“She was mine first,you damn savage,” Cunningham replied, rushing forward. “You abducted her fromme.”
Ryan took a defensive stance,preparing to counter the blow that was about to be delivered. He had to drop his dagger to grab onto the Duke’s wrist. With a hard twist, Ryan pulled a bellowing roar from Cunningham’s lips.
“What are ye tryin’to accomplish?” Ryan spat as his free fist connected with the Duke’s jaw. “Ye daenae even ken how to fight, ye useless fool.”
In what seemedlike an act of desperation, the Duke slammed his forehead against Ryan’s chin. The shock of the contact loosened Ryan’s grip enough that Cunningham was able to pull away. He ducked down, grabbing Ryan’s blade from the ground.
Brandishingit and swiping the air in front of Ryan, Cunningham said, “I’m trying to take back what’s mine. You’re the one who stole her. If you just hand her over, I’ll let you walk away with your life.”
Ryan scoffed,ducking as Cunningham tried to swipe at him again. Keeping his opponent distracted with swings of his own, Ryan hooked his foot around the Duke’s ankle. All it took was one mighty pull, and Cunningham went down, still holding the dagger.
“ShouldI really be the one who is worried about me life?” Ryan sneered, kicking the Duke’s side and knocking the wind from his lungs. “Ye seem to be the one on yer back.”
For all his political prowess,he seems to lack any real fightin’ skill.
The Duke said nothing,rolling away and scrambling to his feet. In all of his shuffling, he disoriented himself once again. It wasn’t difficult for Ryan to snatch the blade from him.
“Ach, ye messed up, Duke Cunningham,”he spat, twirling the blade to adjust his grip. “And this mistake ye just made, it’s going to cost ye yer life.”
Margaret felt frozen in place.From where she was crouched within a bush, she could see everything that was happening. Ryan was ruthless, not allowing Duke Cunningham to get a single decent blow.
Ryan tookanother swing at Cunningham, this time connecting with his nose. Blood gushed out, dribbling down his face and dripping onto his shirt. He spat, a glob of bloodied saliva making an arch from his mouth into the dirt.
“Piss off, you Scottish bastard,”Cunningham said as he lunged forward again. He seemed fairly incapable of fighting properly though. “You really think that you can take what belongs to me? I will not allow it. You’ll regret ever laying a finger on what belongs to me.”
“Margaret doesnae belong to anyone,”Ryan replied, knocking Duke Cunningham to the ground once again. He grunted with the effort of his swing, sweat collecting on his brow. “She chooses where she goes, and ye’re actin’ like a child because she didnae choose ye. Grow up, ye disgrace of a man.”
This time,the Duke didn’t get up. It seemed as though he were incapable of doing so. His heels kicked uselessly on the ground, throwing clumps of soil into the air. He pushed his palms againstthe earth, but they slipped on fallen leaves. If he weren’t such an awful man, Margaret may have felt bad for him.
Ryan stood over Cunningham.His back was to Margaret, so she wasn’t able to see everything that was happening though she did see him placing his foot on the center of the Duke’s chest, holding him down.
Margaret gaspedwhen Ryan lifted his leg and brought it back down against the Duke’s sternum. He let out a broken sound, something between a whine and a groan. There was no doubt in her mind that Ryan had broken one of Cunningham’s ribs. When he attempted to curl in on himself, Ryan stopped him, his foot coming dangerously close to the Duke’s face.
“Ye shouldnae have come here,”Ryan said, dropping down onto the Duke’s waist. He landed so hard that Cunningham wheezed with the impact. “Ye could have lived a full life in England had ye nae decided that me wife was yer property. She’s her own person, and ye should have kent that.”
The sentiment struckMargaret through her ribs. There was such a stark difference between the way Ryan viewed her and the way the Duke did. She was valued, respected in a way she didn’t think she’d ever have been if she’d stayed in England.
No onebut Ryan would ever fight for me this way.
Cunningham struggled weaklyagainst Ryan’s hold. It was no use though. The Duke was pinned, held in place by someonemuch stronger and more adept at combat than himself. He had lost this fight the moment Ryan found him.
The silverof Ryan’s dagger flashed in the single ray of sunlight breaking through the canopy above them. He brought it down, resting it against the Duke’s throat. There was a wild look in his eyes, and for the first time since meeting him, Margaret truly saw exactly how beastly the Laird could be.
Margaret turned away,no longer able to stomach the sight of the violence before her. Regardless of how necessary it was, she didn’t think the sight would ever leave her mind if she watched what happened next. There was no blocking out the sound, though.
If she weren’t soworried about running into the Duke’s men, she’d run. The other man hadn’t returned though. There was no knowing whether he was locked in some sort of fight like Ryan or if he was still searching.
Instead,Margaret decided to listen to the rest of the altercation with her eyes closed, reminding herself that this nightmare would soon be over.
“Ye ken, Duke Cunninham?”Ryan said slowly, as if he didn’t want a single one of his words to be misunderstood. “If ye’d stuck to yer usual tactics of havin’ others do yer dirty deeds, ye wouldnae be losin’ yer life here. In the end, it’s yer arrogance that killed ye.”
Sensingthat she was about to hear something she couldn’t forget, she shoved her fingers in her ears. For several moments, the only thing she sensed was her own ragged breathing. Eventually, she felt the branches around her shaking, signaling that she was no longer alone.
“Ryan?”she asked, opening her eyes and unplugging her ears. “Ryan!”
He was standing over her,his face hard as stone. The world around them was silent. Everything was over. She didn’t have to ask to know that Duke Cunningham wouldn’t be bothering her ever again.
“I’m here,”he said, catching her when she flung herself into his arms. “Ye’re nae hurt, are ye?”