Tales of the Executioners

Chapter 5: Jamie - Blood of Betrayal, Part 5

Jamie turned to see Eagan standing behind them. At his motion, Caitrin hurried out the door, leaving them alone.

"Ye should not be so hard on yer sister, lad. The heart can forgive much when there is love in it."

Jamie turned his back to close his traveling bag. "Then she should be able ta forgive me fer never seeing her again."

"Aye, she would forgive ye, fer such is love, just as ye will forgive her, when the fire of fresh pain has cooled. Then ye will see ta reason. They knew ye were a rebel, lad. Had ye not tried ta put Charles on the thronebut ye did, and they knew it. They came ta the castle, lookin' fer ye, fer yer allies. Had Androu not admitted yer father's involvement, they would have killed him as well, taken the land and given it ta an English Laird they could trust. Then what would ye have returned ta? You ken as well as I that I speak the truth, and that yer sister and her pretty babes would have died with 'em."

Though Jamie didn't wish the bairns ill, maybe that would have been better. Had Caitrin died, she wouldn't have been there to open the door to their guest, to be touched by the fae, to pass such things on to him.

"And what of Margaret? Did she not raise dissent?"

"Nay, she was dead by then, taken by fever."

That at least was a blessing, that she hadn't lived to seehadn't been made to go along. And had the English truly come seeking him, then what would they have done to his wife?

Eagan sighed. "I understand yer pain, but ye cannae leave."

Jamie wadded the bag in his fist. "You cannae stop me."

"Aye, but I can, and I will. Yer sister told ye that ta be made what we are leaves ye owin' a debt a blood debt they call it. Since the blood comes from me, ye owe me that debt. Until it's paid, ye cannae go but ye have my leave, and I do not give it."

Jamie spun to face him, hands fists at his side. "How will ye stop me, old man?"

Eagan chuckled. "Old man, ye say. Ah, I do be older than ye, but not so old I cannae teach ye a lesson." Jamie's disbelief was obvious, and Eagan's face lit with inspiration. "I'll make a wager with ye, lad. If ye can beat me soundly, I'll release ye from yer debt now, unheard of among our kind, an' you'll be free ta come an' go as ye please. But, should I best ye, ye will acknowledge me as yer master, remain here, and pay yer debt 'til I release ye. On yer honor."

Jamie tried to bite back a chuckle. Eagan might be fae, but was he also daft? Such a contest would have only one outcome unless "No magic?"

Eagan chuckled. "I dinnae realize ye could use it, lad."

"I meant you."

"Me? Sorry ta say, I have no magic that would help in such a fight, unless ye count seein' yer thoughts, and' I'll be too busy ta do that."

"All right then. On my honor. What weapon do ye choose?"

"Oh, no weapon fer me, though ye may use those ye see fit." Eagan smiled affably and shut the door. "Seems as good a place as any fer such a fight, dinnae ye think?"

Jamie tensed, eyes shifting as he sought the advantage. "Aye, 'tis that."

As the last word left his lips, he grabbed the dirk from his belt and charged. Eagan dodged with the practiced moves of a warrior, landing a punch to Jamie's back, and a kick to his calf as he darted around him. Jamie stumbled from the blow, but spun around, lunging and slashing. Eagan again avoided the blade, and again his jabs connected. Jamie slipped on a piece of torn cloth, righting himself in time to take an uppercut from his opponent.

Jamie stumbled back, wiping blood from his lips. He charged, and was knocked into the remnants of the dressing table. With fury, he pulled himself free and leapt at his opponent, only to be knocked back again, and again. Though weaponless, Eagan's well timed blows left Jamie bleeding, while the old man remained unharmed.

"Ye can quit when ye like, lad," he joked.

"Aye, I'll quit, when I've beaten ye and won my freedom."

"As ye say." Eagan shifted to the left, avoiding the thrust of Jamie's dirk. He spun around him, this time liberating a leg from the broken table. He leveraged it like a club. As Jamie snapped around to face him, he swung.

Jamie fell back to the floor. His ears echoed with the crunch of his nose and jaw. Pain shot through him. His hand went automatically to his face. His nose was broken, his jaw shattered.

"Enough," Eagan said. "You cannae fight like-"

With a gurgling snarl, Jamie pounced. The blade caught the edge of flesh, but not enough to bite. Eagan shook his head, chuckling. "Ye are a fierce one, ye weren't a lyin' about that."

As Jamie went for him again, Eagan swung his club. The blow landed in his ribs, leaving him sprawled on the floor, coughing blood, his broken ribs screaming.

"Now, enough-"

Eagan broke off as Jamie forced himself to his feet. Blood dripped in his eyes, ran down his face and over his chin in rivulets. He tried to speak, but his broken jaw made the words no more than grunts. 'Tis for my freedom, Jamie told himself. Freedom from tyranny. Aye, no different than fighting the goddamned English, no different than Dunbar. But it was. There he'd fought for the sake of Margaret, for their future bairns, for his father, even for his sister and now now who did he fight for but himself?

"A man who fights only fer himself is weaker than he who fights fer something more."

Jamie looked up sharply, in time to see the table leg smash into his face.