Chapter fifty eight
It had been nearly hell for the lass. Now it was useless threatening to kill one of them. As Monica gawked at the angry mob of armed noblemen, she realised unfortunately that no height of her skills could change the fact she was greatly outnumbered.
She had started to shiver while they kept closing in on her. Even the victim she had in her clutch finally managed to free himself from her shaky grip.
Now she was there, naked to any attack they planned to lay upon her. Now she had no choice but to do that one thing she hated most; surrender.
Ever so slowly, she lifted both her hands in the air and glanced through the people. But then;
"Move away! His Grace approaches," the loud voice came from somewhere within the crowd, stealing attention and causing a murmur streak.
Monica gasped fearful. The last way she wanted to die was by the hands of the one she loved. Now she was trapped, he had come to end this once and for all.
Now the crowd parted into two to form a path in the center that received the Duke of Anfield. Eyes followed while he approached, even Monica's.
When he'd reached her and they were alone in the little circle formed by his people, she had a larger dose of the shivers.
She felt his eyes run her down while her head was bowed in plea. What brought her eyes up to meet his was the slash sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath. Now tears blurred her eyes.
"Please Philip," she sulked, "I'm sorry. Forgive me, please…"
Next he flung the blade to her…softly, carefully in a manner he was sure she could catch.
And although she was confused, she caught the sword in both grips and gawked at the Duke. Monica was sure to let all the questions she had inside emerge through her eyes while she looked at him.
His next actions answered all of them. Philip Forland retrieved yet another blade, played with it for a while before his eyes rested upon her again.
"It seems fate had other plans all this while," The Duke began, even when he knew he wasn't making any sense to anyone. "I always wondered why we never had a chance to face each other in the way of the blades. But now," he stopped talking to pull his lips in a smile. "But now, I have the perfect way to judge who's stronger."
Now his usually solemn nature returned, although he hadn't stopped his scrutiny on her.
After taking one final look at the sword, he parted his lips thoughtfully. "You see Monica," the lad set his tone to something conclusive, "My forgiving you depends on the result of our swordfight. If you win," he gestured to himself and his friends behind him," then we will more than gladly welcome you back to us. And I promise to get married to you."
She wanted to scream in excitement but not too fast.
"And what if I lose," Monica rushed the words almost silently, daring to look him in the eye. Deep down somewhere, she did not like this.
"If you lose Monica Maitland," Philip tilted his head and smiled again, "then you leave England forever and never come back."
The aura tensed. When he saw the color drain from her face, he added, "You've had all your fun in winning my friends, let's see how we get along."
***
"She is going to lose," Jason stated in a rather matter-of-factly tone, stiff-necked and adamant on changing it.
"Exactly," Timothy offered, "and that fact will not favor anyone at the moment."
The Marquess was sweating and gasping for obvious reasons while he watched both opponents stalk to the large snow covered field with the previous job now dispersing around. "Philip is such a fool! I mean what sort of a game is this? He knows he's going to win this and nonetheless, he placed such a wager!" He sounded angry now.
"And what makes you all think Monica cannot win my brother," Anna Forland inquired rather angrily and shot glades at all of them.
That did not seem to change their decision anyway.
"Oh please!" Jason spat and already began walking away from the company, "Philip is the best swordsman in the clan and you know it!"
To him, the butterflies he had urged him on to get a better view of the fight.
They all pushed through the crowd to the very front line, nervous and desperate to get in every second of what would be the worst fight they'd ever experience.
***
Monica had her feet buried ankle deep in the snow with every step. Her usual confidence seemed to have betrayed her and run away, leaving her shivering…although all others thought it was because of the cold.
She stopped now when her distance from Philip was appropriate for her to breathe. And there he was… unbuttoning his coat carefully to reveal his waistcoat with a chemise beneath it. And the son of a gun was smiling at her… or her fear, she couldn't tell.
But now, when he pulled the knot holding his hair in a neat ponytail, letting them dance down his shoulders, she gasped and found herself gawking. Oh dear! The only being more beautiful was God.
Shortly after, she shut her mind off any lustful aura the Duke may bring her way, knowingly or not.
But then the rules of the fight was something else to be bothered about. First of all.
Anything was fair as long as the opponent could survive it…anything at all, including him pulling her in and ravishing her lips in a kiss. She gasped at the thought. Well that would render her weak and useless!
And secondly, the first person to go down to the floor loses.
Wow!
Now they both were set as they glared at each other, waiting for the game to be officially started.
A footman repeated the rules one more time before, and after a slight pause, waved a green flag.
Well only a few things were faster than time, and Monica happened to be one of them. Immediately the flag came down, she pounced forward and opened the fight, determination evident in her moves.
Philip received the strike of her sword upon his narrowly, almost surprised by how suddenly it came. While they paused in that state for a while, angry amber colored eyes shot straight into the green gem-like ones of the lady. And in one go, both tanked themselves away from each other and began the main deal.
The air became predominated by the frequent sounds of clinking blades and frustrated groans. It was quite obvious that Monica was in one ugly, aggressive mood. With every slash of her weapon against Philip's, she pushed forward and seemed to be fighting with every strength in her.
Philip however had just one grip about his sword. And while Monica's actions constantly made him taken short, backward steps, the lad was not using half the strength she was using.
It was at this moment he made his first attack. The Duke used the tip of his shoe to kick some snow off the ground. That was unexpected…and distracting, to Monica and every spectator. In that minute time of distraction, he carved a thin cut across the lady's cheek with his sword.
When Monica widened her eyes in understanding of all he reckoned, he just smirked and admired the red touch of liquid on his blade's tip.
Now he whirled the sword through the air in circles just before, this time, he pounced towards her and resumed the slashing of blades.
It came in series of sharp, clinking sounds as no fighter managed to hurt the other. Monica was much too engrossed in shielding the powerful strikes coming her way to even think of what to do next.
Finally, she found just the right moment to send a kick strong enough to knock him off his feet to the ground. But even as she did it, she completely doubted it was going to be that easy to win this man.
Philip blocked the kick with his free hand as a grip around her shoe. But then a wicked smile creeped up his face when he realised his advantage.
Monica gasped while she saw him toss his sword away just to clutch her leg tighter in a second grip.
He was going to send her down to the ground!
But rather, he let go easily and picked up his blade again, "Why exactly do you want my forgiveness?"
Shock made her gawk silently for a while before she stammered, "Because I was wrong."
Philip gave a small smile of admiration. Suddenly after though, he resumed the fight way before she was ready.
But she fell in place quite fine, raising her sword to block his strike.
For a while, they retained the pose…as the chatter continued.
"And what made you suddenly realize that," he asked again.
Monica yanked away from him with a light groan, wondering where exactly this was leading to, "Scotland didn't suddenly feel like home. I belong here, with you and the lads."
Her answer might have disappointed him, because he rolled his eyes and pounced on her again.
Another round of blade slashing followed, one that now made her feel so amateur compared to him.
At the thought, frustration set in and she gave a careless strike.
Philip gasped at the sharp pain he received upon his arm. Slowly, he glanced at it…and noticed a mar on his chemise stained by blood.
When he returned his attention to the lady, what he saw in those green eyes he so loved was fear. Green beautiful eyes…
And then he suddenly felt like asking, "Didn't you ever love me Monica?"
She pulled a sad frown, lowering her weapon simultaneously. Surely she was oblivious of how to answer that perfectly.
"I have never loved anything more than I've loved you," she later said, "and I don't want to prove that to you in a dual."
Philip studied the lady as she tossed her blade away, sniffing in as emotion laced her voice, " I was selfish yes. I used you…ran away from you. But my feelings for you were never a lie Philip. And before God and man, that's the best truth I've ever told in my life."