he snarled in her ear. “’Twill do ye no good to struggle and squirm. The fight will be over in but a moment as ’tis.”
Yet even as Claire slumped against him, panting for breath, she saw that Dougal’s prediction was far from accurate. Already Henry lay on the ground, senseless. Blood streaming from his nose, Georgie Sinclair flailed wildly and ineffectually at Evan’s head. And John Cameron and Donald MacKay, Dougal’s older brother, though still two-to-one against Evan, seemed to be the recipients of far more blows then they were landing.
When Georgie finally got too close and went down with a quick jab to the jaw, Dougal seemed to have had enough. With an oath, he flung Claire aside and stalked up to Evan. Evan’s back was turned to Dougal as he battled with the man’s two cronies. He didn’t see or hear Dougal coming.
Claire, climbing hastily to her feet, however, guessed Dougal’s intent. “Evan, behind you!” she cried.
At her call Evan wheeled about, but it was too late. Dougal’s huge fist slammed into his jaw. Evan staggered back, right into the arms of Donald and John, who grabbed him and held him tightly.
“Enough o’ this, I say!” Dougal shouted. He pulled back his arm, then thrust it square into Evan’s middle.
With a grunt, Evan doubled over. Dougal, however, wasn’t finished. Over and over he hit Evan, landing blow after blow wherever he could.
“Nay! Stop it! Stop it!” Claire screamed, grabbing hold of Dougal’s right arm and hanging on with all her strength. “You’ll kill him!”
“And what if I do kill him? He’s been naught but trouble since the first day he came here.” His face contorted in rage, the farmer finally paused. “Ye belong here in Culdee with me. The sooner ye see that, the better off ye’ll be.”
“You pig-headed oaf !” Claire cried in reply. “Killing Evan won’t change my mind about you. Nay, far from it. And all you’ll get for your efforts is prison!”
The mention of prison finally seemed to penetrate the big Scotsman’s rage. Turning, Dougal looked back at Evan. Slumped over, breathing heavily, Evan appeared barely conscious. The Scotsman gave a snort of satisfaction.
“Well, he’s learned his lesson,” he muttered. “And what o’ ye, lass?” Dougal glanced now to her. “Have ye learned yer lesson at last, too?”
Claire gazed up at him, fury—and a fierce, fresh resolve—swelling within her. “Aye, that I have, Dougal. That I have.”
“Will ye accompany me to the ceilidh then?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I need to see Evan home. Thanks to you, he isn’t in any condition to attend the ceilidh now.”
“Dinna fash yerself. The lads can see him home.”
“Nay, I’ll see him home, and that’s that!”
He must have caught the hard, angry edge of determination in her voice at last. After a moment more of indecision, the farmer nodded his consent. “Have it yer way then. Jist as long as we finally understand each other. Jist as long as ye finally face the fact whose woman ye are, and what ye must do aboot it.”
Claire met his stern look with an unflinching one of her own. “Och, I do, Dougal. I understand everything.” She paused to add even greater emphasis to her final word. “Everything.”
7
My sins are not hid from Thee.
Psalm 69:5
“Here, let me have a look at you now,” Claire said twenty minutes later as she helped Evan reenter her house and take a seat in a chair at the table.
The trek back had been arduous. Evan was in pain and had to halt frequently to catch his breath. Though he hadn’t said much, she knew it had taken all his strength not to give up and just lay down right there on the road. It had taken all her strength, as well, not to break into tears, so moved was she at his courage in standing up to Dougal and his thugs, then uncomplainingly making his way back home.
No man had ever before dared confront Dougal MacKay when he was backed up by his friends, much less fight against such
Yet even as Claire slumped against him, panting for breath, she saw that Dougal’s prediction was far from accurate. Already Henry lay on the ground, senseless. Blood streaming from his nose, Georgie Sinclair flailed wildly and ineffectually at Evan’s head. And John Cameron and Donald MacKay, Dougal’s older brother, though still two-to-one against Evan, seemed to be the recipients of far more blows then they were landing.
When Georgie finally got too close and went down with a quick jab to the jaw, Dougal seemed to have had enough. With an oath, he flung Claire aside and stalked up to Evan. Evan’s back was turned to Dougal as he battled with the man’s two cronies. He didn’t see or hear Dougal coming.
Claire, climbing hastily to her feet, however, guessed Dougal’s intent. “Evan, behind you!” she cried.
At her call Evan wheeled about, but it was too late. Dougal’s huge fist slammed into his jaw. Evan staggered back, right into the arms of Donald and John, who grabbed him and held him tightly.
“Enough o’ this, I say!” Dougal shouted. He pulled back his arm, then thrust it square into Evan’s middle.
With a grunt, Evan doubled over. Dougal, however, wasn’t finished. Over and over he hit Evan, landing blow after blow wherever he could.
“Nay! Stop it! Stop it!” Claire screamed, grabbing hold of Dougal’s right arm and hanging on with all her strength. “You’ll kill him!”
“And what if I do kill him? He’s been naught but trouble since the first day he came here.” His face contorted in rage, the farmer finally paused. “Ye belong here in Culdee with me. The sooner ye see that, the better off ye’ll be.”
“You pig-headed oaf !” Claire cried in reply. “Killing Evan won’t change my mind about you. Nay, far from it. And all you’ll get for your efforts is prison!”
The mention of prison finally seemed to penetrate the big Scotsman’s rage. Turning, Dougal looked back at Evan. Slumped over, breathing heavily, Evan appeared barely conscious. The Scotsman gave a snort of satisfaction.
“Well, he’s learned his lesson,” he muttered. “And what o’ ye, lass?” Dougal glanced now to her. “Have ye learned yer lesson at last, too?”
Claire gazed up at him, fury—and a fierce, fresh resolve—swelling within her. “Aye, that I have, Dougal. That I have.”
“Will ye accompany me to the ceilidh then?”
She shook her head. “Nay. I need to see Evan home. Thanks to you, he isn’t in any condition to attend the ceilidh now.”
“Dinna fash yerself. The lads can see him home.”
“Nay, I’ll see him home, and that’s that!”
He must have caught the hard, angry edge of determination in her voice at last. After a moment more of indecision, the farmer nodded his consent. “Have it yer way then. Jist as long as we finally understand each other. Jist as long as ye finally face the fact whose woman ye are, and what ye must do aboot it.”
Claire met his stern look with an unflinching one of her own. “Och, I do, Dougal. I understand everything.” She paused to add even greater emphasis to her final word. “Everything.”
7
My sins are not hid from Thee.
Psalm 69:5
“Here, let me have a look at you now,” Claire said twenty minutes later as she helped Evan reenter her house and take a seat in a chair at the table.
The trek back had been arduous. Evan was in pain and had to halt frequently to catch his breath. Though he hadn’t said much, she knew it had taken all his strength not to give up and just lay down right there on the road. It had taken all her strength, as well, not to break into tears, so moved was she at his courage in standing up to Dougal and his thugs, then uncomplainingly making his way back home.
No man had ever before dared confront Dougal MacKay when he was backed up by his friends, much less fight against such
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