She bit the inside of her lip. Her mind was spinning, anticipating all the ways this night could move forward. But there had never been a question of what she would do, and she stared impassively at her brother. The thistle remained untouched in her hair.
She watched as the realization struck him.
She wasn’t going to turn against Innes. She wasn’t going to dance to his ploys.
An ugly expression twisted Moray’s pale face, just before he slid his helm over it.
Moray took the first cut, as Jack knew he would. Niall blocked it, but didn’t seem eager to counter. No, his father remained on the defense, letting Moray lunge and cut and spin around him, seeking his weaker side.
This wasn’t how Niall had fought Jack in the arena. Niall had been fierce from the beginning, a strong contender who knew exactly what he wanted and how to obtain it. He had craved victory, as Moray did now. The heir fought as if the only thing that mattered was to win. To carve a way out of the arena.
Jack began to feel incredibly nervous.
He watched his father, whose moves were smooth yet submissive. Niall was merely reacting, and Jack wondered why. Why aren’t you fighting back? Why aren’t you countering him?
He thought that Niall might be hesitant to kill the laird’s heir, especially given his history with Innes. Jack grimaced. He should have mentioned at dinner that Innes wanted Moray to die.
Niall stumbled.
Jack froze in horror as his father sprawled on the sand.
It was over. He hadn’t fought back at all. He had simply been biding his time, allowing Moray to show off his skills.
Jack closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch this, even if he had agreed to be the Tamerlaines’ representative. He couldn’t witness his father’s last moments. Jack remembered how it had felt to be lying on the sand with hundreds of eyes on him. The helpless, vulnerable feeling that had turned his fear into lead, making it difficult to move.
Jack inhaled deeply, his pulse throbbing in his ears. He could feel icy sweat trail down his spine. He waited to hear Moray’s sword meet flesh, the sound of steel splintering bone and the splatter of blood. He waited to hear the end come, but there was only a hiss and a gasp. The sound of surprise blooming in the crowd.
His eyes flew open, just in time to see Niall roll across the sand, evading Moray’s dramatic swing.
Let our names be the sword in your hand.
Niall rose. He took a broad cut at Moray; their swords met and held. They seemed locked together, and Jack wondered if they were speaking through their helms. Whatever they said must have been tense. Niall slung Moray back with a powerful sweep of his blade.
Let us be your shield and your armor.
Moray teetered for a moment. He found his balance again but hardly had a second to breathe. Niall was coming for him like a storm, gathering up wind and debris. He knew all of Moray’s cuts and favored movements now, having seen them all at the beginning, when he had parried one after the next after the next. When Jack had believed his father would go down without a fight.
Fight for us tonight.
It seemed dangerous to hope that his words had found their mark, to believe that Niall had listened and was envisioning a life beyond the arena. A life in which his guilt and his past would be gradually peeled away, like calloused skin. A gentle but quiet life he could build with Mirin, with Frae. With Jack.
And yet . . . how was such a life possible as long as the clan line still divided them?
Adaira’s fingers tightened around his.
Jack narrowed his attention. Moray looked angry and was fighting like a cornered dog, but Niall anticipated his every move. He was older, stronger. Emotionless. With one fluid motion, he disarmed the western heir.
Moray was visibly stunned. His chest heaved beneath his armor as he held up his hands. He dashed to the side, hoping to recover his sword, but Niall came between him and the fallen blade.
Niall ripped off Moray’s helm and held the sword to his exposed throat. Any deeper and it would nick a vital vein and the spar would end. Niall looked to the balcony, where Innes had risen, moving to stand at Adaira’s side. He was waiting for her permission to kill her son. Jack had to lean on the balustrade, suddenly worried the laird would recant.
Innes stared down at them. The marks in the sand. The sword that reflected the stars. Moray’s flushed cheeks and wide, desperate eyes.
Innes sighed, a sound woven with years of bitter sadness. The very heart of defeat. But at last, she nodded.
Moray startled, his face crumpling in fear. “Mother!”
It was his last word. Niall drew his sword over Moray’s throat, slicing it open. His blood cascaded, staining his armor, dripping onto the sand. He gasped and fell forward, dying in a puddle of his blood.