Lachlan's Heart (The MacCulloughs #2) - Suzan Tisdale Page 0,21

good deal of caution, Maldouen moved backward a bit so that his shoulders were directly under Gylbeart’s feet. With a grunt and a groan, he stood upright, pushing his friend higher and higher in the process.

With a sigh of relief, Gylbeart was able to pull himself up and onto the fat, rough limb.

“I kenned he could do it,” Inan declared with a smile.

“See?” Gylbeart said, puffing with pride. “I told ye I am nay scared.”

“Bah!” Maldouen said. “That is nae verra far.”

Taking the comment as another challenge, Gylbeart studied the tree closely before grabbing the nearest limb. Not quite as fat as the one he stood on, he was able to grab hold and pull himself up.

Before anyone realized it, the boy was a good ten to twelve feet off the ground.

Mariam shook her head. Inan cheered and threw his fist into the air. Maldouen pretended not to be impressed. “Och! Anyone could climb that high,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Excited that he’d come this far, Gylbeart decided to climb higher. Higher and higher until the branches had grown far too small to offer any support. In his nine-year-old mind, he was at least three hundred feet off the ground. In truth, ’twas closer to fifty. Still, ’twas awfully high for such a young and small lad.

“Come down now,” Mariam called up to him. Turning to scowl at Maldouen, she yelled, “Ye have proven ye can do it.”

Even Maldouen had to admit he was impressed.

Gylbeart gave a loud hoot of victory before he began his descent back to the safety of the ground. Admittedly, ’twas easier climbing up than down, but he was feeling far too proud of himself to confess to any worries.

He’d just reached the fat limb where his journey began. His foot slipped, his legs went out, and he landed on the limb hard on his bum. A frantic heartbeat later, he was falling backwards off the limb. He turned midair and tried to brace himself for the fall.

Mariam screamed.

Maldouen gasped.

Inan almost wet himself.

He heard the crack of a bone breaking in his right hand right before his world went black.

Two warriors stood facing one another on the snow-covered ground. Each man just as determined as the other to claim victory.

Snow crunched under their deerskin boots. Sunlight glistened off bare skin, swords, and maces.

They were surrounded by at least one hundred onlookers - most, of course, hoping for Murdoch to come out victorious. The Chisolms were clearly of the belief the battle wouldn’t last long and soon, they’d be able to rid their keep and lands of the MacCulloughs. Their smiles and whispers said as much.

’Twas Murdoch who moved first, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Lachlan knew ’twas naught more than a test, to see how he’d respond. Lachlan didn’t move. He kept his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Murdoch was surprised by Lachlan’s inaction; he had expected some sort of retaliation or response. He took a few steps sideways and swung again. And again, Lachlan didn’t move.

Frustrated, he took two steps forward. This time, he decided to lunge forward, aiming for Lachlan’s gut.

Anticipating this move, Lachlan stepped out of the way before the tip of his opponent’s sword could land on its mark. As Murdoch moved forward, Lachlan stepped sideways and landed a hard blow to the back of the man’s skull, sending him to the ground.

A loud gasp came up from the crowd.

Murdoch landed face first in the snow, rolled over quickly, and scurried to his feet. Furious, he swiped the wet snow from his face with the back of his hand and glowered.

Lachlan’s expression didn’t change. He continued to study the man closely. He could see his pulse throbbing in his neck, the sweat just beginning to form on his brow.

Murdoch might be the leader of the Chisolm resistance, but he was not the well-trained warrior Lachlan had been led to believe. However, an untrained warrior could be even more dangerous than one who had been well trained. Either by accident or sheer luck.

A moment passed, then two. Murdoch lunged forward again with the same move. Lachlan responded just as he had moments ago.

After Murdoch’s third failed attempt at lunging, Lachlan rolled his eyes. He stood over Murdoch who was lying on his back in the cold snow. “Mayhap ye would like to train a few months with my men?”

Fuming, Murdoch rolled to his feet. “I would rather die.”

“As ye wish,” Lachlan said right before he swiped the