Bethann chuckled. It didn’t escape Chlodie that the sturdy man was looking sickly pale. She saw him try to grin at Domnall, though it didn’t change the worried look in his eyes.
“Domnall, please…”
“I’ve just got to see him,” he said. “To talk to him. Trust me?”
Chlodie nodded mutely. She stood beside Bethann. Together they watched Domnall walk toward the tree line.
“He is going to be sensible?” Chlodie asked.
She felt the strong man tense beside her. She saw how faltering his look was.
“I don’t ken,” he said.
“We have to do something,” she said. “We can’t let him.”
“No,” he agreed. “He won’t face him now. He wants to talk. Trust him.”
Chlodie swallowed hard. “I do.”
Inside, though, she had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen. She felt her guts clench with terror and tried to still it, tried to open her mind to whatever the Sight was bringing her.
She saw nothing. She had a vague sense of trees, the pines behind the barn, then nothing.
“He only means to talk,” Bethann repeated softly.
“I know.”
They stood and waited together. The sun went higher.
When the church bell had struck nine, Chlodie felt herself start to shift nervously.
“We have to do something,” she whispered.
“Ten minutes more,” Bethann soothed her. “Just ten.”
She turned around and looked at him. The strong face was calm, though she could see the effort it took for him to look thus. His eyes were pinched at the corners, his nostrils white. She turned quickly away.
“I’m going,” she said.
“Milady! Wait…”
As she walked swiftly down the path, she saw someone move from round the side of the barn. She broke into a run.
“Domnall!” she called, heart rejoicing.
His face was white and pinched.
“Chlodie,” he said. “It’s tomorrow. I will face him tomorrow, after noon.”
Chlodie felt her head sway, her vision clouding.
“Domnall,” she whispered.
Then her world went abruptly dark.
AN UNSEEN ENEMY
Domnall paced behind the inn. The sweat had dried on his brow, and he shivered inside, the cold wind doing nothing to alleviate the chill. He barely noticed it, mind set on other things.
I am going to have to face this fellow alone.
He couldn’t risk Bethann, and besides, his friend was not used to a pistol.
The pistol was not his choice – he’d grown up fighting with the shield and dagger, the traditional weapons of the Highlander – and pistols were something with which he was unfamiliar. Yet, McLammore had chosen the weapon.
All I can hope is that he’s as unskilled as I am.
That was unlikely, he knew, or why would he have chosen it? No, he knew that McLammore would only elect to do something if he thought it could make him win.
Domnall felt his hands tighten on his sleeves – a habit he knew signaled he was nervous. He made his fingers uncurl and drew a long breath.
“I don’t want to die.”
He said it aloud, frank, looking up at the sky. Pale blue, flecked with the first returning swallows, it was truly lovely. It spoke of all the promise his life had. He didn’t want to die.
He wiped sweat off his brow and tried to think about more practical things. Bethann could not stand as a second. He didn’t want him injured, or killed; someone had to look after Chlodie.
“And yet, if I stand alone, who will put an end to McLammore, if I fail to do so?”
He shook his head again, the worry twisting inside him.
He wasn’t letting Bethann risk himself too.
“Chlodie?”
He heard a footfall and turned around, heart thumping. If she came to him now, and said she could not stand to see him do it, he would try redress. He could try to make McLammore see his point-of-view, but he knew that was virtually impossible.
If she wished me to, I’d try it.
He turned completely around. Into the clearing, round the back of the former stables, strode a man. A youth, Domnall thought at first, noticing the lad’s tall, long-limbed frame. Then he stared.
“Tam..?”
“Mother said you were here,” the youth inclined his head, fractionally, in greeting. “I don’t know you…very well…” he said, for the first time sounding a little hesitant.
“But lad, why are you here, with me?” he asked. “Surely you have no place here?”
“I want to fight,” the youth said quickly. “You need seconds?”
Domnall could have cried, the relief was so great. Instead he raised a hand to the youth, shaking it.
“I accept, Tam,” he said. “But are you sure..?”
“I am sure,” Tam said, and this time he could see a shine in the younger man’s eye. “I think maybe McLammore hasn’t thought about who is trained with pistols hereabouts, eh?
Domnall caught the edge of his sharp grin and felt himself respond to the fellow’s pause. He chuckled.
“You could be right.”
“I know I am.”
Tam was smiling easily, confidently. It was an expression that Domnall absolutely could not have made himself: worry had reached every corner of him, driving out any hope of amusement. Now, he nodded.
“I think it’s for the best,” he said.
“It is,” Tam said. “Trust me.”
Domnall felt some of that worry recede. He shrugged to Tam.
“You think we can practice?” he asked.
Tam went red with a blush. “If you like,” he said slowly. “No reason why not.”
Domnall held a breath as the youth reached behind him and drew out the pistol from the belt of his kilt. He held it out to Domnall.
“Sir,” Domnall stammered, though the younger man barely outranked him. “I cannot…these are too fine.”
“Nonsense,” Tam shrugged. “You’ll take one, and that blackguard will have the other. I’ll keep the third, just in case.”
“Thanks.” Domnall’s mouth was dry. He found himself looking away at the horizon, heart beating steadily. He felt like, this way, he had a fair chance.
He waited for Tam to leave, heading up to the stairs, and then turned around and went back to the inn.
Chlodie was easy to find – one only had to listen for the rise and fall of voices to locate her. He followed it upstairs. As he entered the room, she stood, her eyes held his. She looked a mix of upset and distressed. He frowned.
“Chlodie..?”
“Don’t speak to me,” she said. Then she went red. Adeline, opposite her, stroked her hand tenderly.
“Sorry, but you could have refused him,” Chlodie said, turning her back on him and looking, pointedly, through the window. “McLammore is not the same rank as you.”
Domnall shook his head. He knew he could have tried that way to sidestep the challenge, but he felt it was a coward’s way out. McLammore’s military rank – likely self-awarded – was greater than Domnall’s, and their social status was not so gravely far apart that Domnall could refuse to fight on those grounds.
“I would have, milady”, he whispered. “But I cannot. It would bring even greater shame to both parties.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Chlodie said. She reached for his hand and Domnall took it, squeezing her fingers.
“Lass,” he sighed. Chlodie closed her eyes, tears shining as they traced their way down her cheeks. He heard the chair push back and Lady Adeline silently leave, the door swinging shut without a squeak behind her. Domnall drew Chlodie close to him and pressed his lips to hers. He felt his loins tug and ached to take her upstairs, to do all they had already done. However, he couldn’t yet. He didn’t want to remind himself how beautiful life could be. Not when he was about to lose it.
“Chlodie,” he whispered.
/> “Domnall,” she said softly. “Stay here? Stay with me. Don’t…leave.”
Domnall swallowed hard. He knew what she was meaning to say: she meant, don’t die and leave me. He looked down, unable to look into her green eyes.
“Lass, I can’t make promises,” he said.
“Then don’t.”
“But I can promise ye that I will never leave ye. Whatever stuff the soul is – well, mine will be here, right beside yours, until the day yours moves to join mine. I can promise that.”
“Oh. Domnall…”
She reached for him, then, lips hot and clinging on his. He drew her against him and felt his body respond and knew that he would take her upstairs, to show her in gesture what he could never say in language.
He led her from the room and they headed to the chamber they’d shared. He laid out his cloak on the bed, feeling lighter for the lack of it.
He undid kilt and shirt and then went to her, running his hands down her back, feeling for the places her dress fastened.
She was sliding her hands down his body, feeling over his spine, his back, and his hips. He felt his whole body ignite under her tenderness and moved his lips to press against hers. Then, feeling her lean back beneath him, he pushed her slowly to the bed.
She wrapped her arms around him and he leaned back, taking time to study each shadow of her skin, the way the light turned it to pale satin where it lay. He kissed her lips slowly and tasted them, the sweetness of them and their warmth.
I might never do this again.
He felt his member throbbing and gently parted her knees. She was sighing, her head moving restlessly, and he felt to check her readiness, and then gently entered her.
He gasped, feeling the wonder of being within her, the sheer sense of joy it always brought to him. He leaned back and moved further, and heard her gasp, and knew she was as eager as he was. He felt all restraint give way then, and moved within her, forward and back, forward and back, forward…
He heard her cry out, somewhere on the edge of his consciousness. The sound was so alluring that he felt his own body give way too, and then he was collapsing into her.
They lay side by side.
The cool wind dried their skin.
* * *
Chlodie rolled over and looked at Domnall where he lay on the bed beside her. His hair loose and red, his profile at rest, eyes shut. She ran a hand down his hair and then turned away, feeling tears flood her eyes.
“I won’t think about it,” she whispered.
She made herself stand, hearing him sigh and shift on the mattress behind her. She wasn’t going to look at him, wasn’t going to think about the fact that this might be the last time she did this, might be the last time she touched him…
“Chlodie..?”
She bit her lip, knowing she would cry. She nodded in answer, not turning around.
“Yes?” she managed to say after a long pause.
“What time is it?” he whispered.
She looked out of the window. In the distance, she could just see a church spire, rising up over the green landscape.
“It looks like almost one o’ clock.”
Domnall stood. Reaching for his shirt, he shrugged it on over his head. Reached for his kilt.
Chlodie went to him, and helped him fasten it, her hands feeling wooden as she did so. She reached up and looked into his eyes.
“You are not going to die today.”
Domnall grinned, though she could see the strain of tension at the corners of his eyes. “I think no.”
“You aren’t.”
“I know.”
They held each other’s gaze and both of them spoke their fears with their eyes, letting their mouths speak only sureties.
“I will watch you,” she said.
“No,” he whispered, taking her hand. “No. Stay here.”
“I will watch,” Chlodie said, knowing she was crying and knowing she was not going to hide it, not anymore. “You cannot tell me that I cannot. I want to see you…”
Domnall nodded and they embraced. She knew he was crying. He stepped back at length, when he had recovered more.
“I’ll go downstairs now,” he said.
“I’m coming, too.”
His mouth twisted with a smile. “Ye’ll have to dress first.”
She blushed, realizing that what he said was quite accurate. She reached, still blushing, for her petticoat. Drew it on, tugging at the hems and buttons impatiently, wanting to do it all as soon as possible.
When she was ready, hair finger-combed, she followed him out.
The sun had come out from between the clouds, and it shone on the long field. She almost hated that, the way it was so bright and warm, mocking her.
It should be a storm; the world should be ending! How can it be a happy day, with skylarks whirling?
She looked at the ground, trying not to let her distress show.
“What is the grievance..?”
An older man, some sort of army officer, hastily recruited for the purpose of being an overseer for dueling, went through the code.
As McLammore stated the grievance he had toward Domnall, she wanted to laugh.
An insult? That is reason for killing a man? Because you knew he could do what you never could have done. He leads men. You seek only glory, and garner contempt.
She glared at McLammore. His heavy-set jaw firm, he listened to the code, his small eyes darting about as if surveying advantages.
He has placed the sunshine side-on to both of them, she noted, approving. That meant neither man had the advantage of firing at a man who couldn’t see him.
“Name the seconds,” another man called formally.
“Felham Neave,” McLammore said.
Domnall spoke. “Tam, heir to the earldom of Alrae.”
Chlodie felt her throat close up, surprise warring with wonderment. She saw Tam, standing in the group, just behind Domnall. She hadn’t even noticed him, so unobtrusive had he made himself be.
In the edge of the crowd, she thought she saw a tall figure with black hair, and recognized his mother, the young dowager countess. She wanted to smile her thanks, but the woman was looking away.
And besides, I think Tam elected this personally.
She saw the confident smile on the youth’s face, and began to feel a touch of hope.
“Pace your steps!” the overseer called.
Chlodie felt herself unable to breathe as she watched Domnall walk, slowly and firmly, down the line of the field. He reached the white marker, twenty paces away, and turned around. A few seconds later, his opponent likewise.
“Now,” the overseer called in clear words. “Take your aim. Make ready…”
“No,” Chlodie whispered. No! It was all happening too soon, too hastily. It was meant to last forever, that slow moment when he turned to face her. If it lasted, if it was forever, he couldn’t leave.
“Fire!”
The air around them exploded in a haze of powder. Bullets whirred from one side of the field to the other. Chlodie felt her vision darken and swayed on her feet, before strong arms caught her from behind and she heard Bethann’s voice in her ear.
A SURPRISING TWIST
Chlodie stared, not wanting to look, but Bethann’s strong arm held her upright.
“It’s not so bad, milady,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s grazed, but not hit.”
Chlodie made herself turn right, where Bethann stood. Blood flowed in a trickle down his arm, a tear in the sleeve of his shirt showing where the bullet had, as he had suggested, grazed there.
She glanced swiftly down the field. McLammore stood there, unscathed, his pistol, still smoking, in his hand. He wore the same grimly righteous expression of earlier. Chlodie wanted to hit him.
“So, overseer?” he called, his voice toneless, though she could hear the triumph leaking through it. “Am I judged the successful of us two?”
She looked at the older officer, willing him to say someth
ing. He frowned.
“In cases such as these, where one opponent is wounded, his second will fight in his stead.”
“I am ready, sir.”
The young earl stepped onto the field, hair black and shining, a white cravat spreading the falling daylight a little further. He looked obediently to the older man.
“I see, sir,” the man swallowed, evidently not sure how to conduct himself in the face of such nobility. “In that case, if we could proceed..?”
“I declare objection!”
Chlodie whirled round as McLammore strode up. He had his pistol leaned on his shoulder, the lethal end of it clear of smoke, now, the silver embellished barrel gleaming in the pale sunshine.
“Sir, in the code as we…”
“I don’t care,” McLammore snarled, “what you read! The rules are fair. I drew first blood, and so I am the victor! Let all men know that the future Baron Dunning is a liar and a fool.”
“No,” Chlodie spoke up, but Bethann gripped her shoulder, encouraging silence.
“Wait, yet,” he said softly. “The feller isn’t going to listen to such utter daftness.”
Chlodie drew in a breath, turning to the overseer, who looked somewhat nauseous.
“Milord,” he said to Tam, somewhat overawed. “Lieutenant McLammore, if we could have some sort of accord? This duel was agreed as fighting to death.”
I know, Chlodie thought mutely. Then, as she understood his meaning, she twisted round to Bethann.
“He’s right! He hasn’t won yet. He…”
“As you said,” Bethann said, gently folding his fingers around her shoulder, letting her lean on him as she stepped back to watch events unfolding.
“So?” the overseer called out. “Do we have accord?”
“No!” McLammore spat. Chlodie stared at him as he threw his hat down on the ground in fury and then, before she had any idea what was happening, she saw him aim the pistol, straight at her.
She went tense. McLammore chuckled. Everyone was very still.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he chuckled. Chlodie felt her hair stand on end. The fellow was not in his right mind, she realized slowly. His eyes had narrowed. He waved his hand at the group, though not the one holding the pistol. That remained trained on her head.
A Highlander's Gifted Love (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 9) Page 19
