”
“Not nearly. I imagine these guys are easily impressed.”
“And pissed.”
Fergus waved aside his qualms. “Good news. I found the pepper spray in one of my pockets. Didn’t lose it in the grass after all.”
“Great. We’re saved.” Neil knocked back another gulp of the restorative brew.
That mulish look came into Fergus’s eyes. “It’s better than nothing. Saved us before.”
“With a portal to leap through. We’ll have to run like hell if you use it now.”
“I won’t,” Fergus said, “unless we’re desperate.”
“We are.” Neil slid his scrutiny at Calum, fast losing what minute patience he possessed, then back to Fergus. “Pity you don’t have a light saber on you.”
Fergus glanced in Calum’s direction. “Don’t have time to train you to be a Jedi.”
“We don’t have time for anything. Should I remove my coat for this duel?” Neil could hardly believe he’d uttered those words aloud.
Fergus’s glasses partly obscured his calculating expression. “That’s the closest thing you’ve got to armor. Otherwise, you’re down to your dress shirt. Besides, Neo did all sorts of stunts in his Matrix coat. And not all of that was computer graphics.”
“True. Your mom chose well.” Neil could move unhindered and this drafty hall would stand some movement before he grew overheated. “Figured there was some method to her madness.”
“There usually is.” Fergus spoke in a hush. “Neo was buff, but you’re not half bad.”
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“All I’m saying is just do your be
st and I’ll try to cover for you. I don’t have brute strength, but I’m quick and conniving.”
“A welcome combination, but it’s still me out there wielding the sword.”
His cagey friend hesitated, and then rushed on under his breath. “Don’t forget you’ve got that dagger from Mom. She must have intended a use for it.”
Neil recoiled. “I don’t want to mortally injure my own brother. Can’t believe she intended that.”
Fergus was grim. “You may have to, if he doesn’t get you first. I’d say there’s little love lost between you.”
“But there was never hate. I always thought when the chips were down he’d come to my aid.”
Calum snorted like an annoyed bull. “Have ye finished with yer preparation, gentlemen, or shall we commence after ye’ve dined and taken yer ease by the hearth?”
“Doesn’t sound like he’s gonna back you up,” Fergus mumbled.
“Not a lot. More likely to trample me.” Neil gulped a final swallow, set the tankard down, and got to his feet. “Let’s get on with this then.”
Calum swept his arm at the wall and the swords mounted against the stones. “Choose the blade to yer liking.”
Neil strode over and took a claymore in hand. This weapon could deliver sweeping slashes or powerful thrusts. How he knew that, he couldn’t say, only that the knowledge was inherent. As far as swords went, it was a beauty. A globate pommel topped the leather covered grip. The sloping cross-guard, or quillons, between the blade and the hilt, terminated in quatrefoils and a high collared quillon block with langets followed the blade fuller.
The finely crafted steel was well-honed. Yes, it would do the job nicely, if Neil could recapture his age-old skills. Nor was he unaware of Calum’s equally fine sword, and he seemed bursting to have at him with it.
If Calum believed he really was Niall would he still want to lop off his head?
They’d never been especially close; rivals, certainly, but not enemies. How was it they were going after each other with swords? Hadn’t they played together as children?
Neil tested his weighty blade in sample swipes and listened to the whistle of metal slicing the air. Dueling without the intention of doing severe bodily harm to one’s opponent was far more difficult than going full fury at your foe. How this lout of a brother had persuaded Mora to wed him four hundred years ago, Neil couldn’t imagine.
Perhaps she’d been sorely in want of comfort and Calum more chivalrous than he’d been at Neil’s unexpected return. What a bloody welcome home.
Gripping the sword hilt, he turned and faced his brother. Mora darted glances between them. Neil held her eyes for a moment then shifted his full attention to Calum. He was as ready as he’d ever be.
He gave a nod. “Begin.”
Eyes aflame, a fierce set to his mouth, Calum sprang forward. Firelight reflected off his upraised sword.
Teeth gritted, Neil rushed to meet him. The clash of steel on steel rang in his ears.
Terms like parry, parry, thrust, thrust, flitted through his mind. But the fact of the matter was that he found himself in a battle for his life, acting purely on instinct and an adrenalin rush spurred by caffeine.
And in that moment, he knew Calum would deal him a lethal blow and apologize to their mother later. Then lay claim to Mora, or try to.
By God, not if Neil could help it!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mora encircled her arms around Anna MacKenzie while the two men struck sparks with their great blades. Sorely taxed in mind and body, Niall’s frail mother might swoon if not supported. Scarcely a morsel of food had passed the grieved woman’s lips since Niall had disappeared. Nor was Mora entirely steady herself, but trembled against his wisp of a mother. Lord protect him.
Not only did she shake from fear for him, but fury at her immobility. Helpless did not describe how she felt in not being able to intervene in this rash duel. And how Mora despised being ineffectual. She vowed to do whatever came to hand the instant the opportunity revealed itself.
Astonished that Neil wasn’t already pierced and bleeding, terrified he would be at any moment, Mora willed him to miraculously prevail. The blessed Virgin and all the saints guard him, she prayed, hearken him back to the days when he was master of the claymore.
But that hour was not yet upon him.
Mora sucked in her breath as Calum’s blade sliced past Neil’s bold defense and down across his chest. A black button flew off his coat and hit the floor with a ping. But the vile tip must have missed its mark or the wool was strong indeed. Thank the saints there were no rents in the cloth, or a dreaded crimson stain. Would Calum’s next thrust cut through Neil’s coat? Worse—his flesh?
Intently watching Neil, it took Mora a moment to note Calum blink as though at some vexing insect.
Was it her imagination or had a ray of blue light crossed his irate countenance? She studied him closely. A narrow beam indeed did shine in his baleful eyes like a ribbon of moonlight.
Wherever had it come from? And how? No moon had yet risen and rain would veil any light.
Fergus! It must be him with his craft and cunning.
She resisted the urge to shift her gaze in his direction and mayhap expose his act. But certainly the sly fox wielded one of those strange lights in Neil’s behalf. She prayed his ploy would buy them some much needed time for Neil to recover his former self. And remember all.
Neil and Fergus were far more true brothers than the ambitious Calum who thought only to be laird and claim all that belonged to Niall, including her. Forbid it, Almighty God!
Again, the flash of steel and Neil sprang forward, crossing blades with Calum. Gone, any trace of the humor that often played at his lips, any tenderness softening his eyes. The intensity of his expression reminded her of the old Niall.
As much as she wanted that Niall back, it came to her in a tumultuous swell how beyond description she loved this one. Like twins they were. Neil and Niall, the same and yet different. Inexplicable, and yet she understood.
A song Neil had played for her in Staunton on a baffling device called an MP3 player returned to Mora amid the strident meeting of steel. The haunting beauty of that ballad seemed to express the longings of her heart. He’d said she might like the song by Iron and Wine, an odd name for troubadours, and let her listen to the magical sound through tiny plugs, like molded wax, that fit in her ears.
Why the song came to her now, she had no idea, only that it seared her to the core to think of losing this man who battled not only for his life, but his very existence. If he perished from this earth, God’s blood, so would she, and seek for him in the realm that waited beyond. But if he ceased to be, could she find him there? Anywhere?
Black despair washed over her in a murky mire.
Dear Lord, there must be a way. Had she not journeyed to another realm and found him, and had he not returned with her to his homeland held by the MacKenzie’s since ancient days? Was that not marvelous?
Hope. She must cling to hope.
Body and soul, Mora urged Neil on, as, teeth set, he lunged, swinging and clashing. Back and forth the two went, the floor creaking beneath their feet. He followed Calum’s every move and countered his strokes so expertly she thought he must be remembering. Such skill couldn’t be mere chance.
Then Neil faltered. Whether from the hitch in his knee or Calum’s superior assault, she couldn’t be certain. Either way, he stood in dire peril.
So near came Calum’s blade! She could hardly bear to watch, nor could she look away.
Again, Calum forced Neil back toward the wall. Her heart caught in her throat—a dry lump. She scarcely drew breath as he reined blows on Neil. Sword flashing, Neil valiantly defended himself but Calum closed in, a wolf going in for the kill.
“No,” she forced from her taut throat, a plaintive whisper echoed by Neil’s mother.
Once more, the blue flicker of light slanted at Calum. He grunted, swiping at the distraction like a buzzing fly.
/> A hint of mirth at his lips, Neil seized the advantage. He lunged. His sword whistled through the air. Calum’s upraised arm blocked the blow. He stepped back—only to leap forward again.
Steel sang out repeatedly in the hall. Now and then, that unnatural blue light came to Neil’s aid. Calum blinked, temporarily thrown off guard, mayhap blinded as well. He wasn’t readily daunted, though definitely perturbed.
Mora could no longer resist a glance at Fergus. His expression a mask of innocence, he leaned casually against a chair at the end of the table. One hand held a tankard, the other partly obscured by the furniture. He sipped from the vessel, seeming at ease. But his eyes never left Neil, like a hound watching a rabbit.
She’d witnessed Fergus in his home, seen his nimble fingers fly over the device called a laptop, and watched him perform any number of unusual skills with his other strange instruments. His hands were like magic. He could easily direct the furtive beam at Calum while swigging ale and no one would be the wiser.
Or would they?
Distracted by Neil’s steadily improving swordplay, Calum had not yet sought for the source of the mysterious beam. Mora feared he’d discern the culprit at any moment and rush at him with an angry snarl. Neil would be hard pressed to defend them both. And Mora would fly to Fergus’s defense. Devices aside, he wouldn’t last two minutes at Calum’s hand. Not unless he possessed true magic.
****
His brow beaded with the sweat stinging his eyes, Neil gulped a raspy breath and fought to regain his momentary advantage. If he could just hold on, summon the strength and dexterity. He willed his knee not to give out, or his lungs.
Calum might not be as spent, but Neil observed the rise and fall of his chest. His breath came faster and harder now. His forehead glistened from exertion. He appeared none too pleased by the fight he’d encountered in this imposter.
No doubt his brother expected a swift end to his challenge. One decidedly in his favor. And Neil would’ve been forced to gratify his incensed sibling if not for the distraction Fergus posed while he came back to himself.
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