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The reply had been quick. Robert was insulted now. He scowled. “Yer words are like an arrow through me heart,” he hissed. “Just because men call ye The Red Lion, ye’re not the best swordsmen in all of Scotland, ye know. Or did ye think so?”

“Actually, I did.”

Robert’s mouth popped open in outrage. He looked at Connell. “Do ye hear him?” he demanded, pointing to Jamison. “He’ll kill ye just as easily as look at ye. Will ye let him take ye down so easily?”

Connell was listening to the banter, not entirely sure it wasn’t some ploy to distract him. “The Red Lion or no’, he’s not goin’ tae take me down,” he said, eyeing the brothers. “But… but I dunna want me sister tae see bloodshed. ’Tis not right.”

Jamison cocked his head curiously. “Scots women are stronger than we are when it comes tae a fight,” he said.

“Yer sister has stolen from the wounded in the field. She’s cut off a swollen finger tae retrieve a valuable ring and ye know she’s done far worse than that.

If ye dunna want tae fight me, Connell, then ye take back yer slander against Robbie. ”

Connell eyed both Jamison and Robert, seeing a way out of this. He was actually feeling rather hopeful. “I’ll lower me sword if he lets me smell his breath.”

As Jamison looked to his brother, the scowl vanished from Robert’s face and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

He suspected why the man wanted to smell his breath– to see if he could smell a whiff of his sister on him.

Robert had planted his face squarely betwixt Eva’s legs so there was probably little doubt that he had the smell of female flesh on him.

He could smell it even now. Would he let Connell smell his lips?

Absolutely not. It would be a dead giveaway. With that thought, he shook his head.

“I willna let ye,” he said. “I willna let ye close enough to slip a dirk between me ribs. Jamie, give me the damn sword so I can be done with this.”

Jamison moved away from his brother, fearful the man would try to make a grab for his weapon and then it would be the two of them battling each other. Holding out a hand to prevent his brother from following him, he lifted his weapon to Connell.

“Ye canna smell his breath,” he said. “Make yer move if ye must.”

Connell stared at him for a moment, a river of emotions running through his dark eyes.

His hope for a peaceful solution to the situation was gone and there was nothing more he could do unless he wanted to look like a coward.

Therefore, he unsheathed the dirk at his waistband, a very long and sharp dagger that was nearly as long as a sword itself.

The blade was long and triangular, sharp only on one side. The type of blade was native to the Highlands and the warriors who populated it, and this one was no different with its guardless hilt. The MacKenzie stag was carved into the hilt made out of a stag’s horn.

Jamison had seen the dirk before and it was an impressive one.

Now, that razor-sharp tip would be aimed for his chest and his broadsword came up.

He had the advantage provided that he didn’t let Connell get too close to him.

The man could cut him badly with a weapon meant for close-quarters combat, but a broadsword such as the one Jamison held could cut a man’s head off easily.

Therefore, this would be an interesting fight.

They began to square off in the barnyard, circling one another, each man waiting for the other to make the first move.

Jamison could hear Eva panting with fear.

He didn’t even know where Robert was. He couldn’t think about that now; all he could think about was the man he was preparing to fight. The battle wasn’t long in coming.

Connell charged at Jamison with his blade held high and Jamison deftly avoided the rush.

But Connell was on him in an instant, bellowing and shouting, using the dirk in great slashing motions as Jamison deflected them.

At this point, he was on the defensive more than anything, waiting for Connell to exhaust himself and then Jamison would put his blade to the man’s throat and give him the ultimatum of apologizing to Robert again to save his life.

He was fairly certain that Connell would apologize.

He was rash but he wasn’t an idiot. And, Robert really was having his way with the man’s sister so Jamison was, perhaps, not as hard on the man as he could have been.

Connell was only defending the vestiges of his sister’s honor, something that was long gone.

Jamison supposed, in reality, that Connell was really just defending the family pride.

So be it. Jamison could hold out until Connell came to his senses.

But those thoughts were cut short when Robert suddenly entered the fight, running at Connell from the side and tackling the man, sending them both to the ground.

As Jamison watched in horror, Connell brought that dirk down onto Robert’s back, goring him.

Robert’s screams filled the air and Jamison rushed the pair, broadsword lifted, bringing it down on Connell’s neck as the man stabbed Robert a second time.

Connell’s head was separated neatly from his body before he could stab Robert a third time.

As swiftly as it began, the fight was over, leaving devastation in its wake.

None of them had wanted this ending but, in a fit of panic on Jamison’s part, that was what it had come to.

Eva began screaming at the sight of her brother’s decapitated body as Jamison reached down, trying to pull Robert to his feet.

“Robbie,” he gasped. “Can ye walk, man?”

Robert was pale and bleeding, blood gushing from the two wounds on his left side. He staggered to his feet as Jamison pulled at him.

“Ye shoulda let me fight him,” he said to his brother. “He was goin’ tae kill ye, Jamie. Do ye know I couldna live with meself if he did?”

Jamison glanced at Connell’s body, the detached head with the sightless eyes staring up into the sky. He swore he saw the mouth move as Eva stood over him and screamed.

“Come on,” he hissed at his brother. “We must leave. Now.”

Robert grunted, hand to his bloody back. “But Eva….”

“I dunna think she wants tae come with us, Robbie. Move. ”

Jamison pulled his brother across the barnyard, outside of the rock walls to where his shaggy brown horse was feeding on the wet, green grass in the field beyond. His attention darted about as he looked to see what MacKenzie men the sister’s screaming was bringing forth.

“Ye have tae run, Robbie, or we’ll soon join Connell in a headless existence,” he said, anxiety in his tone. “Move faster.”

“I am!”

“Ye lazy bastard, I could crawl faster than ye’re movin’!”

They manage to reach the horse as men began pouring out of the MacKenzie stronghold, lured by Eva’s screaming.

Men were shouting and horses were being gathered.

Jamison knew their time was growing extremely limited so he grabbed his brother and literally tossed the man up onto the horse, which was now becoming jumpy and excited with all of the shouting and movement.

Jamison vaulted onto the horse behind his bleeding brother and they took off, heading towards the sea and the road that would take them north to Foulis Castle.

Jamison had no idea what he was going to tell his father about the incident but he sincerely hoped he had the chance.

He’d rather face his furious father than a herd of rabid MacKenzies with blades.

He could hear shouting behind him and knew they were mounting a chase, but he kept focused and held fast to Robert, spurring his heavy-boned horse across the rocky path as they hurled towards the main road that turned for home.

If nothing else, Jamison had long learned that cooler heads prevailed.

Panic would get him killed and he’d seen many instances of that, so he kept the horse going hard and steady until they finally came to the road that would take them home.

Only when they made the turn north did he dare to look behind him, only to be met by an incoming tide of men on horseback tearing after him.

Jamison was fairly certain he could outrun them because he had enough of a lead, but that didn’t stop the creeping anxiety.

He wasn’t so much worried for himself as he was for Robert, who was grunting and bleeding all over the horse.

He had no idea just how bad his brother was really hurt but he couldn’t stop to analyze it.

He had to make it home. Then, if his brother wasn’t too badly injured, he planned to beat the man within an inch of his life for doing something so stupid.

Not with Eva; he didn’t even care about that.

But for charging Connell when there had been no need.

That had been the stupid part. He’d been forced to kill the man when it hadn’t been necessary.

Strangely enough, George Munro the Elder seemed to think that both of his sons were rather stupid when they told him why a hundred MacKenzie warriors were at their gate, trying to tear the place down. They soon came to discover that it wasn’t Robert they wanted.

It was Jamison.

*

The next day

“I have tae send ye away. I have nae choice.”

Jamison was sitting at the great, worn table in his father’s feasting hall.

It was a big room, with a massive table down the center of the room that had seen many a year and many a man eating at it.

Scuffed, with pockmarks in it where dirks had been slammed into the wood, the table was part of the family and had a tendency to bring about fond memories of days gone by when there had been love and laughter and humor.

But not today. Today, the table was part of the judge and jury over Jamison as he sat next to the wounded Robert, listening to their father’s decision on how to best handle the MacKenzie anger. Neither man liked what they were hearing, most especially Jamison.