Highlander Enchanted(70)

“I’m disappointed in ye,” Laird Duncan said and squatted near Cade. “Isna Black Cade made of stone? Stone doesna fever or weaken.”

“He is a man,” Richard said dismissively. “Come morn, the last of his clan.”

Fire built in Cade’s gullet. He glared at Richard, unwilling to show the knight any form of respect.

“Black Cade isna dead yet,” Laird Duncan said. “He need not be standing t’see his kin die.” He stood with a grunt. “He’s weak enough for yer duellum, Lord Richard.”

“Nay,” Cade replied. “At my weakest, I will always best ye, English.”

“I see no use for single combat when we are to be victorious tomorrow,” Richard replied. “I prefer to tie him down and whip him.”

“Ye allow these cowards t’fight with ye?” Cade asked Laird Duncan.

The chieftain was grinning. “Lord Richard, we will have a duellum this night!”

The English lord appeared ready to refuse.

“Or ye can leave this night, without yer wife and her lands,” Laird Duncan added.

“Very well, Laird Duncan. I will face the savage.” Richard turned away, trailed by two of his men.

Cade assessed himself and determined he was in very real danger. But, he had a weapon Richard knew nothing of: the storms. If he lost too much ground or risked death, he needed only to strike Richard down with lightning, though it was not the preferred death he had in mind for the English lord.

“On yer feet!” Laird Duncan bellowed.

The two warriors on either side of Cade hauled him to his feet.

“Get him a sword, if he can lift it!” Laughing, Laird Duncan strode away, towards the center of the encampment.

Cade did not need to pretend his first step was weak. He nearly toppled to the ground when the mud gave way beneath his foot. His captors yanked him back onto his feet, and he focused on placing one before the other. His footing returned, and he began to feel firmly part of the world, until he was handed a sword.

Cade wobbled, his balance once more thrown.

Men were gathering in a wide circle around him, and several jeered when he failed to lift the sword without disrupting his balance. The weight and movement made his stomach wound feel as if it were tearing. He lowered the sword and tugged up his tunic to check the wound. Despite the pain, it appeared sound.

He hefted the sword again. It was easier this time, as if his sluggish body were remembering every other time he had carried a weapon. He swung it lazily as he became accustomed to the feel of it, aware of both the taxing of his weak body and the strength he did not expect to retain after such wounds.

“Are ye ready, Black Cade?” By the mirth in Laird Duncan’s tone, he had no faith in Cade at all.

Cade looked up from the sturdy blade. The circle around him was several men deep. A cold drizzle did not dissuade the muddied warriors and helped sharpen Cade’s thoughts. Richard wove a path through the Highlanders, trailed by several knights, and stepped into the circle across from Cade.

Anger gave him strength. Richard had always left him wishing he were not so concerned about falling to his unseillie nature.

“Ye ‘ave a chance t’defeat the great chieftain, Black Cade, this very night, English!” Laird Duncan called to Richard. “And his clan on the morrow. Ye will do what Saracens only dreamt of.”

Laughter went around their audience.

Cade ignored it. He tested his strength. He was going to have to rely on pure power as opposed to agility, for he had none of the latter.

“Fight!”

Thunder growled. Cade hefted the sword and adjusted his balance.

Richard circled him, his sword drawn and eyes pinned to Cade. Cade turned with him but did not make the first move as he had in the Great Hall. A hushed silence fell over those witnessing the bout. At least, until Richard struck.

Cade deflected, assessing his ability anew upon blocking the jarring blow. He allowed Richard to lash out at him several times. The knight was well trained, if a bit slow, perchance because of the weather and travel.

The men around them were soon shouting and cheering.

Cade’s first strike nearly ended in disaster. A breath before Richard lopped off his hand, Cade adjusted his stance and managed to avoid the blow. He smashed to the ground on his stomach and shook his head, now aware of what strategy he needed to employ against Richard. Moving quickly, even in striking, was going to end poorly. He had to wait for Richard to expose a weakness before he was able to risk his own life with another blow.

“Black Cade.” Richard said mockingly. “How did I fear facing you before?”

Cade ignored the barb and climbed to his feet in time to block another strike. With a better sense of his ability, he gripped the sword with both hands and settled into a comfortable stance.

Richard smashed into him with a series of blows that drove Cade back at first. He found his footing and pushed Richard away. The knight did it again, this time locking hilts with Cade.

“You are weak. Pathetic.” Richard sneered. “Would that she could see you now!”

“Better weak than a coward,” Cade returned with a grunt. He shoved Richard back.

The English noble began to attack in earnest. To Cade’s dismay, he soon discovered his plan to remain patient and await his opening was derailed by the weakness of his body. If he were well, he would have beaten Richard at the onset. But he was not, and his blocks became slower, his footwork unsteady. Richard’s attacks were growing labored and less frequent, but he had the benefit of no injury to dull his movements.