Page 123 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Rhys parried, barely, the impact rattling up his arm. Finn pressed hard, using his speed over strength, aiming for the gaps in Rhys’s armor. The clang of steel rang sharp off the walls. They circled each other like wolves, blades flashing, boots scraping across old stone.
“Ye’ll never be laird,” Rhys spat, slashing. “Ye’ll die in the shadow of what ye tried to take.”
“I’ll die a man who fought for what he deserved!”
Another clash. Another twist. Finn feinted right, struck left, but Rhys saw it coming.
He caught the blade on his bracer and landed a brutal elbow into Finn’s ribs.
The man staggered back, coughing, but he recovered fast. Too fast.
“Ye should’ve stayed down,” Rhys growled.
“And ye should’ve died the night of the truce,” Finn snarled.
“Ye’ll never have me title. Never have this keep.” Rhys lunged. His blade carved across Finn’s thigh, and the man cried out,buckling. But instead of retreating, he laughed. Blood staining his teeth.
“What’s so god-damned funny?” Rhys demanded, blade pointed squarely at his cousin’s throat.
“Ye think this is about a keep?” Finn rasped. “About titles?”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What then?”
“It’s about legacy,” he said, panting. “About being remembered. And I’ll be remembered as the man who broke Rhys Adams and took the O’Donnell.”
“Ye’ll be remembered as a stain. Nothin’ more.”
Finn spit blood and lunged again.
They collided like iron and fury. Rhys batted his sword away and tackled him to the ground, slamming him against the cracked stone. His blade clattered free, but Rhys didn’t need it.
His fists took over.
One.
Two.
Three.
He hit Finn until his knuckles bled. Until the man’s laughter turned to groans, and then to silence. But even then, it wasn’t enough.
Rhys rose and staggered toward his sword, grabbing it with shaking hands. He turned back to Finn, who was half-conscious, chest rising and falling in weak jolts.
He raised the blade.
“I should kill ye slow,” Rhys whispered. “For me faither. For every man who’s bled for this clan.”
Finn looked up through one swollen eye and smiled again. “Then do it.”
Rhys’s blade hovered over Finn’s chest.
The man beneath him wheezed a shaky breath, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. One eye was swollen shut. The other still glinted unrepentantly.
Rhys tightened his grip on the sword hilt, knuckles white.
“Ye always looked down on me,” Finn slurred, lips curling back. “All of ye. William. Myles. Even yer father. But I’m the one whoacted. I’m the one who dared to take what he deserved.”
“Ye murdered good men,” Rhys said, his voice barely human.
