Free Her Irish Surrender by Kit Morgan Page A

dozen moved their part of the wall like a gate, and Lorcan was shoved inside, the door quickly shut behind him. By now he was beyond angry, and cursed the men around him in his Irish Gaelic. It was then he noticed they had become quiet, and were looking behind him.
    Lorcan turned. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. He was going to knock Finn’s teeth out for this. A man, the size the likes of which he’d never seen , now stood in the ring, his hands already bloodied, probably his last opponent’s.  Lorcan looked at his surroundings more closely and noticed the blood splattered here and there on the wooden wall, one section had a huge crack in it. He swallowed and glanced about for Finn. Knocking his teeth out was too good for him. He’d like to break something, if he got out of this alive that is.
    The crowd also stared at the monste r-sized man in the ring, as another stood. He was in the center of a group of well-dressed men, and their chairs were up on a platform to have the best view of the fight. “Gentlemen,” he began. “You’ll note the leaner build, the height, the breadth of chest …”
    Lorcan’s eyes widened. The man was English, well groomed, impeccably dressed. What in Heaven’s name was he doing in Oregon City in the back of an Irishman’s saloon?  And who were the men with him?
    “Also note ,” the Englishman continued, “the height and weight of Mr. Stiles. I’m sure the comparisons will make the night most interesting.”
    Lorcan shook his head, and felt more lik e a horse or cow displayed at auction, than a man in a fighting match. He stared hard at the Englishman, who studied him in return before he took his seat. Lorcan’s anger reignited and he stormed toward the men on the platform.  Forcing him to fight wasn’t right, and he’d have no part of it. 
    But Lorcan didn’t get the chance to voice his opinion on the matter. The giant in the ring began to move, and Lorcan had to focus his efforts on what was to come, whether he wanted it to or not.  And as he sidestepped the first blow dealt by his monstrous opponent, he decided the worst fate he could inflict on Finn for getting him into this mess, was to turn him over to his mother. No Irishman with half a brain wanted to fight against Mrs. Meara Brody. There was just no way to win.
     
    * * *

    “Do ye think he’ll be all right?” Mr. McPhee asked as Doc Henderson examined Lorcan.
    “What were you thinking you pig-headed dote?” the doctor scolded. “He’s lucky to be alive!”
    Finn stood, his hat in his hands, twisting it this way and that as they looked down upon the bloodied body of his friend.  He’d held his own for three rounds, faltered in the fourth and fifth, but came back in the sixth.  The seventh did him in, the giant acting as if bored with the whole affair, and so dealt the deathblow. If it had been any other man fighting, he probably would be dead. But not Lorcan, it was why he was the best in Oregon City. Finn glanced over his shoulder at the Englishman and the fighter he’d brought, then swallowed hard. These men were definitely not from Oregon City.
    “At least he didn’t lose any teeth,” Doc Henderson commented as he continued to clean Lorcan’s face. “Which of you is going to tell Mrs. Brody?”
    McPhee’s shocked face and dropped jaw was his only response. Finn swallowed ag ain and looked down at Lorcan.  He still hadn’t come around fully, his mind clouded from the blows inflicted upon him. But he would, and when he did, Finn was going to die.  Or at least have his brains knocked out of he head, which he should have done himself for thinking this would turn out well.
    “Well done, gentlemen,” the Englishman remarked as he stepped over to them. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”
    Finn, McPhee, and Doc Henderson could only stare. A beautiful woman stood behind the Englishman, her face barely showing beneath the lavender cloak she wore.  She stepped forward, and looked down at