Free Joanna Fulford by His Lady of Castlemora Page B

fighters, my lord—by repute anyway.’ Taggart’s small eyes took on a cunning gleam. ‘We just wondered if it was true, didn’t we, lads?’
    A groundswell of agreement greeted this, the tone both challenging and mocking. Ewan and Jock exchanged eloquent glances, their hands moving to their sword hilts. Seeing it, Isabelle darted a glance at Ban but his attention was elsewhere.
    ‘Surely you would not cast aspersions on the valour of our allies, Taggart?’ said Murdo. The words sounded reproachful, ostensibly deprecating, but none present missed their underlying edge.
    ‘I mean no disrespect, my lord.’ Taggart gave Ban an unctuous smile quite at variance with the look in his eye. ‘All the same, ’tis such a fine reputation that a body canna help wondering whether ’tis based on truth or exaggeration.’
    Another chorus of agreement greeted the words. Isabelle watched in impotent anger, seeing whither this tended. She would have been disgusted by such an insult to any of Castlemora’s guests, but in this case the ramifications were particularly worrying and especially for herself. Ban could hardly be impressed and his opinion mattered. Another minute and the situation would be out of hand. Yet how to stop it escalating without her guests losing face? She glanced once at Murdo but knew she would find no help there. On the contrary, his expression suggested keen enjoyment of the situation, an expression reflected on the faces of his men.
    Before he could respond, Davy spoke out. His voice was level enough but his eyes spoke clearly of anger.
    ‘Glengarron’s reputation speaks for itself. It needs no exaggeration.’
    ‘Is that right?’ Taggart raised an eyebrow and looked round at his companions. Grins greeted his evident scepticism. ‘Now I’d heard otherwise.’
    ‘Then you heard wrong.’
    ‘I’ve only your word for that, boy.’
    ‘There is no boy here.’ Davy’s hand tightened round the hilt of his dirk. ‘Nor no idle boasting either.’
    ‘Shall we put that to the test?’
    ‘Whenever you like.’
    ‘No time like the present.’
    An ironic cheer rose in reply from the bystanders. Isabelle’s jaw tightened. She could not expect Davy to back down now for the insult had been thinly veiled and would be answered. However, the matter must not result in serious bloodshed. With her heart in her throat she saw Ban step forwards.
    ‘Then let the matter be put to the test,’ he said, ‘in a friendly match, to be decided by first blood.’
    All eyes turned his way, speculative and predatory. Isabelle was reminded of nothing so much as a pack of wolves. Ban ignored them, his attention focused on the one man he rightly divined would make the decision. Murdo met his gaze a moment and then nodded.
    ‘An excellent notion. First blood it shall be.’
    A roar of approval echoed on the still air and the men stepped back to give the two combatants room. Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing the confrontation could not be avoided, Ban had at least prevented it from becoming fatal. He had handled the matter with tact and skill, and she could only feel gratitude for his intervention. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was really thinking. Was he regretting ever coming here? Would it make him think twice about their forthcoming betrothal? She prayed it would not. Even so, the incident did not reflect well on Castlemora, and she determined that Murdo should know of her displeasure. Forgetting her usual reticence she went to confront him. He regarded her with surprise for a moment and then smiled.
    ‘You’re just in time, my lady. This promises to be interesting.’
    Holding on to her temper, she kept her voice low so that only the two of them were privy to it. ‘These men are guests here, Murdo. How could you have allowed this?’
    ‘Come, my lady, it is but a friendly bout, no more.’
    ‘If it is then it’s thanks to Lord Ban.’
    He was about reply when another presence drew his attention, and