Page 8 of Coming for the Champion
“I have a steam room out there. Wonderful set up, and the fighters stoke the fire themselves as a way to keep themselves strong.” Tommy waited until the two boxers had gone through the door at the back of the building. “What took you so long to come, Malcolm?”
“I didn’t want you to know. I was too proud.”
“And now you need something from me more than you need to pretend that everything is fine?”
Malcolm’s shoulders sagged. “Yes?” He’d been a bad friend in the last few years.
“I won’t pretend I’m not hurt, but I said I’d always be here for you, and so tell me. What is it you need?”
“Lord Bennington wants me to fight in a charity match.” He got right to the point, since he’d messed this all up anyway.
“Tell him no.” Tommy responded in exactly the way Malcolm expected. If only it were that simple.
“Tommy, he’s a Lord.”
Tommy tilted his head. “You put too much stock in titles. It’s not a world for us.”
Maybe not, but they’d both grown up in a Duke’s household and been educated by his staff. Once his boxing talents had become obvious, Malcolm had been given extra attention, sitting with the Duke and his sons at the dinner table, eating their food and listening to them discuss society and politics. It was his world, after a fashion, but he understood what Tommy was saying too. Tommy had stayed with the rest of the boys and had been one of the few who hadn’t been jealous, instead understanding how straddling both worlds had always been Malcolm’s challenge.
“Besides, I tried telling him no.”
“And what happened?”
Malcolm waved in Rory’s direction. “My excuse materialised.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I said I would only fight if I had a worthy opponent, and the only opponent I’d consider was The Long Laird.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s one way to say no without saying it.”
“You understand?”
“Everyone knows The Long Laird would never fight again. Not after he killed Davey Bruiser Johnson in a fight four years ago and was tried for murder.”
Malcolm nodded as Tommy outlined the exact reason why Malcolm had, wrongly, assumed his excuse was perfect. “I thought I was safe using him as an excuse. He left for the Continent after he was acquitted, and he disappeared.”
“But this Bennington character found him? And now you have no other excuses?”
“That about sums it up.”
Tommy shook his head. “I’m not sure what you think I can do. Isn’t it up to Bennington and The Long Laird?”
“He doesn’t want to fight either.”
“So don’t fight.” Again, Tommy made it sound simple, except that it wasn’t. “Unless this Bennington chap is holding something over you.” And Tommy immediately showed his astuteness, although it wasn’t Malcolm that Bennington had leverage over. Rory had implied that needed the Lord for his land. He wasn’t quite sure how it was supposed to work, but it was Rory’s business not his. Malcolm turned to ask but Rory hadn’t followed him into the room. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded.
“You can come in.”
But Rory shook his head and Malcolm realised that he couldn’t come in. The Long Laird was trapped by his own memories. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to fight again; he couldn’t. His body was tense, mostly outside the building, and he looked like he was struggling against the urge to flee.
“That’s him?” Tommy asked, striding towards Rory. Malcolm followed, his chest hollow and he wanted to push Tommy to the side and protect Rory ... which was silly. Rory wasn’t his to protect. One little kiss in the carriage didn’t mean anything.
Chapter 7
From the moment the door had opened, and Rory had heard the dull thud of someone’s fist hitting someone else’s torso, he’d been frozen. He’d expected to find it hard to see a sparring room or a ring with all the memories, but he hadn’t realised that it was the sound of two men breathing or the way their feet kicked up the sand underfoot or the steady thud of their blows connecting, or the scent of sweat and leather, that would make it impossible to be here. Each blow reminded him of the sickening sound of Davey Johnson’s nose breaking and watching him crumple to the floor. It shouldn’t have happened like that.
“Rory?”
