He feigned a momentary interest in the weapon and then tossed it away. “You’d be far better off making a plow of that blade. Now apologize to the lady and be on your way.”
Duncan was astonished that Egan had not pinned him to the road by driving his own blade through his back, and sensing a trick, got to his feet with a rolling scramble. His leggings were torn at the knees and blood dripped down his shins. Backing away, he raised a shaking hand to point at Oriana.
“She is no lady!” Duncan screamed. “The bitch killed the lovely lass I meant to take for my wife.”
“That’s a lie!” Oriana again protested in her own defense.
“Be quiet, Oriana,” Egan warned darkly. “I’ll handle this.”
“I’ve no quarrel with you,” Duncan repeated, but his eye darted toward his sword, which lay in the thick grass at the side of the road. “Stand aside and let me avenge my dear wife.”
Egan cocked his head. “Now you have confused me. Was this poor dead lass your wife or not?”
Duncan sputtered with rage. “She was mine! And that murdering bitch killed her!”
“You are beginning to annoy me,” Egan complained. “What proof do you have of your accusations?”
“I need no proof when my dear Rose is dead!” Duncan yelled back at him.
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Egan acknowledged wearily. “But how did she die? Was she struck by lightning, or thrown from a horse? Could she have drowned?”
Duncan raised his hands to his hair and looked ready to yank it out by the handful. “No. None of that. She just stopped breathing. It was a curse that struck her down.”
Despite Egan’s objections, Oriana countered softly, “Rose had a weak heart.” Raven had stopped his restless pacing, but she continued to cling to his back with a terrified grip. “I warned Duncan not to expect many fine sons from such a frail woman, but he refused to believe me.”
Duncan clenched his fists at his sides, and growled, “Murderess.”
“Why would she murder your beloved?” Egan asked, and began to circle Duncan with a slow, sliding step, forcing the brute to keep turning to face him.
Duncan raised his ha
nds in a helpless shrug. “She must despise me. I know not why.”
Egan kept circling. “Oriana, do you hate this poor wretch?”
“No, sir, I do not.” Oriana held her breath, for she feared Egan was merely playing with the defeated man. Surely he was lulling him into a foolish complacency and would soon lunge and drive his blade clear through Duncan’s sagging belly. She shuddered at the thought of such a dreadful sight; she did not wish to hear Duncan’s flesh tear, nor his horrible screams of agony, but she could not force herself to look away.
She had been too busy hanging on to Raven to view more than momentary flashes of the men’s battle, but she had seen how smoothly Egan fought compared to Duncan’s wild, hacking blows. It had been such a sickening spectacle that she felt nauseated still, but she thought Egan cruel for prolonging its inevitable end.
“Who are your people, Duncan?” Egan asked suddenly.
“The O Floinn, and if I fail to kill that lying bitch, they will track her down and slay her,” he bragged bravely, and then spit in the dirt.
“No. I think not,” Egan replied. “Because I’m generously going to allow you to exchange your sorry life for hers. Should any harm ever come to her, I’ll be the one to hunt you down. I’m Egan of the Dál Cais, and I don’t issue idle threats, so mark my words carefully and remember them well. Now give me your solemn promise to speak nothing but praise for Oriana’s name. I think I’ll also take your horse, although he is no better a mount than you are a warrior.”
Duncan cast a confused glance toward Oriana, unable to believe Egan simply meant to let him go. “All you expect is my word?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye, and that ugly horse.” Egan nodded toward the beast, who had lumbered into the forest when their battle had begun, and stood grazing in the tall grass. “And your sword,” Egan amended.
Duncan stared at him as though uncertain whether to accept his conditions, prompting Egan to be more explicit.
“Would you rather meet your death here in this narrow road? I will warn you now that I’ll not kill you cleanly, so you can expect to lie moaning in your own blood for hours before I finally slit your throat. Well, make up your mind. Which is it to be?”
Egan had now quelled any hope Duncan might have had of regaining his sword, and though Duncan’s glance remained murderous, he nodded stiffly.
“Swear,” Egan prodded.
In the long silence that followed the order, Oriana was as deeply confused as the newly humbled Duncan. As she relived the vicious sword battle in her mind, she wondered if Raven had commanded so much of her attention that she had simply missed seeing Egan attack. She had seen him defend himself admirably, but not once do more than taunt Duncan with his blade.