The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(13)

The warriors exchanged blow after deadly blow, neither showing signs of tiring, wielding their enormous blades as effortlessly as if they were made of wood and not steel. The ground reverberated with each terrifying stroke.

She should look away. She should attempt to escape. But Christina was as mesmerized as she was horrified by the brutal savageness of the spectacle before her.

Was this what the Romans had felt watching the gladiators?

If the warriors weren’t so obviously trying to kill each other, there would be something almost beautiful about their movements. Despite their powerful builds, they moved with leonine grace. In the back of her mind it occurred to her that if they weren’t so fearsome looking, the men might be considered handsome. Nor could she ignore that there was something blatantly male and attractive about such brute strength. But the thought was fleeting and quickly forgotten in the heat and clamor of the battle. The clang of steel mixed with the grunts of the combatants and the ebbing and flowing murmurs of the crowd.

At first she thought they were well matched, but as the fight drew on she recognized the superior skill of the golden-haired man. His blade fell harder; his reactions were quicker and his movements more precise. He controlled every aspect of the battle.

Her gaze was drawn to him.

When it became clear that she and Beatrix were not in danger, she grew more bold in her observation, noticing the hard lines of his jaw, the wide mouth, and the forbidding brow. The noble bearing that permeated the air around him. As the fight had started without warning, he wore no helm or bascinet to protect his head. His hair was actually more brown than blond as she’d first thought, but the sunlight picked up all the golden strands, making it appear much lighter.

She was fascinated by the way his muscles bunched and flexed with each blow of the sword. Looking at him, the idea of Lancelot bending steel bars didn’t seem so farfetched. Such power would normally terrify her, but detached like this she felt a strange heat shimmering through her.

But she hardly had time to process the strange reaction before the battle shifted and took on a far more ominous tone.

The change was subtle but marked. The golden warrior attacked with cold purpose and precision, making her wonder whether he’d simply been biding his time.

She glanced at the dark warrior’s face and felt a chill so strong it turned her blood to ice. Behind the goading defiance, his eyes were empty. Soulless. And she knew with a certainty that couldn’t be explained that he didn’t care whether he lived or died.

She gasped when the golden warrior landed a blow to other man’s upper arm that drew blood, causing him to drop one of his swords. Her stomach rolled as the cotun and leine underneath stained a deep, dark red.

Beatrix buried her head in her shoulder, sobbing, but Christina couldn’t turn away, unable to believe what was about to happen.

The battle was intensifying now. Going faster. Moving toward a fatal end with each stroke. The scent of well-worked bodies wafted in the breeze. Tension and excitement surged in the crowd.

No one was going to do anything to stop it.

With blow after ringing blow, the golden-haired warrior moved his opponent back. The dark-haired warrior couldn’t last much longer. Christina’s heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t breathe.

She gasped again when the dark warrior stumbled back and fell to the ground. Her horror only grew when his mouth curved up in a smile.

The golden warrior raised his sword above his head, poised for the final blow.

“No!” a voice rang out.

His gaze shot to hers. She was riveted to the ground by the most piercing ice-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that seared her with an intensity she’d never experienced before. Eyes that were hard, cold, and utterly without mercy.

She blanched, as horror dawned: She was the one who’d cried out.

Their gazes held for only an instant before he looked brusquely away.

Disappointment crashed over her. How could she have expected mercy from such a man? Despite her strange fascination with him, he was not a knight but a brutish barbarian warlord.

She couldn’t bear to watch. Turning her head, she braced herself for the gasp of the crowd as the golden warrior finished the job. She heard the sword whiz through the air and land with a resounding thud that shook her to her toes.

But the gasp never came.

By the time she’d gathered enough courage to look back, the golden warrior had already started to walk away, and the dark warrior was being helped to his feet by one of his men. The golden warrior’s two-handed sword was plunged deep into the ground near where the dark warrior had lain, and one of his men was struggling to pull it from the ground.

She heard the whispers and felt the curious stares of the crowd on her, but she was too stunned to care.

What had just happened? Disbelief mingled with wonder. Had he heeded her plea?

All of a sudden, someone grabbed her arm and jerked her around.

“You stupid girl.”

She froze, her stomach pitching to the floor. “Father.”

His fingers bit into her shoulder. “What have you done?”

“I …” Her voice caught, not knowing how to explain. “He was going to kill him.”

He drew her close with a growl. “And you decided to interfere in a battle between men?” His face was only inches from hers. She could feel the heat of his wine-laden breath on her cheek. “You idiot! Do you know who that is?”