It took very little time to clear the crowd. None of the men particularly wanted to be on the receiving end of their lord's anger and it was quite clear that the man's temper would soon make itself known.

"What the hell was that?" Benjamin asked after the last of the men wandered away.

Brian looked at the two men at his feet and shook his head. "I haven't a clue. But I will find out." He pointed towards Garrick and snarled. "Take him to the dungeon. Get what you can out of him and I'll deal with him myself soon enough."

"Yes, sir. And Justin?"

"I'll tend to Justin."

Benjamin looked as though he wanted to object, but thought better of it and walked away, directing several of the men to carry Garrick's body up to the dungeon.

Brian looked around at the other men, already resuming their exercises, and then back to the blonde man on the ground before him. Satisfied that little attention was upon him, he knelt and stroked Justin's cheek gently.

Blue eyes fluttered open and Justin was soon smiling up at him tiredly.

"You're a bit broken," Brian whispered, with a tenderness that should have evaded him in that moment.

"Am I?" Justin raised his head just enough to survey the damage to his person. "Not so bad. It might have been worse."

"Aye. It could have been worse. You were damn lucky."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. I'm simply the better swordsman," Justin tried to keep his voice from shaking, but there was still a bit of relieved fatigue in his manner.

"To be sure. Now, would you like to tell me why the devil you two were fighting?"

Justin turned his head to the side, looking away from Brian. "Are you...disappointed in me?"

"What?"

"You turned away. Did I disgrace you, milord?"

Brian was genuinely confused. What was the boy babbling about? "How could you have disgraced me? I turned away because..." What could he tell him? He had turned away so as not to see unneeded death? But how well would that excuse hold up? All death by another man's hand was to some extent unneeded, and they had both seen their share of that. "Because...I could not bare to see you-"

"Shall I help you carry him, sir?"

Brian glanced up to see Patrick, one of his younger cousins, looming over him like an eager giant. "Oh...yes, that will do fine, Patrick."

Easily, Patrick lifted a wary Justin into his arms and looked to Brian for direction.

Feeling both disappointment and relief from being interrupted, Brian motioned for the large man to follow him. "I shall take you to his home. His grandmother can tend to him there."

It came as no surprise to anyone, except for perhaps Patrick, when Deborah rushed out of the small cottage and began screaming orders. "You...Take him inside. Put a bedroll beneath his head. Milord, if you would be so kind...get me a scrap of cloth. Cleaned. I'll need it to wash the wounds."

"Of course." Brian left to do her bidding and Patrick stared dumbly at his cousin who was bowing so easily to the demand of the old woman.

"Are there rocks in your head, boy? Get him in there!"

Brian laughed inwardly, hoping the woman wouldn't be too hard on the man. When he returned, Patrick had fled the scene and Deborah was in the front room, stirring some foul smelling concoction over the fire.

"It's for the wounds. It will keep the fever out. Help them heal properly," she explained, spooning a bit of the broth into a medium sized basin. "Now would you like to tell me what happened?"

"He was training."

"That," she pointed towards the other room, "is not training. And excuse milord, but anyone that would do that to one of their own, should be run through with their own sword!"

"Ah. But the other man looks worse than your grandson. So...shall I have them both run through?"

The woman nodded and smiled, sufficiently chastised for her overzealous want for justice.

Brian had every intention of leaving once he had delivered the supplies the woman needed, but as she moved into the next room, he found himself following. He observed as she sat knelt upon the floor beside Justin and placed one strip at a time into the bowl, allowing the cloth to absorb the liquid before she placed it upon his exposed skin.

Though his attention was a bit drawn to the fact that Justin was all but completely naked, only a small fur thrown over his mid-section to cover him, Brian was aware of every movement, every tensed muscle, ever scream of pain that Justin held back. And Brian gnashed his teeth together, wishing that he could do something to lessen the pain, even as the lifelong training he had endured beneath his father and brother had demanded that he realize Justin was merely suffering the consequences of his own heedless actions.

Still, the man was proud. Not a sound had escaped the younger man's lips. The restraint he had used to accomplish this, sapped his remaining strength and by the time Deborah had completely wrapped all of his wounds, Justin was sleeping soundly.

Finally, having seen for himself that Justin would be fine, Brian made a move to leave. "He's lucky to have you," he whispered to Deborah from the doorway.

The woman never even looked up from the needlework she was beginning. "Lucky to have you as well."

Brian was brought up short with her words. Though perhaps he should have ignored them or passed it off as a returned compliment, the tone of her voice rang in his ears and causing him to tense with unease. "What do you mean?"

Deborah finally glanced up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Take me for a fool, do you?"

"Not at all."

"I may be old, lord McKinnon, but these old eyes see more than you might think."

"I am sure, but I have yet to see what this has to do with myself." His mother had taught him never to lie. Especially not to one's elders. But was it truly lying when one was forced to lie?

"No. I would imagine that you might not," Deborah muttered, going back to her needlework. "But...thank you all the same. I've never seen him quite so happy."

The words warming his heart and tearing at his gut simultaneously, Brian turned and walked away, unsure of what else could be said.

***

The place was smaller than she remembered. When she and Justin were children, they would sneak away to this magical place in the woods and it had been their very own kingdom. To do as they liked. To be anyone but who they were.

She had always wanted to be a queen. Climbing up onto the tallest rock, she would shout out orders to imaginary servants and giggle when Justin would bow before her and pretend to do her bidding.

He hadn't been as enthusiastic as she when it came to games, but there were times when she would catch him painting mud onto a rock and instructing his imaginary charges in the fine art of color.

Other times, though they were few, he would be a knight, charging aimlessly around the pond, looking for a maiden to rescue. And she had always been more than happy to oblige him.

Had she known that the boy would make such a man...

Lindsay smiled as she plucked a small white flower from the ground and threaded it into her braid. Her knight would be arriving soon and perhaps he would once again come to her aid.

***

He had dreamt that he was late to meet McKinnon. That he was supposed to meet him at the pond. Only...McKinnon had only just been there. Surely the man knew he wasn't able to come.

Justin stared at the ceiling, feeling a bit out of sorts. His thoughts were clouded and he could scarcely keep his eyes open, but his grandmother had assured him that it was simply the medicine that would heal his wounds making him sluggish.

Besides the medicine, he imagined that the pain was doing little to aid his concentration. For the incredible pain that he had only felt through the filtered edges in the rush of the fight, now spanned the length of his body from head to toe and there was nothing to ease it. It was as if he had been lashed by Lucifer himself.

Only...these wounds carried a deeper price than simple pain. He had let his adversary win through his failure. He had avoided a fatal blow and had failed to deliver his own. There was not a doubt in his mind that somehow he would regret sparing the man's life.

***

How could she know? And if she knew, then might others have guessed?

Brian had fought with himself over the matter since leaving the cottage and his head now throbbed from the worry. The foreboding he now felt magnified all around him. Paranoia was setting in and it seemed to him that every eye, of every person he passed, was aimed at him in judgement and scorn.

It was ridiculous of course. He was the lord and therefor had the right to do anything he saw fit, without judgement from his people. His word was law. So, why then did he feel that he had gone against his own law?

Because had gone one step too far.

Instead of the boy being a warm body to fill his nights, he had turned into the warm soul that filled his heart. It was unsettling beyond words. What he felt for the boy could have been paternal, was it not for the fact that his body trembled when the blonde man was near. His intention had never been to care for the boy.

The problem now was that he had not a single clue as to what could be done about it.

"Sir! Lord Brian!" Brian looked up to see Reginald, Patrick's brother, running towards him. "Milord...it's Benjamin. He's requested that you join him in the dungeon as soon as possible."

Brian sighed. Yes of course. He had to tend to Garrick. Perhaps he would get answers there since he had not gotten his chance to speak with Justin. "Tell him I shall be there straightaway."

When Brian climbed the tower stairs to the dungeon, he was greeted with the sight of his second, pacing back and forth before him frantically.

"Benjamin?" Brian watched as the man looked up, startled. "What have you found?"

His friend looked down for a moment before meeting Brian's eyes with the full force of his concern. "Sir, I believe that you should speak with the old man."

"Have you not spoken with him already?"

"Yes sir. I have. Only..."

"Only what?"

"What he's saying sir... I don't know what to make of it."

"He makes no sense?"

"He makes too much sense, sir," Benjamin replied, frowning deeply. "Therein lies the problem."

"Benjamin, do you intentionally seek to confuse me? What did the man say?"

Benjamin shook his head and unlocked the heavy door. Brian took this as a sign that Ben was not going to tell him. That he would have to get the answers for himself.

"Garrick!" He snapped, seeing the man sitting against a wall, fast asleep. His wounds were still open but they had stopped bleeding. Yet no one had cleaned them and the dried blood marked a large portion of his body as well as his clothing. He looked like a wild man, crazed and gnarled even in sleep.

One of the guards nudged the man with his foot and Garrick opened his eyes, casting a disdainful glance at Brian. "Garrick, would you care to tell me what happened out there?"

"I did naught wrong."

"Fine. You did nothing wrong. And yet you find yourself here for attempting to murder your superior, Justin Winterberry."

Garrick snorted at this. "That...boy...will never be my superior. What I did, I did out of loyalty to MY lord - yer lady wife's dearly departed father."

Brian scoffed. "And how would killing Justin prove your loyalty to a dead man?"

The older man's eyes sparked with a fire that made Brian take a cautious step backwards. With all of the malice he could muster, Garrick hissed, "It is only right that I take his life. After all, it was his sword that took the life of my lord and master."

For the second time that day, Brian was struck with the inability to form words. Could what Garrick was saying be true? Or was it simply the rambling of a crazy old warrior that had seen one too many fields of battle? He definitely wouldn't get the answers there.

Quickly, he turned and stalked out of the dungeon, Garrick's furious shouting ringing in his ears.

"A life for a life!"

TBC...