Page 87 of The Stag & The Owl
Rain eyes poured in hers, filling her witheverything she’d ever felt with or about Roark.
“You should go stand with your parents andtheir guard,” he told her.
***
Roark stood to his full height and facedRigil and his family.“I did not kill Leif,” he said.He looked towhere Craig and Peg stood like a protective shield around Jenny.“Did I, Jenny?”he asked, playing a hunch that’d grown strongerthroughout his sham of a trial.
Jenny’s face drained of all color underRoark’s steady stare, and then it crumpled.
“He, he called me a useless whore,” shecried.“He, he told me to, to cut him loose.To ma, make myselfuseful and su, suck his cock while I was down theeere.”
“So you stabbed him with the scythe,” Roarksaid gently.
Jenny glanced wildly about as the crowd’swhispers grew louder and harsher.“I, I didna mean to,” she said,holding out her hands and staring blankly at them.“It, it justhappened.”
She broke into sobs and Craig pulled hisdaughter into his chest as Peg mumbled and cried into hisshoulder.
“Seize her.”Rigil pointed at Jenny.“Seizethe murdering bitch,” he screamed when his men-at-arms didn’tmove.
“You would kill the child in her womb?”Scottaccused, he the father of a young son he adored.“Your owngrandchild?”
Rigil pulled his long sword.“I’ll deal withthe bitch myself,” he snarled.“And I’ll deal with the four of youlater.”
Roark looked to Logan and made the motion ofgrasping a sword.Before Logan could pull his sword, Roark’s fathertossed him his, and Roark’s chest filled with an unfamiliar prideas he caught it, nodded his thanks, and stepped in front of Rigil,stopping him in his tracks.
“Rigil Fenrirson,” he said, the half-formedplan that’d come to him when he’d talked Alina out of slittingRigil’s throat spilling out.“I, Roark MacInnes, challenge you forthe lairdship of North Shore Keep.”
Rigil sneered.“What makes you think you havethe right?”
“I am a true-born son of the clans MacKay andMacInnes,” he said.“Whose people have lived and died on the GreenIsles for a hundred generations.You are a Northman who lied andcheated his way into a lonely old man’s house and claimed falsekinship.”Rigil said nothing, and Roark continued to make his case.“How much did you pay the old laird to claim you were his long-lostnephew?”The crowd began to stir and mutter.“Did you kill Ronaldwith the same slow poison your father killed King Jerrik’s brotherwith?”
The crowd’s mutterings burst into gasps ofcomprehension as Rigil drew himself up to his full height andhaughtiness.“What lies has your Northern whore been filling yourhead with?”he hissed.
Behind him, Roark heard the shifting ofstances and angry murmurs.This was his chance to settle this messwith as little bloodshed as possible.King Jerrik had shownconsiderable restraint so far, but it would only last so long.It’dbeen the story of how King Jerrik had sealed his rule by killingFenrir in a trial by combat that had given Roark the idea tochallenge Rigil for the lairdship.
Though still hale and hearty, Rigil hadtwenty and five years on Roark, and weighed two stones less atleast.Roark had kept up his fighting skills, sparring with Leif ona regular basis, while Rigil had let his skills grow rusty.He was,however, as crafty as ever.And desperate.
Rigil glanced around at his out-armed,outnumbered men, who’d shown no interest in coming to his defense.Especially with twenty heavily armed Northmen at the ready.Helooked at his family, his wife, brother, and daughter, and gavethem a sickly grin.He grasped his long sword with both hands anddipped his chin to Roark, who did the same.Rigil stepped back onhis heels in a defensive posture and Roark charged him with amighty roar, swinging his father’s sword in a wide arc, catchingRigil under his chin on the uppercut, slicing his throat open.
The square was silent as a grave as Rigil’sbody slumped to the ground in his pooling blood, and then ahigh-pitched scream rent the air.“You’ve killed him,” Lynetteshrieked.“You’ve killed the laird.”
His heart pounding in his ears, Roark heldhis father’s blood-tipped sword high.“By right of blood andbattle, I claim North Shore Keep.”
“By the gods, you shall not.”Delling chargedRoark with his sword drawn and Roark held a hand out toward KingJerrik to keep his men from joining the fight as he jumped aside,avoiding the thrust of Delling’s sword.
Where Rigil had been a plotter and a schemer,his brother, Delling, had always been blunter and bolder in hisactions, and had kept his fighting skills sharp.As much as Roarkwould’ve liked the Northmen’s help fighting Delling, it wasimportant Roark be the one to defeat him in order to maintain hisclaim to the lairdship.
To bring the rest of his plan to fruition, hehad to stay alive.
He met Delling’s attack, blocking andfeinting until Delling began to slow.Tired of being on thedefensive for the past ten years, Roark pressed his attack, rainingblows down on Delling until sweat was pouring down both theirfaces.Working to slow his breath as Delling panted, Roark lunged.Delling stumbled and went down to one knee, gasping for air, theexpression on his face that of a man who knew he was about todie.
With one last, hard thrust, Roark plunged hisfather’s sword into Delling’s breast.“May the gods have mercy onyour soul.”
***
Alina started toward Roark.It was hermother’s gentle but firm hand that held her back.
“You must wait,” she said.“We are strangershere.We must let certain things fall out where they may.Wherethey must.”
