Page 66 of The Highlander's Twisted Deal
Callum glanced quickly over at Ava, trying to assess the situation. Aside from the nick at her neck, she seemed mostly unharmed, just shaken and afraid.
“I’m nae letting ye just walk out of here, Uncle,” Callum said shortly. “Do ye really think ye can beat me? I’m younger than ye, stronger than ye, and more skilled. Ye should ken that I am more skilled with a knife—ye are the one who taught me, remember?”
Marcus smiled wearily. “Aye, lad. I taught ye everything ye ken, did I nae? But I didnae teach ye everything thatIkenned.”
Before Callum could say a word, Marcus threw himself across the room, moving with remarkable speed and strength for a man of his age, his knife whirring like a windmill.
Callum dodged as best he could, meeting his uncle’s blade blow for blow. The whole thing was surreal, feeling like a morbid dream rather than a reality.
Why are ye holding back?He wants to kill ye, and then he’ll kill Ava!
But it’s me uncle. It’s Uncle Marcus, who taught me to ride a horse, taught me to hold and throw a knife, and pull back a bowstring. He’s everything.
Callum reacted just a fraction of an instant too late, dodging a blow but catching the blade across his upper arm. He winced, backing away. It wasn’t a serious blow, no damage done, but the stinging pain and hot blood trickling beneath his sleeve were a distraction.
“I’m sorry, lad,” Marcus said, his voice a haunted whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He came at him again, his knife glinting in the firelight, and Ava gave a strangled cry of warning.
This time, motivated by her cry and the stinging pain in his own arm, Callum changed tack. He dodged neatly, feinting to the left and then darting to the right when he was sure his uncle was moving to the left.
They collided, with Marcus proving harder to knock over than Callum had thought. Their legs tangled, their arms locked tight around each other in a parody of a father-son embrace, and they tumbled heavily to the floor.
Callum’s head banged against the floorboards, making him dizzy, and his knife dropped out of his fingers and skittered across the floor.
No.
He rolled over, trying to pin Marcus to the ground, but it was no good. The man was as slippery as a snake and stronger than one might have thought.
Marcus was trying to pin down his shoulders, and when Callum saw the glint of his knife, he felt a pang of fear. Marcus lifted his arm to drive the blade into Callum’s chest, and Callum’s hand shot up to block him, gripping his wrist.
For what seemed like forever, they struggled there, Marcus pushing down, Callum pushing up, the blade and its wicked point hovering between them.
He could hear Ava’s breath coming hard and panicked, could almost sense the fear in her voice when she spoke.
“Callum,no!”
Gritting his teeth, Callum surged up with the last of his strength, knocking his uncle backwards. The knife went sailing back through the air, coming to rest not too far from where Ava sat. Marcus kicked out, trying to right himself, and succeeded only in knocking Ava over onto her side.
Get the knife, lass.
Callum threw himself forward. He wrapped his legs around Marcus’s arms from behind, pinning them to his side, and pinned his uncle’s neck in a headlock.
Marcus went limp. He knew this hold just as well as Callum did. Virtually impossible to escape from.
“That’s enough,” Callum said, his voice breathless and hoarse. “That’senough, Uncle Marcus.”
“Just end it, lad.”
Callum felt sick. He wanted to cry, to crawl under the covers like he had when he was a boy and pretend that if he couldn’t see or hear anything bad, it wasn’t really there.
But he was a grown man and a laird, so running and crying were not possible.
“I am not going to kill ye, ye old fool. Ye havenae murdered anyone deliberately yet. Ye were going to kill Ava, true, and ye killed me faither. But that was an accident, was it nae?”
“What are ye saying, lad?” Marcus asked, and now, he sounded amused.
“I’m saying that justice will be served. Ye are responsible in a way, but… but ye didnae mean to kill me faither, did ye?”
