Page 130 of Laird of Steel
Whirling, she faced another earl’s threatening slash, which she deflected from Gellir’s chest. The third blow, struck by a young man who was only half-dressed, knocked her helm askew and narrowly clipped her shoulder before she could duck out of the way.
Gellir immediately understood he had an ally. “Back to back!” he shouted.
Adjusting her helm, she spun round. Their backs collided to create a two-faced enemy, harder to defeat.
Nonetheless, they were two against six. And should they manage to defeat the six, there were still their clansmen to contend with.
But she didn’t dare think about that. Not while steel whistled and clanged and sparked all around her.
She lunged and lashed at one foe while the other two recovered. But their attacks came faster and faster. With herjian,she could have made minced meat out of the earls. Hampered by armor that didn’t fit well and a Scottish sword she’d never used before, her defenses were slow and awkward.
“The king!” someone shouted.
She only had time for a quick glance, but high upon the parapets of Perth Castle, a noble figure watched the fight.
Reinvigorated by a royal audience, Merraid redoubled her efforts, pummeling the helm of the shortest earl and leaving a nasty scratch across the bare chest of the youngest.
She still couldn’t see properly out of Adam’s oversized helm, which kept slipping down over her eyes. But if she was going to be vanquished in this hopeless battle, she supposed it didn’t matter if she tore it off and revealed her identity.
With her free arm, she wrenched the helm from her head and flung it hard at the spitting, furious, redhaired earl. As he dropped onto his arse and grabbed his nose in pain, she used her leg to sweep the short earl off his feet and onto the ground with a thud. And while the half-naked earl was gaping in wonder, she knocked him back with a punch to the chin that sent him to the land of dreams.
With three of them dispatched, she tossed back her braid and swiveled round to help Gellir with the last three.
“Merraid?” Gellir said, startled.
In that instant of distraction, the hairy bear of a man he was fighting charged forward.
But Gellir’s incredulous eyes never left her as he handily jabbed the man’s throat with the pommel of his sword.
It was a simple matter, once the bear was gagging and swaying on his feet, for Merraid to finish him with a swift sideways shove.
“What are you doing here?” Gellir asked in wonder. His expression was a curious mixture of disbelief and pleasure, horror and relief.
She gave him a quick wink. “Bein’ your good friend.”
But there was no time for chat. The second earl attacked.
He was an older gentleman, but an excellent fighter. And he seemed to have no qualms about fighting a woman.
Merraid thrust and dodged and deflected his attacks with great skill. Still the man met her, blow for blow. He would not go down easily.
Gellir, however, could be of little assistance. The earl he fought was a beast. He was at least six inches taller than Gellir, with shoulders as wide as an oxcart. His hair was black. His eyes were beady. And he was frothing at the mouth, practically choking on fury.
While Merraid leaped and kicked and finally began to weary her opponent, she could see that Gellir was getting nowhere with the beast.
Between blows of her own, she studied the hulking ox assailing Gellir. He might be able to pound a man into the ground with one fist. But he moved like a slug. He might have the shoulders of a blacksmith. But the weight of his body made him clumsy.
“Let me!” she decided, facing off against the beast, giving Gellir no choice in the matter as the old earl shifted to attack him.
She smiled at the frothing beast, which only goaded him into charging her. One quick sidestep, and he sailed past, colliding with the crowd like a ball striking ninepins.
Righted by his clansmen, he shivered with rage, raised his blade, and charged again.
Again, she sidled out of the way, and he crashed into the side of a pavilion, collapsing it.
While Gellir continued to do serious battle, she tangled with an oaf who seemed more like an unruly child. An enormous child, to be sure, but one who didn’t understand anything but brute force.
But Merraid’s training had taught her that the greater the power a foe had, the greater a weapon she had against him. And for a man of truly enormous power…
