Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A relentless wind blew through the training grounds of Castle Ruthven that morning and the sky was a dark grey, reminding Evan of the steel of his blade. After that disastrous dinner the previous night, he had come there to train with the Ruthven men, eager to get some of his frustrations out before he would have to see Bonnie again later that day, but none of them posed a real challenge to him.

He had begged Alaric to fight him. Then he had tried to goad him into it, irritating him just to get him to agree, but Alaric hadn't stooped low enough to accept the challenge. He had only given him a pat on the shoulder and told him he would spend the day trying to find information if Evan wished to meet him later.

It frustrated Evan to no end. He couldn't do his job while he was frustrated and he couldn't let go of his frustration unless he released it.

Sweat dripped from his brow as he parried the blow dealt by the man he was fighting. He was young, barely more than a boy, with bright eyes and fat still clinging to his ruddy cheeks, and though he was nimble and spry, he was no match for Evan's skills. At the next blow, Evan swung his dulled sword hard, disarming him when their blades met, before he pressed the edge of it just against the skin of the man's throat.

Even without the threat of a real blade, he froze, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"Yer skills make me men seem incompetent."

The familiar voice broke Evan out of his thoughts and he turned around to see Ruthven there, standing just at the edge of the training grounds. How long had he been watching, Evan wondered? And how was it that even though his words were praising him, they sounded mocking coming out of his mouth?

Evan grinned, though the gesture lacked all warmth. He walked over to Ruthven, the tip of his sword dragging over the ground with a hiss, and he stopped right in front of him, their gazes locking. From up close, there seemed to be little difference in their sizes—Ruthven was almost as tall and broad as Evan, posing a different kind of challenge for him.

"Perhaps ye should fight me yerself, Laird Ruthven," he said, making it sound like the challenge it was. "If ye think that yer men are nae good enough fer me."

Ruthven responded with a smile of his own, one that was just as fake; nothing more than a fragile, barely polite mask that threatened to slip off his face at any moment. Even though Evan was already too close, Ruthven took a step forward, invading his space.

"I accept yer challenge," he said. Then, he sidestepped Evan and held his hand out as he walked to the middle of the large, marked-out square the men used for training, waiting for someone to hand him a sword.

One of his men was quick to offer him one, placing the hilt into his palm. Evan chuckled to himself before he approached, his fingers curling tightly around the handle of his sword, his gaze never straying from Ruthven. There was no doubt in his mind he could defeat him. There were few who were a match for him, and with his fondness for luxury and a soft life, he doubted Ruthven was one of them.

A small cloud of dust kicked up as Evan planted his feet into the ground, bracing himself. As they stared at each other, a few drops fell on Evan's skin, announcing the beginning of the storm that had been looming over the land ever since dawn broke. Neither man was fazed by it. It was cold, it was windy, and the ground would soon turn into mud, but all Evan could see was Ruthven as a target in front of him, all but asking to be defeated.

For a short while, they only circled each other, taking care to notice the pattern of each other's footsteps. In order to really gauge Ruthven's ability, though, Evan had to attack him, and so he threw himself at him with a huff of breath, their swords clanging in the silence around them as Ruthven easily parried the blow.

It had been a lazy attack, one meant to test, and Evan was certain Ruthven knew as much. It wouldn't be long, though, before they were both trying to prove themselves to each other and to their audience, striving for the victory. After the first attack, Ruthven dealt one of his own, another attempt at testing skill.

The two of them continued like this for a few more minutes, trading blows without trying to get the upper hand. Once Evan had puzzled out the pattern of Ruthven's attacks, though, his next blow was a real one.

Ruthven realized in time, his sword coming up to parry the blow just at the right moment. The force of the impact sent both men stumbling backwards, away from each other, but Ruthven wasted no time before attacking again. His sword arced in the air as he rushed towards Evan, his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes wide with more than the excitement of the fight.

There was no doubt in Evan's mind that the same rage which coursed through him had also overtaken Ruthven. Their animosity towards each other was not a secret anymore, laid bare in front of the eyes of all the men who stood around them, watching them fight. And yet, neither man cared enough to stop or to try, at least, to hide the real reason behind their fight.

It was all because of Bonnie, Evan knew. Before the disastrous dinner of the previous night, he hadn't been so openly hostile to him.

Around them, the rain had begun to pour in earnest, thick drops of water splashing onto the ground under their feet. The dirt was quickly turning into slick mud and Evan's boots sank into it with every step he took, making his task all the more difficult for him. At least Ruthven seemed to have the same problem, feet sliding over the ground as he rushed towards him with his sword prepared to strike.

With a swift, hard swing of his blade, Evan disarmed Ruthven. Under the force of the blow, it flew out of Ruthven's grip and landed in the mud a few feet away, much to Ruthven's chagrin. He growled deep in his chest, the sound reverberating in the air around them, but then planted his feet into the ground and raised his fists.

"Come on, then," he said, eyes narrow as he looked at Evan. "If ye are so good, ye dinnae need a sword tae defeat me."

Evan wanted to point out that he had already defeated him. All he had to do was press his blade against his throat, and that would end the fight between them, declaring him the winner. Fighting him—properly this time, with his fists colliding with flesh—seemed more appealing, though, and so he tossed his sword aside, hands curling into fists.

The gesture drew a shocked gasp out of the audience. Those around them whispered among them, but Evan neither could nor cared to hear what they had to say. They were all Ruthven's men, so naturally, they would be supporting their leader, but no one had the gall to chant his name or yell any encouragement.

In fact, the training grounds were almost silent, save for the patter of the rain. Evan pushed a few strands of hair away from his face, water dripping from them as he circled Ruthven like a predator, trying to find the best moment to strike.

Still, Ruthven struck first. His fist flew towards Evan's face and he barely managed to dodge it, ducking just in time for Ruthven to miss and stumble forward with his momentum. As he moved forward, Evan threw himself at him and grabbed him by the waist, tackling him to the ground.

Ruthven landed on his back, his breath rushing out of his lungs. Evan's fist swiftly found Ruthven's cheek, knuckles colliding with the bone hard with a sickening crunch. Pain flared up his arm, his knuckles stinging with the impact, but Evan didn't care. All he cared about was that he had Ruthven exactly where he needed him, in his mercy.

Once again, he brought his fist down, only for Ruthven to move his head at the last moment. Evan's hand plunged into the mud and Ruthven took the chance to wrap his fingers around his wrist, using his hips as leverage to throw Evan off him and onto the ground on his back. Suddenly, Evan found himself staring up at the grey sky, the rain pouring on his face as he lay there for just a second, trying to catch his breath. Then, he pushed himself up and steadied himself as Ruthven circled him in turn, watching him like a hawk. At least he was giving him some time to stand instead of attacking him right away. He had enough honor to hold back until they were at the same level once again; until Evan was on his feet, steady and ready to go.

Uncertainty spread around them as the men debated whether or not they should pull the two of them apart. Evan hoped no one would intervene; he and Ruthven needed to settle this, and leaving the fight unfinished would only cause more problems between them. Once again, Ruthven rushed towards him, but this time Evan was ready for it. Still, Ruthven's fist connected with his cheek, his head snapping to the side as his ears filled with a ringing sound. At first, there was no pain. There was nothing but the vibration of bone against bone, before the pain finally seeped in, spreading all over his skull.

Evan was quick to retaliate, even disoriented as the punch left him. He grabbed Ruthven by the front of his tunic with his left hand as he dealt one punch, then another on the side of his face. Before he knew it, though, a dull pain bloomed in his stomach as Ruthven hit him there with a strong fist, making him double over.

"Stop!"

Bonnie's voice rang over the training grounds, though Evan hardly registered it. The only thing that stopped him from attacking again was the hand on his shoulder, rough as it tugged him back and away from the other man.

"That is enough," Alaric growled, coming to stand between them. At the sound of his brother's voice, Evan's head cleared a little, some of his rage dissipating—just enough for him to hold himself back instead of tearing his way through to get to Ruthven.

A few paces away, Ruthven spat blood on the ground, a hand coming up to rub his injured cheek. But then, when Evan felt a pair of hands—these much gentler than those of his brother—Ruthven's features contorted with uncontrollable rage, a snarl baring his teeth.

"It seems like Miss MacLaren has clear preferences," Ruthven said, his words dripping with venom. "It's rather odd, dinnae ye think?"

Evan didn't know who, precisely, it was that Ruthven was addressing with his question, but he doubted he was talking to him. Bonnie, her hands slipping off Evan's shoulders, took a few steps forward, mouth set in a firm line.

"I am concerned fer me cousin," she said. "Is that so terrible, Laird Ruthven? Dinnae ye think it is me duty tae take care o' me kin?"

Ruthven said nothing. He only stared at the three of them, his frown deepening the longer he remained silent. Then, he huffed and turned around, stomping back towards the castle without offering another word.

"Come," Bonnie told Evan, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him. "Let us take ye tae the healer."

"I am fine, Bonnie," Evan said with a roll of his eyes. "I've had much worse than this."

"Ye should still see the healer," Bonnie insisted, completely ignoring Evan's protests and pushing him insistently towards the healer's quarters near the training grounds. "I will feel better if ye dae."

Evan frowned in confusion as he turned to look at Bonnie while she dragged him along. Not so long ago, they were arguing, eagerly shooting hurtful words at each other, and yet now there she was, worrying about his health. Though he didn't think there was any need to see the healer, he went along with it just because it would give Bonnie some peace of mind.

Once Bonnie shoved him into the healer's quarters, the man took over, quickly checking over all his injuries. He was not particularly gentle as he poked and prodded at Evan, but at least he was efficient and thorough, and in only a few minutes, he had reassured both him and Bonnie that he was perfectly fine—he only needed some rest and ointments for his bruises.

"Forgive me," the healer said. He was an older man, with greying hair and shallow lines around his eyes that betrayed a life of smiles. "I must attend tae me laird."

With that, he was gone before either Evan or Bonnie could leave his quarters, and suddenly the two of them were left all alone for the first time after several days.

At first, neither spoke. Evan sat at the edge of a ratty bed pushed against the wall, while Bonnie paced in front of him, her eyes never meeting his.

When she finally spoke, she said, "Why would ye dae such a thing? I dinnae understand ye. Why would ye attack Laird Ruthven in his own home?"

"He suggested it," Evan was quick to say. He wouldn't take the blame for this when it had been Ruthven who had come to him searching for a fight. "I only did what he wanted."

"Even if he suggested it, ye shouldnae have agreed," Bonnie pointed out. Deep down, Evan knew she was right, of course. He should have kept his temper in check. He should have taken a step back, tried to diffuse the tension between them as much as he could. He hadn't done that, though. He had taken the bait and he had risked ruining all his plans.

Will Ruthven send us away now?

It sounded more likely than Evan would have liked to think. After all, Ruthven had every right to kick them out of his castle after such a violent display from Evan.

"Well, he deserved it," Evan said. It was easier to insist, to pretend that he wasn't in the wrong at all. "An' he asked fer it, so I dinnae see why ye are beratin' me instead o' him."

"Because we are meant tae be nice tae him!" Bonnie huffed in exasperation, a hand coming up to rub her forehead wearily. "I dinnae have tae explain this tae ye. Ye already ken we must be polite."

Gritting his teeth, Evan considered his next response carefully, since he knew Bonnie was right but didn't want to admit it. Still, he didn't know how he would get out of this unscathed.

"It was only a spar between two men," he said in the end with a deep sigh. The excuse was weak even to his own ears, but it was too late for him to back down now. He had long since made the decision to stick to this line of defense and admitting he was at fault now seemed less than ideal to him. "I am sure he will look past it. It was only a minor brawl."

"Is that what ye call it?" Bonnie asked with a humorless laugh, coming to a halt right in front of Evan to glare at him. "A minor scuffle? Ye are both covered in bruises an' cuts! Ye fought in front o' dozens o' his men! Everyone saw ye an' everyone will be discussin' this fer weeks!"

"Why should I care what Ruthven's men discuss?" Evan asked, standing from where he sat on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, they were impossibly close, Bonnie's chest brushing against him with every breath she took. The realization brought them both to a tense silence and a shiver passed through Evan at their proximity, his hands itching to reach out and touch.

Yet again, all he had to do to kiss her was close that small gap between them, and suddenly, it was the only thing he could think about, every other thought banished from his mind.

"If I must explain this tae ye, then I can only assume ye are an unthinkin' fool," said Bonnie, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she gritted her teeth. Evan raised an eyebrow at the insult, more intrigued than offended.

"It doesnae become a lady tae speak like this," he said, half-serious and half-teasing.

Predictably, Bonnie didn't miss a beat. "It doesnae become a laird either. Is this how yer parents raised ye?"

Evan froze. The last thing he had expected was for Bonnie to mention his parents, and the memories of their death flooded through his mind, as they tended to do whenever he thought about them. Everything, from the smallest smile they had ever given him to his most vivid and important memories, had been marred by their death. There was nothing joyful left. There was nothing he could hold onto that didn't bring back this lancing pain that tore his heart in two.

Slowly, Evan pushed past Bonnie, throat closing uncomfortably around the lump there. For a moment, he felt the brush of her hand over his arm, but then she let go of him.

A part of Evan wished she hadn't.

"I must . . . I must go," he said, providing no better explanation. Behind him, Bonnie sighed but said nothing as he stumbled to the door, opening it to reveal that dark sky once more and the rain that poured relentlessly on the cold ground.

He chanced a look over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room, but Bonnie had already turned her back to him.