Tournament of Hearts (12 page)

..oo      Chapter Fourteen     oo..

“Ye get that
wicked hog intae the fence and perhaps I’ll pay ye the rents,” Gowan MacMurtry
said as he narrowed his eyes at Tristan.  “Still sits wrong with me that I
should pay that MacLaughlin bastard sae much as a shilling!” the farmer
grumbled as he adjusted the heavily worn fabric of his plaid.  “I’ve nae
allegiance tae him anyhow, his war chief came and annexed my land and…”

“Sae ye mean tae
tell me that I can get
that
hog intae
this
fence, that ye will
pay the taxes?” Tristan said as he pointed at the feral sow grazing happily in
the field.  She was monstrous in size and could have trampled Tristan under her
weight.  And at present, she did not look as if she wished to be disturbed.

“Aye,” Gowan
nodded.  “That’s the hog.  We call her ‘Satan’,” he said with a mischievous
smile.

“Ye have a deal,”
Tristan said enthusiastically as he extended his hand to Gowan. 

Gowan MacMurtry
shook his hand and laughed in disbelief.

This young lad
must be as stupid as he is green.

Tristan put one
hand up on the rail fence and leapt deftly over it.  He walked slowly towards
the giant beast, having only his determination and a small dagger with which to
protect himself should she decide to charge.

This challenge was
proving to be a bit more tricky that Tristan had anticipated.  Each of the five
remaining contenders had been given a new tenant to collect the harvest rents
from.  Each of the tenants worked land that had been newly acquired by Hector
Cameron’s most recent raid. 

The problem was
that none of the new tenants were pleased about being annexed into Clan McLaughlin’s
holdings.  Tristan had been charged with collecting rent from Gowan MacMurtry,
a man hardened by a life a difficult labor and war.  On the long ride towards MacMurtry’s
farm, Tristan had decided to employ a risky tactic.

Rather than
collecting MacMurtry’s rents by force, as he was sure that Rogan would have
tried, Tristan would try to educate MacMurtry on the benefits of being annexed
into Clan McLaughlin.

And catching this
hog was vital to his success at that plan.

MacMurtry had to
see belonging to the clan as an advantage, or Tristan was sure that the crusty
old man would never fork over his share of the rents.

Tristan now stood
about ten meters from the enormous hog.  He walked slowly.

She raised her
head.

Tristan stopped in
his tracks.  His muscles were tense as his eyes anticipated the hog’s next
movement. 

Her beady eyes
watched him closely.

She snorted
loudly, giving Tristan a warning that he should not dare come closer.

Tristan knit his
eyebrows together.

He
had
to
get this hog inside the fence.

He took another
step towards her.

His heart raced in
his chest.

The hog’s foot
pawed at the ground.  She snorted again and stood her ground.

Tristan took
another step.

The hog was
finished with games.

She lowered her
head and charged at Tristan, coming at him as if released from a canon.  Her
pendulous teats swung heavily from side-to-side as she thundered towards him,
grunting with each burdensome step that she took.

Tristan’s eyes
widened and he dodged out of her path just in time, narrowly avoiding her sharp
hooves.  He landed in a large puddle of mud and scrambled to find traction for
his boots as the hog changed course and circled back towards him.

Tristan ran as if
the devil was at his heels.  He swung deftly over the rail fence and stood,
chest heaving and covered in mud from head to toe next to a laughing Gowan
MacMurtry.

“Ye thought that
she might just come right tae ye, did ye, lad?” MacMurtry laughed, his voice
coming as a wheeze between fits of laughter.  “I’d have brought her in myself
if it were that simple!” he chortled.

Tristan reached up
and wiped the mud from his face.  He was not in the mood to be badgered by the
gruff farmer.  Swinging his leg back up and over the rail fence, he stalked
towards the hog with renewed purpose.

“Looks like I’ll
keep the rents
and
have some entertainment for the day!” Gowan called as
Tristan neared the hog.

Tristan growled
under his breath.

Hearing the sound,
the hog raised her head.

Giving no warning
this time, she charged at Tristan.

Tristan glared at
the enormous beast and dropped into an athletic stance.

He would be ready
for her this time.

His heart pounded
in his chest as he watched the beast charge him.

Waiting until the
last possible second, he dodged to the side and leapt onto her back.  His
fingers dug into her rolls of flesh, holding on for dear life and she ran
towards the rail fence.  Her skin was thick and covered with a blanket of
course hair.

“Run ye demon!”
Tristan yelled as he clung to the hog’s back.

She squealed
wildly in response to his voice, her hooves sliding in the mud as her body
thrashed about in an effort to unseat her rider.

Tristan’s eyes
glanced up towards the fence.

Just a wee bit
farther.

The hog bucked and
jerked beneath him.

As they neared the
opening in the fence, she veered hard towards the right.

Tristan threw his
body weight against hers, knocking the beast off center.  She squealed loudly
and slipped in the mud, sending the both of them plowing through the slurry of
mud and animal dung that decorated the entrance to the corral.

They slid in
unison through the gate.

“Close the gate!”
Tristan screamed at MacMurtry, who stood against the rail fence, eyes wide with
disbelief.

The farmer sprung
into motion and swung the heavy gate closed, effectively securing Tristan’s
prize within the enclosed fence.

Tristan slipped in
the mud and landed on his back side.

The hog eye him
with complete abhorrence.  She scrambled to get her footing in the thick mud,
grunting and squealing as she attempted to right her massive body.

Tristan struggled
to his feet and threw himself over the fence.

MacMurtry lie on
his back, laughing so hard that his sides hurt.

Tristan landed
flat on his back next to McMurtry, coated with stinking mud from head to foot. 
He wiped the mud away from his face and relaxed against the ground.

He said a quick
prayer of gratitude that the hog had not killed him.

His chest heaved
from the exertion of his adventure.

But he had
succeeded.

The damn hog
was inside the fence.

“I’ve met yer
challenge, MacMurtry,” Tristan said with exhaustion.  “Now hand over your share
of the rents.”

Gowan held his
sides as he rolled back and forth on the ground.  His face was red from his fit
of laughter and tears rolled down his aged face.

“Ye’ve earned the
rents, lad,” Gowan said as he gulped for air in between fits of laughter. 
“I’ve…I’ve not laughed like this since I was a lad myself,” he giggled.

Tristan stood and
wiped his muddy hand on his kilt.  He extended his hand down towards MacMurtry
and helped him to his feet.

The farmer clapped
Tristan on the back, smiling as his hand was coated with a thick covering of
mud.

“Ye’ll make a fine
Laird someday, lad.  I hope that ye win.”

..ooOoo..

Tristan arrived
back at MacLaughlin keep with a thick crust of mud covering most of his body,
but also with a smile on his face.  For he carried a purse heavy with Gowan
MacMurtry’s rents and a balanced ledger.

When Isobel had
watched him approach the podium with the purse in hand, she had lifted her hand
to her mouth and arched her eyebrows as his disheveled appearance.  One look
from Tristan had told her that it was best not to ask what had happened, at
least not right now.

He had then smiled
at her through the layer of dried mud that caked his face.

Tristan had looked
silly, but despite everything, his smile warmed Isobel’s heart.

Whatever had
happened to him, he had endured it for her sake alone.

And she loved him
even more for that.

Tristan deposited
MacMurtry’s purse on the podium without saying a word.

He had winked at
Isobel playfully when Hodges was not watching and then silently excused himself
to go bathe.

Isobel’s heart
sang with joy as she watched Tristan walk away.

For he had been
the first man to return with rents, which would mean that he would be her
companion tonight at the evening meal.

And perhaps then
she would ask him what in the world had transpired at Gowan MacMurtry’s farm.

..ooOoo..

Tristan trailed
his finger lightly up Isobel’s thigh.  His hand was secreted beneath the table
cloth.

Isobel’s pulse
quickened.  She struggled to uphold her ruse of normalcy as Tristan’s fingers
brushed lightly over her leg.  She felt his eyes upon her.  He was watching her
try to stifle her reaction to him.

Isobel bit her
lower lip.

She reached under
the table linen and grabbed Tristan’s hand.

He chuckled under
his breath and settled for holding her hand secretly beneath the table.

Isobel smiled over
at him shyly, her cheeks were flushed an alluring pink.

“Will you tell me
what happened today?” she asked eagerly.

“Tis a miracle
that I’m alive,” Tristan laughed heartily as he squeezed her hand beneath the
table.  “MacMurtry told me that he would not pay the rents.  Not unless I was
able to get his feral hog intae the fence,” he explained as his hazel eyes
twinkled with mischief.

“How did you catch
her?” Isobel exclaimed, her face alight with intrigue.  Tristan had looked like
he had wrestled the hog into the fence with his bare hands!  He had been
covered from head to foot with mud and had worn a dour expression when he had
surrendered MacMurtry’s purse to Hodges.

“I rode her into
the corral,” Tristan laughed.  He reached up and raked his hand through his
freshly washed hair.  The story was so unbelievable that he himself could
hardly fathom it to be true.

“You
rode
her?” Isobel remarked in utter disbelief.

“Aye,” Tristan
laughed.  “She charged me for the second time and it was just a reaction…I
jumped ontae her back and rode her in through the gate!”

Isobel joined him
in laughter.  Tears came to her eyes as she imagined Tristan riding a hog.

“And the mud?” she
said through her fit of laughter.

“She dumped us
both intae the mud just before the fence!” Tristan recalled, his chest shaking
with his laughter.  “Ye should have seen MacMurtry!  ‘Twas the spectacle of it
all that caused him tae pay his rents willingly,” Tristan smiled as he
remembered how  Gowan MacMurtry had laughed.

They laughed
together for a moment in the firelight.  Tristan squeezed Isobel’s hand beneath
the table, delighting in the simple pleasure of holding her hand within his. 
He looked upon her now, his heart yearning for her more and more with each
passing moment.

Laughter suited
Isobel well.

She looked happy.

Winning the latest
challenge kindled the fire of hope within Tristan.

Only four men
remained in the tournament now.

Tristan ran his
fingers gently over Isobel’s knuckles.

He was so close to
winning the right to claim her as his own.

Tristan knew that
he had already claimed Isobel’s heart just as surely as he knew that she had
claimed his, but he knew not what the future held for them.

Lord willing,
he would win but two more challenges.

He was so very
close.  He had come so very far.

Tristan admitted
the dreadful truth that beat with every pulse of his heart.

Losing the tournament
would mean losing his life.

For a life
without Isobel could not be.

Tristan leaned
close to Isobel so that only she could hear his shrouded words.

“Have hope, my
love,” he whispered.  “For we have nearly won.”

..oo      Chapter Fifteen     oo..

“The field has
been narrowed to four capable men!” Hodges proclaimed from the podium.  The
crowd erupted with a wave of applause and shouts.  “The final challenge shall
be one of sword play.  A man deserving to be called Laird of Clan McLaughlin
must be an expert swordsman,” Hodges bellowed as he looked upon the remaining
contenders.  “Our Laird will lead Clan McLaughlin into war and victory on the
field!”

The crowd of
clansmen exploded with shouts of “Victory!”

Tristan stood in
between Rogan Cameron and Fergus McLaughlin.  To the Cameron’s left was Ramsay
Innes, a quiet outlier that Tristan knew little of.  Ramsay had traveled the
farthest to participate in the tournament and had said little during his time
with the McLaughlins.  Tristan knew better than to underestimate a quiet man,
but at present, his eyes shifted towards Rogan Cameron, the man that he knew to
be a fearsome sword fighter.

A smirk was
emblazoned on Rogan’s face.

The final
challenge was to be a sword fight.

And to Rogan
Cameron, a sword fight was not a challenge.

He rolled his
shoulders arrogantly and smiled at the crowd.

“There will be nay
armor allowed on the field,” Hodges said as he regarded the remaining
competitors.  “Ye shall fight with only a claymore, nay dirks shall be
permitted.  Ye may choose tae yield to an opponent whose skill with a sword is
greater than yours.  I bid you to have mercy if your opponent yields,” Hodges
said as he glared right at Rogan.

Rogan smiled a
crooked smile.

“When the field
has been narrowed to two men, the fight must cease,” Hodges commanded.  “Laird
McLaughlin has ordered that his daughter, Isobel, have free choice of her
husband from the remaining two contenders.”  Hodges studied the men standing
before him with narrowed blue eyes.  His eyes stopped on Rogan Cameron.  He did
not expect a fair fight from Rogan.

Rogan held Hodges’
eye contact.

“Will the Laird be
watching this final stage of the competition?” Rogan asked boldly.

The crowd fell
silent.  Many had speculated as to Laird McLaughlin’s conspicuous absence
throughout the tournament, but none had dared to ask Rogan’s bold question.

“The Laird is
indisposed,” Hodges answered coolly, his voice wavering only slightly.  “He has
entrusted myself and my joint Masters of Tournament to see that this final
event is carried out with honor.”

Isobel gripped the
arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white.

Perhaps Rogan
knew of her father’s death.

Perhaps he
planned to fight dishonorably and steal the Lairdship!

“To the field!”
Hodges bellowed as he struck his fist into the air.  The crowd roared with
excitement and Hodges was relieved to have avoided further questions. 

Tristan unsheathed
his claymore and turned the blade in his hand.  He had crafted the lethal
weapon himself and he knew how to wield it as if it were an extension of his
arm.  He cast a quick glance at Isobel.  She smiled at him slightly.

He could tell that
she was nervous.

Tristan nodded in
response, his mouth turning up into the barest hint of a smile.

Believe in me,
love.

..ooOoo..

The men drew
sticks again to determine their opponent.

Tristan drew
Ramsay Innes.

He had hoped to
draw Fergus McLaughlin, as he knew that they young lad would offer little in
the way of competition.

Tristan hoped that
Rogan did not kill Fergus, for the lad was quite amiable.  Tristan believed
that Rogan would grow into a passable swordsman if given but some instruction
and a few more years.

The men followed
Hodges to the makeshift arena that had been fashioned at the edge of the
courtyard.

“Ye shall fight at
the same time.  Keep clear of the other men and fight honorably,” Hodges said
once more.  His eyes were trained on Rogan Cameron as he spoke of honor.  “May
the best man win,” he added, motioning for the men to begin the sword fight.

Tristan eyed his
opponent.

Ramsay Innes was
an unknown, and therefore, Tristan regarded him as dangerous.

Ramsay began to
circle Tristan.  He bid his time, waiting for Tristan to make the first strike.

Tristan heard
metal clashing against metal.

Fergus and Rogan
had already begun.

He stalked around
Ramsay warily, his eyes narrowed as he baited his opponent.

Ramsay swung his
sword over his head and charged towards Tristan.

Tristan blocked
the blow easily, but the strength of Ramsay’s attack reverberated up the length
of his arms.  Ramsay Innes was a powerful man and an able swordsman.  Tristan
had learned as much from the first contact of their swords.

Sword fighting was
second nature to Tristan.  He blocked Ramsay’s second blow stealthily and then
quickly took the upper hand.  He hammered Ramsay with blow after blow,
channeling his controlled rage into his sword arm.  Tristan fought tirelessly,
reigning down his fury upon Ramsay, who tired quickly.

With one flip of
his sword, Tristan captured Ramsay’s sword and removed it from his grip.

Ramsay stood,
breathing raggedly, his eyes trained on Tristan.

He was helpless
without his weapon.

Tristan stalked
forward with his sword extended, his hazel eyes never leaving Ramsay’s.  If
Innes made a sudden more, the price that he would pay would be his life.

Tristan brought
his sword to rest against the exposed flesh of Ramsay’s neck.

He heard swords
clanging behind him, indicating that Fergus and Rogan were still engaged in
battle.

Ramsay clenched
his jaw.  His eyes were locked with Tristan’s.

“Yield,” Tristan
gritted as he pressed the cold metal of his sword against Ramsay’s neck.

Ramsay said
nothing.

“Yield!” Tristan
screamed, his voice commanding.

Tristan did not
want to kill Ramsay Innes.

Ramsay broke eye
contact with Tristan.

He moved slowly,
dropping to one knee in front of Tristan.

“I yield,” he said
under his breath.

“Louder!” Tristan shouted
with his sword still at Ramsay’s neck.

“I yield!” Ramsay
Innes said louder as shame washed over him.

Tristan stepped
back.  He took his sword away from Ramsay’s neck, glad that he had not yet been
forced to spill blood.  He watched as Ramsay collected his sword and left the
battle field.

 The crowd cheered
as the field was narrowed to three.

Tristan turned his
attention to Rogan and Fergus.  Fergus was outplayed with each stroke of
Rogan’s sword, but he refused to yield.  The young McLaughlin fought valiantly,
defending his position as best he could under the storm of Rogan’s blade. 
Sweat poured off of both men.

Rogan was tired of
games.

He landed a fierce
blow to Fergus’ sword, which the lad barely blocked.  The young clansman’s
strength was waning.

Rogan had just
begun.

He took joy in
toying with his much younger, much more inexperienced opponent.

Rogan landed a
crashing blow to Fergus’ right.  When Fergus attempted to block his opponent,
Rogan overpowered him and pinned his sword to the ground.

Rogan eyed Fergus
with anticipation.

One stroke of his
lethal sword would end this.

Fergus was at his
mercy now.

“I yield!” Fergus
bellowed.

Rogan did not
move.  He kept his sword strong against Fergus’ and smiled deviously.

“I yield!” Fergus
cried, his voice shaking.  He dropped his sword and began to move away from
Rogan.

Fear settled
within Fergus as Rogan stalked towards him.

“I’ve told ye!  I
yield!” Fergus yelled.  His eyes darted towards Hodges, who was already moving
towards them. “Do not kill me!” he begged in desperation as Rogan stalked him.

Rogan raised his
sword.

One stroke of his
blade would end this.

“No!” Fergus
screamed as the blade swung down upon him.

Tristan dove
through the air, striking his blade against Rogan’s at the last possible moment
to block his strike against Fergus.  Tristan fell to the ground and rolled,
springing back to his feet in front of Rogan.

“I’ll end this
now, Finnegan!” Rogan seethed as he circled his true opponent.

He had known from
the beginning of the tournament that Tristan Finnegan would be his only true
challenger.  And now he planned to seize the opportunity and end the tournament
once and for all.

For Rogan knew in
his heart that if given a choice between himself and Tristan Finnegan, Isobel
would choose Tristan.  Rogan had not fought this hard, he had not come this far
to be cast aside.

Rogan had seen it
in her eyes.

Isobel loved
Tristan already.

“Stop!” Hodges
bellowed as he took the field.

“I’ll warn ye tae
stay back,” Rogan said as he pointed his sword at Hodges.

“Lady Isobel is
tae choose!” Hodges argued helplessly.

“I know how she
will choose!” Rogan answered as he circled Tristan.  “Which is why I am making
the choice for her,” he bellowed, his eyes never leaving Tristan’s.

With that, Rogan
charged Tristan.  His first strike was so powerful that it knocked Tristan off
balance, causing him to stumble slightly before regaining his footing.

The crowd went
wild.

Tristan dropped
back into an athletic crouch.  His muscles were tense and they rippled beneath
his sodden shirt as he made his counter attack against Rogan.  Adrenaline
flooded his veins.  Tristan swung his sword with commanding precision, slicing
the blade through the air and bringing it crashing against Rogan’s blade.  He
swung again and again, using the strength of his entire body to press Rogan
back towards the crowd.

Rogan blocked the
fury of Tristan’s sword desperately.

And then he
panicked.

Never in his life
had Rogan Cameron been bested with a sword.

Tristan landed a
blinding blow.  His sword ricocheted off of Rogan’s blade and sliced through
flesh of Rogan’s upper arm.

Rogan screamed and
charged at Tristan.

He would not be
killed so easily.

Tristan blocked Rogan’s
blows and pressed his opponent back further.  Rogan spun and landed his elbow
against Tristan’s face.  Pain shot through Tristan’s nerves, momentarily
clouding his vision.

His nose was
surely broken.  Blood flowed freely down his shirt, staining the dirt crusted
linen a bright red.

Using every last
ounce of his strength, Tristan brought his sword crashing down on Rogan.  Rogan
blocked him feebly, falling to his knees in the process.  Tristan swung his
blade again and then kicked Rogan in the chest as he moved to block his sword.

Rogan fell
backwards and lost the grip on his weapon.

He lay helpless in
the dirt, heaving from the exertion of fighting Tristan.

The crowd was
frenzied from the excitement.  Their screams made it difficult for Tristan to
think.  He walked forward slowly and bent to collect Rogan’s sword.

He stood above his
opponent.

Tristan placed his
boot on Rogan’s chest.  He scowled down at his opponent and brought his sword
to the base of Rogan’s throat.  Tristan could see Rogan’s heart hammering.  The
artery at the base of his neck thudded.  Tristan could end Rogan’s life with
the flick of the tip of his sword.

“Yield,” Tristan
thundered against the roar of the crowd.

Rogan closed his
eyes.

“Yield!” Tristan
screamed as he pressed the tip of his sword into Rogan’s skin.  A trickled of
bright red blood ran from the wound and stained the ground.

“I yield to you,
my Laird,” Rogan said in defeat.  He closed his eyes and felt the distinct
burning of shame wash over him.

Tristan cast the
swords aside and fell to his knees in the dirt beside Rogan.

He had won.