helpless. She screamed and struggled, but it was no use.
McCloud turned and faced the thick crowd of soldiers.
“Luanda dared to defy me. She will be a message for all women who dare to defy their men, and for all subjects who dare to defy their King. I hereby sentence her to public attack! Let any man who wants to, step forward and have his way with her!”
A great shout rose up among the soldiers, as several of them stepped forward, hurrying towards her, angling to see who would be first.
“NO!” shrieked Luanda, as she struggled against the ropes, buckling like mad, trying to break free.
But it was no use. He had tied her securely.
Three soldiers came up behind her, elbowing each other to get their first, and the one closest to her pulled down his pants, then stepped forward to grab her.
Suddenly, there came the sound of someone running through the crowd, and a moment later, to McCloud’s chagrin, there appeared his son, Bronson, still in his armor, wielding a sword. He charged through the crowd, sword raised high, and brought his sword down on the first attacker’s wrist as he reached out to touch her.
The man shrieked as Bronson cut off his wrist, blood pouring from the stump.
Bronson faced the other two men about to attack Luanda, and swung around and chopped off one of their heads with his sword, then lunged forward and plunged his sword through the third one’s chest.
The three soldiers lay there on the ground, dead, and Bronson wasted no time in swinging his sword and freeing Luanda. She cowered behind him, holding onto his back, as the crowd came closer to them.
“Any of you come closer,” Bronson called out, “and it will be the death of you! This is my wife. She shall not be punished, or tortured, by anyone. You will have to get through me first.”
McCloud’s wrath flared up, a greater wrath than he had ever felt. Here was his own son, defying him in front of all the men—and all for the sake of a woman. He would have to teach him a lesson in front of everyone.
McCloud drew his sword himself with a great clang, and rushed forward with a shout, pushing his men aside roughly, and facing off with his son. He charged his boy.
“It’s time I teach you respect!” McCloud screamed.
He charged and brought his sword down right for Bronson’s face, hoping to slice him in half, and his bride with him.
But the boy was quick. He had trained him too well. Bronson blocked his blow with his shield, then parried with his sword. McCloud blocked it, and the two went, back and forth, exchanging blow for blow. The elder McCloud was bigger and stronger, and he managed to slowly drive his son back, farther and farther, as the great clang of swords and shields went on.
The elder McCloud swung a great blow, aiming to chop off his son’s head—but he overestimated. The sword went flying over his head, and Bronson leaned back and kicked his father hard in the gut, sending him down to the ground. The blow surprised McCloud, his pride hurt as he hit the ground.
He looked up to see his son standing over him, his sword pointed down at his throat. His son could have killed him when he missed with that blow, but he had kicked him instead. It was not an opportunity he would have given his son if the roles had been reversed. He was disappointed in him. He should have been more ruthless.
“I do not want to hurt you,” Bronson said to his father. “I only want you to let Luanda go. Order your men that no one is to touch her, and the two of us shall leave this camp, and be done with this kingdom. I shall not hurt you. Nor any more of your men.”
There came a thick, tense silence, as a growing crowd, hundreds of soldiers now, closed in, listening to every word as father and son faced off.
The elder McCloud’s mind raced, humiliated, seething with rage, and determined to put an end to his son once and for all. A scheme entered his mind.
“I YIELD!” he shouted.
A gasp spread through the crowd.
“THE GIRL IS NOT TO BE TOUCHED!” he shouted again.
Another gasp arose, and as McCloud watched, he could see, slowly, Bronson’s shoulders relax, his sword drop just a bit.
The elder McCloud forced himself to smile, a big toothy grin, laid his sword down on