Page 85 of Bride of the Sinful Laird
The remaining man slashed wildly with his sword, but Edmund ducked each strike. Keeping himself only inches away from the point of the man’s sword, crouching, circling, parrying every thrust of his weapon, he waited for his opening.
It did not take long. The man’s foot caught on a rough timber on the wharf, and for an instant, his balance was unsure. It was then that Edmund swooped in, slashing the man’s neck with onefierce blow. Blood spouting from the wound, the man slumped into the water was lapping the side of Munro’s birlinn.
Then he turned to the Laird Munro.
His blood raged at the sight of Annora’s bruised and bloodstained face and neck. She stood proud and defiant beside her father who held her arm in an iron grip. Her eyes met Edmund’s and she gave a slight nod as he strode the few steps to stand before her father, regarding him with narrowed eyes.
“Ye’d slice the throat of yer own daughter?”
“Aye.” Munro spat the word. “She brought dishonor tae the clan and shame tae me.” He glared at Edmund. “And who are ye? The worthless lad who debauched and ruined her? How dare ye, when she is betrothed tae the Sir Bertram Radcliffe of Cumbria? I will slice her throat and yers, if I must.”
“I am Edmund Sinclair MacNeacail, heir tae the lairdship, and she shall be me wife,” Edmund said with ice in his tone. “Lower yer dirk.”
Munro took his dirk from Annora’s throat and drew his sword. “I shall do so only tae defeat ye in battle,” he spat.
Edmund shook his head. “Put down yer sword. I’ll nae fight an old man.”
“Who are ye callin’ an old man? I am the Laird Munro!”
Munro raised his weapon and stepped boldly forward.
“Dinnae push me, Munro. I’ve said I’ll nae fight ye.”
With a strangled cry, his face red and distorted with rage, Graham Munro launched himself at Edmund. His moves were skilled but he was slow on his feet and his sword thrust lacked strength. Edmund backed away and Munro followed him, swinging his blade. Edmund swung back in defense but never attacked, knowing the laird would tire quickly. y danced back and for the like that for a while, the Laird Munro turning redder by the minute and gasping for air.
“I was once again demand ye drop yer sword so that ye dinnae get hurt, or worse,” Edward warned him.
The laird laughed, although it sounded more like a grunt, and swung at this opponent. “I will killye, fer ye have dishonored me name and me daughter, and fer that ye must pay!”
At those words, Munro lunged at him, but in his hasty rush, his foot caught the same rough plank on the wharf that had already been the downfall of one man and his feet flew out from under him.
For a long second, his arms flailed, then he careened sideways over the edge of the mooring. He went down, his head hitting the timber hull of his birlinn with a resounding crack. Then the dark sea closed over him and he was gone with hardly a splash.
Two of his fighting men dropped their swords and plunged from the wharf into the water. Long minutes passed until, finally, the men rose to the surface dragging Munro’s inert body up from the depths.
Edmund and Lionel lent a hand as the men hauled the lifeless Munro to the surface and laid him on the wharf.
Two Munro men lay dead, several others were wounded and bleeding freely. The fighting had come to an end with the death of their master.
Edmund reached for Annora who had watched the scene unfold, her complexion bleached white, her gray eyes dark with horror, blood still trickling from the cut on her lip. He took her in his arms and held her close to his chest so that their hearts were beating the same rhythm. She was still in her night-shift, her feet bare, her cloak pulled around her shoulders.
He bent and kissed her head.
“I’ll nae rejoice in me faither’s death, Edmund. Yet I’ll nae mourn him either.” She looked with sorrowful eyes as the body of her father was born onto his birlinn by the few of his men without injuries.
One of the Munro men walked to Edmund’s side.
“Our laird is dead, and our fight on his behalf is at an end. I request that ye allow us to bear his body home tae a burial among his clan.”
Edmund glanced at Annora.
She nodded. “’Tis fitting. I wish nay enmity tae me Clan.”
“Granted,” Edmund said, and the man made his way onto the waiting birlinn.
Edmund turned to Lionel. “I wish tae take the Lady Annora back tae the safety of the castle. I leave ye tae see tae the departure of these men. Some of our lads must ride south tae intercept the Laird Harris MacDonald, who fled the scene. ‘Tis me wish tae see him languish in the Scorrybreac dungeon.”
Lionel nodded and signaled to his men. “Let these men go in peace.” They stepped up and lined the wharf, hands clasping their unsheathed swords, waiting for the sails to unfurl.
