Simon chuckled at the man’s strained wit but shook his head. “Stray dogs don’t have canines as long as my hand, nor need to be beaten to death with a billiard table.”
Malcolm frowned, about to make a retort, when Penny emerged from the back. She picked up the four-barreled Lancaster pistol, which promptly fell into several pieces. She turned red with anger. “Bloody hell! Do you know how long it took me to craft this beauty? This is a precision firearm, not a club! If you don’t treat it properly, it won’t save your life when you need it!”
“I’m not hunting pheasant,” Malcolm retorted. “It gets a bit rough. If my other pistol is ready, I’ll take that one and I’ll keep the spare you gave me for a while longer.”
Penny grumbled but then grinned dangerously back at Malcolm and Simon. “My two best customers. Have you been introduced?”
Simon thrust out a hand toward the Scotsman. “Simon Archer of Warden Abbey.”
Malcolm took Simon’s outstretched hand. “Malcolm MacFarlane of Rowardennan.”
At the mention of the name, however, Simon’s eyes went suddenly dark. Malcolm pulled his hand back instantly.
“Rowardennan?” Simon asked slowly. “Did you know a John MacFarlane who hailed from that area? Twenty years or so your senior.”
“I did.” Malcolm stiffened. “My father’s name was John MacFarlane. What business is that of your—”
Malcolm never finished the sentence. Simon slammed him against the wall with shocking force.
“My father,” Simon growled, “was Edward Cavendish. Your father killed him.”
Malcolm’s fist crashed into Simon’s cheek and rocked his head back. Simon countered with a backhand across the Scotsman’s temple. Simon’s chest exploded as Malcolm drove an elbow into his breastbone and his breath rushed out of his lungs so fast it drew spots in his vision. He went to his hands and knees, dizzy as hell and disoriented. He noticed a leg beside him. He grabbed it and yanked, bringing Malcolm down to the ground with him.
The Scotsman’s thick hands fell on Simon’s shoulders and tried to gain leverage over him. Simon rolled and brought Malcolm with him, slamming into the table and chair and scattering books. Twisting quickly, Simon jerked aside and scrambled to his feet.
“Here now. Not in my shop!” Penny was shouting, but when Simon stood and turned, he met the meaty fist of the Scotsman. It snapped his head to the side, a spray of blood erupting from his split lip. He stumbled but managed to keep his feet. He spun around and drove a punch into the man’s unprotected middle. It doubled Malcolm over, just so he could meet the knee that Simon brought up with ferocious force.
The Scotsman went flying back. Simon staggered forward, leaning on the counter and trying to catch his breath. Malcolm stepped into his field of vision. Hard, angry, and wiping blood from the corner of his eye.
“Your father was a gutless bastard,” Simon snarled.
Malcolm slammed Simon’s stomach, growling, “That may be, but I’m the only one that gets to call him that.”
Rage boiled inside Simon. His bloody face looked up as he leaned back against the counter to brace himself. He lifted both feet, crashing his heels into Malcolm’s exposed midsection. The Scotsman flew backward. Simon staggered forward to grab Malcolm’s upraised arm. The look of surprise on the Scotsman’s face made Simon smile despite the split lip. Simon’s fist smashed into Malcolm and the man went down like a sack of potatoes.
Simon turned back to Penny, whose face was slowly recovering from her shock and turning a livid red. He coughed wetly, feeling a sense of gratification sweep over him. “Family matter.”
“Are you blokes mad? This is a business not a brawling ring.”
Simon’s small victory was short-lived. Malcolm leapt on him and they crashed against the counter. A heavy weight bashed Simon’s face into the wood. He struggled to right himself, but the muscles in his arms felt like lead weights.
Simon flashed on his mother crying as she told him of the night his father died. The anger flared bright once more. He shoved Malcolm off; it wasn’t clear how. He didn’t think he used magic although he couldn’t swear to it.
The Scotsman stumbled to his feet again like a dark wraith, seizing some strange metallic contraption off a bookshelf and brandishing it. Simon heard Penny shout in alarm although it was more out of alarm for her work than a warning to Simon. His strong arm blocked Malcolm’s blow, and with a wild shout, slammed his forehead into the other man’s head. Simon roundhoused Malcolm in the jaw. The Scotsman crumpled in a flurry of arms and legs. The startled expression on his face spoke clearly that he hadn’t expected to lose this fight.
Too bad.
To his hardheaded credit, Malcolm tried to push himself up yet again, but from the looks of it, he wasn’t sure of his surroundings. The Scotsman shook his head, unsure why he was still on the floor.