Page 55 of A Highlander’s Heart

Patrick waved behind him. “As ye can see, I have another clan behind me, ready to fight for my rightful place as Laird of Clan Gunn.”

“Ye have no rightful place. I am heir to the Gunn lairdship.” Morgan turned to the man beside him. “I doona ken why I am bothering to argue with the mon.”

With those words he turned and hurried down the stairs, his hand on his sword. Michael Gunn, who would take Patrick’s place as Second-in-Command, moved next to him.

“Emma get back upstairs,” he shouted as he passed her in the great hall.

She said something after him, but he didn’t hear her. He marched through the bailey, with a group of warriors behind him and Michael, all of them with their swords drawn.

“Open the gates,” Morgan bellowed.

Once the gates had opened, Patrick, with Laird Oliphant next to him, strode forward.

“Lay down yer sword, Morgan, or we will attack,” Patrick said.

Morgan shook his head. “Ye are a fool, mon, if ye believe yer paltry little group can take over Clyth Castle. I see no reason for ye to waste the lives of these men attempting something impossible.”

Patrick smirked and stepped forward. “Then ’tis ye and me, Morgan.”

Thinking of his newly healed leg, and the pain he still had in his ribs, and knowing that Patrick was aware of it, Morgan wasn’t too surprised by Patrick’s suggestion. But there was no way he could ignore the man’s smug attitude.

He heard Emma suck in a deep breath, but aside from the fact that he’d told her to stay upstairs, he didn’t want her anywhere near this challenge. He was tempted to have someone remove her, but their newly strengthened connection could very well be shattered if he did.

“Are ye sure ye want to do this, Patrick? Ye and whatever men from Gunn that wishes to go with ye can do that and we can call a halt to this.”

Patrick spat on the ground. “Afraid are ye, mon?”

Morgan bent into position. “Nay, mon.”

They began to circle each other, Patrick’s confidence as visible as the rising sun. Using skills he’d learned when he was a lad, and honed over the years, Morgan pushed the newly healed gash in his leg as well as his sore ribs to the back of his mind and focused fully on his opponent.

Having fought with Patrick before on the lists, he knew the man’s weak spots. Of course, that meant if Morgan had any weaknesses—he admitted to none—Patrick would know them as well.

“How are things with yer whore? Dragged her from many beds? She sure is a tasty little bit. I’m anxious to have my turn with her.”

Patrick had found his weakness.

Morgan swallowed and took a deep breath. He could not let Patrick’s comments distract him. He swung at Patrick and nicked him on his arm.

The crowd surrounding them cheered. They clashed again, and while Morgan had his weakness, he saw the one in Patrick. The man was desperate to take over the clan and prove to the Oliphants that he was superior and entitled to rule.

They clashed a few times, backed up, and clashed again. They circled, the crowds cheering them on.

“Aye, mon,” Patrick snickered. “When I get my hands on yer whore we’ll have a great time. I’ll have her naked on her knees with her mouth—”

Morgan swung and caught Patrick on the cheek. The move enraged him and for a few seconds he lost control as blood ran down his chin. He raced towards Morgan and swung. Morgan backed up and Patrick missed, the power of his thrust turning him around.

He quickly turned back and again tossed out a comment Morgan didn’t understand with the encouraging cheers erupting from the Gunn clan.

There were comments Morgan wanted to toss out at his opponent, but he didn’t want to distract himself.

Sweat pouring down both their faces, the men circled and swung; both men apparently evenly matched.

Patrick remained silent following the last clash.

After a few more minutes, Morgan knew he had to end this battle. His ribs continued to ache and the last thing he wanted to do was collapse in front of everyone.

He gnashed his teeth, swung low, and caught Patrick in his bollocks, which would have been deadly if he hadn’t been wearing his thick feileadh mảr. But the power behind the strike was enough to stop Patrick for a second as he hopped back and regained his footing. That was all Morgan needed to move in and run his sword through his opponent’s chest.