voice box. “If you strike the lady again, I’ll show you no quarter. Even after I’ve sailed back to Argyllshire. If I hear rumor of your brutality…one word from any source, I’ll come upon you in the dead of night and cut out your heart.”
“Did you hear that men?” Aleck bucked against Eoin’s chest. “He threatened to murder me.”
“Aye, I promised it—should he raise his hand against Lady Helen.” Eoin pushed the sniveling maggot into the crowd.
Aleck scrambled for his sword and held it up in challenge. “Oh no, this isn’t over.”
Eoin loosened the buckle of his sword belt and let it clatter to the cobblestones. “All right then. Let’s have a real fight—no weapons—man to man.” He held up his fists.
Chuckling, MacIain passed his blade to Grant. “I’ll turn the backstabber’s face to pulp,” he gloated.
“My coin’s on MacGregor,” someone hollered from the crowd.
The men surrounded them in a circle, raucous shouts echoing between the bailey walls.
Eoin studied the behemoth facing him. Looking like a Highland bull ready to charge, MacIain could have blown steam out his nose.
Braying a battle cry, Aleck barreled toward Eoin—exactly what he anticipated. Steeling his nerves, he stood firm. One step before impact, Eoin lunged aside, too late for MacIain to change his course. The chieftain stumbled face first to the cobblestones.
Grunting, Aleck pushed up with his palms, shaking his bulbous head. When he rose, blood streamed from his nose, his face crimson. “You’re a backstabber, you are.”
“I think not.” Eoin raised his fists. “Come again.”
This time, Aleck approached with more caution, ready to strike.
Breathing deeply, Eoin waited for the cur to make the first move. Aye, rage tore at his gut, but he’d not let it control him as Aleck did. With a roar, Aleck swung his fist toward Eoin’s jaw. Ducking, Eoin slammed a punch to MacIain’s gut. The wind wheezed from the maggot’s lungs, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from jabbing his elbow into Eoin’s sternum.
He reeled back at the bone-crunching thud. Something cracked, but he could feel no pain. Rage swelled inside his chest. Advancing with relentless pummeling of his fists, Eoin drove the bastard backward. The blood oozing from his nose turned to a stream of red. But Eoin didn’t stop. Faster and faster he threw his fists until he could scarcely make out MacIain’s face through the mass of blood.
Shouts from the crowd grew louder, driving Eoin deeper into the frenzy of attack. A fist connected with his jaw, but he didn’t even feel it.
Aleck stumbled and dropped to his knees.
Eoin advanced.
Someone caught him by the elbows.
“Enough,” Fergus growled in his ear.
Eoin blinked, suddenly aware of the beating he’d unleashed. Rarely did he lose control. He nodded and took in a calming breath. Fergus was right. They were allies. It was time to stop.
Eoin held out his hand. “Shall we call it a draw, Sir Aleck?”
MacIain eyed him, blood oozing around his teeth and from the jagged cuts on his face, then he grasped Eoin’s palm. “No one makes me look the fool,” he said with a low snarl.
Eoin should have expected a traitorous move.
Before he could pull away, MacIain swung at him with a dagger. Bending backward, the blade sliced across Eoin’s abdomen. Hot blood oozed down his gut. Nostrils flaring, Eoin advanced and pulled the dagger hidden in his sleeve. Hands clamped around his arms. He fought to break away, throwing his left, then right. “Release me you mongrel varmints.”
“I’ll murder the bastard,” MacIain bellowed from across the circle. He too was being pulled away by his men.
“He’s nay worth the king’s ire,” Fergus hissed in Eoin’s ear.
“What is this commotion about?” Lady Helen dashed into the midst of the mayhem.
“Get back into the keep woman,” Aleck bellowed.
When Helen shifted her gaze to Eoin, he stopped struggling and froze. What would she think of him now that he’d started a brawl with her husband?
Chapter Seven
When Helen saw Eoin bleeding across his midsection, her heart beat so fast, it nearly hammered out of her chest. She ignored Aleck’s command to go back inside and raced toward the MacGregor Chieftain. “My God, what happened?”
Eoin shrugged away from his men’s grasp. “’Tis a scratch.”
Fergus shook his head. “Laird MacIain drew his knife—’twas after Sir Eoin had offered his hand.”
Helen spun to Aleck. “Is this true?”
He wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. “What of it?” He gestured to the cuts on his face and rising bruises. “I swear the bastard broke my nose.”