Page 32 of Highlander’s Protector

The men moved away and formed a circle around them. In the light of the campfire, a giant figure stepped into the circle, his face in shadow.

He was at least a head taller than David, who was six foot two. His shoulders meaty and broad, his arms like tree trunks, he moved towards David, chain mail clanking.

“’Tis Goiridh,” said Dugald. “My best warrior.”

With his long, swaggering stride and flexed arms, the man reminded David of thugs and gangsters from TV.

David imagined Goiridh lifting him up easily and snapping his vertebrae against his knee like a twig.

As the main fire illuminated one side of the giant’s face, David’s whole body froze, and the silence around him was absolute. It was as though even the waves shrank back, as terrified of Goiridh as David was.

The man was surprisingly good-looking, and David knew it was odd that he noticed that. But he guessed he expected the giant who’d surely kill him to be ugly, like a troll or an orc from a fantasy book. But women in the twenty-first century would have been all over this hunk as if he were The Rock. Somehow it made him even more terrifying.

Someone handed David his sword, and the weight felt like a stone dragging him to his death. The circle of men jeered, fist-pumping in the air as Goiridh set his feet wide apart, bulging thigh muscles stretching his braies. He took his sword with both hands, flames glistening off the blade.

Not feeling his arms, David raised his claymore to his shoulder, and all he could think of was Please, let Anna not see this.

“To the death,” said Dugald, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope yer horse is worth it.”

“Dinna fash, lad,” said Goiridh with a grin. “I’ll make it quick. Ye wilna suffer long.”

The antler handle of David’s claymore was sleek from sweat and cold under his palms. He planted his feet wide apart, but he couldn’t feel the hard ground. This wasn’t his first fight. He’d fought and wounded and killed men before when he was protecting his pregnant sister and the clan that he had considered his. He’d been protecting his future nephew. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t running from a fight, and he wasn’t going to let anyone bully him.

But he was shitting his pants now, looking up at Goiridh’s face, half of it illuminated by the fire, half in the darkness. In every way, he was stronger and a more capable warrior than David. He was older and taller and wore chain mail.

David didn’t even have his leine croich on. It was rolled up in his traveling pack, back with Anna.

With a grunt, Goiridh attacked, swinging his claymore down and across. David stepped back, and the swoosh of the sword was like a windmill blade. Goiridh swung the sword across from the other side, aiming for David’s neck. David blocked the hit and their swords met with a metallic clang. The impact reverberated into David’s bone marrow, pushing David back like a bulldozer, his heels digging into the sand.

Goiridh thrust again, from the side, and David barely managed to deflect it. They slashed and struck and parried. Goiridh was always on the attack, always the unstoppable giant pushing his way through. David was always defending, dodging blows.

A cut on his shoulder, a close call on his thigh. Bruises and hits on his face and chest. He was panting, his sword as heavy as a boulder. How he was still alive, he didn’t know.

The MacDowells cheered every time Goiridh struck and David stepped back.

And then, Goiridh seemed to grow tired of David not dying. With a roar, the giant barreled forward, launching strike after strike at David, using his sword like a hammer.

David took refuge under his sword, which was the only shield he had. The impact of those strikes could have cut through bone had his opponent reached any part of David’s arm.

David took a few quick steps back, panting. Goiridh was panting now, too. Sweat covered his forehead, his teeth bared as he sucked in air.

David and Goiridh circled each other, David slashing a few times symbolically. But they were both tired and taking time to catch their breath. David’s chest was on fire with the pain of bruises and hits and the long, exhausting exercise, his biceps and shoulders aching.

After a few minutes of this, Goiridh, seemingly recovered, launched at David. David stepped back. His foot caught on something, and he lost his balance and fell into the sand, right at the edge of the circle of warriors.

His hand landed on something hard and cold, shaped almost like a football.

A rock.

Goiridh charged at him, both arms raising his sword above his head, but David rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet, the rock still in his hand. Under the jeers of the onlookers, he ran to the opposite side of the circle.

He wouldn’t beat Goiridh. Not with a sword.

But he was still an athlete, the star quarterback.

He stopped and turned to Goiridh, who was a panting, fire-lit giant walking towards him in long strides, determined to finish this.

Moving the sword into his left hand, David took the rock in his right and imagined he was on a football field with his team. He had to throw the winning pass. “Go CATS!”