by Cathy MacRae
After a number of minutes, she coiled the rope around and under her belt, hiding the blade in the waistband of her trews.
Did she have this in her possession her entire captivity? The implication rocked him. What other weapons did she have hidden?
Next, she picked up the staff she’d carved the day before. Again she started slowly, as if to become familiar with the heft of the weapon. Soon she whirled, whipping the staff around in circular motions. Her movements were graceful, but to Duncan’s trained eye, generated a fair bit of power. Enough for a woman to defeat a man.
Leaping up and squatting low, she struck from all angles. Never before had he witnessed such maneuvers in combat. He’d trained as a warrior since old enough to hold a wooden sword. Sparring had always been conducted in a straightforward matter. Combat never held the grace or fluidity he observed with Anna.
She changed tactics, now treating the staff as a spear.
Her actions mesmerized him. After a longer interval with the staff, she paused and took a drink from her water skin. He thought of her words the day before, about not being able to go back to England, back to her home. He didn’t want her going anywhere. His plans certainly didn’t involve her languishing in some nobleman’s keep, bearing his brats. A wave of strong emotion rolled over him.
Jealousy?
Aye, nothing else could explain the surge of passion he’d experienced these past few days. He vowed to find a way to win her trust, her friendship. Then perhaps he’d have a chance at seduction. With the damage caused by initial distrust, he would have to move slowly. Slow suited him fine. He’d been taught to be a careful hunter, allowing his quarry to come to him. Though a more clever quarry than any he’d hunted before, ’twas hunting all the same.
After catching her breath, she drew her two curved short swords, and the deadly exercise began anew. The intricacies of her footwork, the angles she worked from, demonstrated a style of fighting Duncan had never encountered before. Certainly not English or Scots.
He remembered the two MacNairns she’d taken with ease by sword. He recalled her oblique movements. Unable to contain himself any longer, he rose and strode toward the field. In truth, he felt powerless to resist. Mayhap the blood of a leannan sith truly flowed through her veins. Nothing he had ever encountered pulled at him so. Especially not a lass.
“I wondered how long it would take before you mustered the courage to leave the shadows.” A wicked gleam danced in her eyes.
Of course she sensed his presence. A warrior always knows.
“I dinnae wish to disturb yer practice.” He smiled in return.
“So if not to disturb, participate then?”
He could not mistake her challenging tone. His crooked grin widened. “All I brought is a sword. I have no stave with me.”
Anna stepped away, circling him. “Swords it is.”
Duncan slowly drew his long sword. “I have yer word then, ye will spare my life if I yield?”
The wicked look returned to her eyes. “Mayhap.”
Laughing, Duncan took a high guard.
Anna circled, darting in and out of range, gauging his footwork, trying to bait a reaction. He did not oblige. Eventually, her feints became bolder, trying to draw Duncan into a committed strike, knowing he’d fought many battles and therefore wouldn’t be easily tricked into giving up his guard.
Damn. She couldn’t lure him into attacking. Each time she offered him an opening, he refused, keeping a high guard and an annoying smirk on his face. Fine. She pushed a bit more to see if he could do more than hold a sword aloft. Unexpectedly, he attacked as she started another advance.
Caught slightly off-balance, she recovered in time to parry his blow. The clang of steel on steel broke the silence of the small meadow. Anna whirled to his side, seeking an angle to attack from. No such luck. He anticipated her move, blocking her strike.
So there is more to his ability than the consistent guard he offers.
Stepping in with another strike, she quickly abandoned it and sought the other side. To her chagrin, he anticipated and countered her again. Blast! Did she give away her intent somehow? Realization hit. He’d watched her practice for some time before joining her. He knew she did not favor straight-line attacks, preferring angles, thus avoiding a direct blow she would be hard-pressed to block because of her disadvantage in strength.
A twisted smile settled on her lips. Time to employ techniques she’d yet to demonstrate. Staggering to the left then right with feints, Anna dropped to the ground, rolling past Duncan on his left, popping up slightly behind him. Before he could pull his guard around to defend her unexpected maneuver, she struck him on the back of the leg above the knee with one sword and at the lower back with the second, turning her blades at the last moment, hitting with the flat rather than the edge.
Duncan dropped to his knees as if the blows had been struck properly, surprised she bested him this round. He faced her as he rose. Anna’s smug grin reminded him much of a cat in the cream. Her green eyes sparkled with delight, her chest heaved with breathlessness, her face flushed with exertion. He doubted there had ever been a more beautiful creature on God’s earth.
He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her into oblivion.
She must be mine! The thought was so powerful, it echoed in his bones. The hunter in him knew this to be one small step toward his goal. He mustn’t let his passion spoil the hunt.
“Again, my lord?” she teased with a toss of her head. She could afford to be playful, having scored first. Chuckling at her taunt, he reset.
They continued until both were spent. Neither could remember who bested overall, though ’twas close. He tossed her his water skin. She tipped the container upward, showing the smooth skin of her throat. The long, thin scar on her neck danced as she drank deeply. Watching her do something as simple as drink stirred his desire. He fought back the vision of having her beneath him, moving as they struggled together to quench a different thirst.
She tossed his water skin back. “My thanks.”
He congratulated his good sense in proposing they conduct their training away from the eyes of his kinsmen. He would hardly live down being defeated, even one round, by a woman. Though he wouldn’t mind if he were defeated occasionally by his woman. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest as he considered the possibility. Perhaps after a few more sessions, he’d bring her to train with his men, and let them see for themselves how well the lass fought.
Those who rode with him to fetch Nessa had already seen her in action twice. Upon consideration, the thought of sharing her in any setting brought forth a feral urge to hide her from those who might catch her eye.
He offered her reins. “To the keep, milady?”
She flashed a smile, striking him as breathless as the strongest whisky.
“As you wish, sir knight.”
Neither spoke on the short ride back. Duncan thought about his duties for the day, but his attention kept coming back to the lass next to him. To have a woman so strong, beautiful and learned in healing would be quite a treasure. To include fighting skills to rival his own would be a boon, indeed. A niggling of doubt in his mind made him pause and consider.
Would she find me as dear a prize? He allowed the thought further rein. What would Anna seek in a man?
Strength, no doubt. Protection? She clearly believed she could protect herself, continually bucking against the idea she needed such from a man—from him. Her headstrong self-reliance continued to be a source of vexation. She didn’t appear to have a submissive bone in her body. If he were to wait for her to ask for his protection, he would be waiting until the whole of Scotland sank into the seas. The usual tactics one employed to catch the eye and heart of a lass would fall woefully short with her. No, he needed another approach.
“I enjoyed our training, Duncan.”
“If ye wish, we can set aside time most mornings to do so.”
She again flashed him a dazzling smile, and thou
gh he’d experienced one moments ago, he was no more prepared for the effect of this one than the first.
“I would like that.”
Women spoke regularly about love and passion. He could see the beginnings of one and feel the flames of the other already. To win her, he would need more—what? What did she say a few days ago at the stables? She wanted respect, for them to at least act as if they possessed honor. Chuckling to himself, he thought she had no idea how much of his respect she already commanded.
* * *
Anna reflected on how at ease she’d become with Duncan. It reminded her of the years she and Edrick spent training. The same intensity existed, the same competitive fire, but it seemed different somehow. She considered the differences, lost in the comparisons. Belatedly, she realized Nessa spoke to her. She gave her a guilty smile.
“I am sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”
Nessa gazed at her, a hand on her hip, a teasing smile on her lips. “I notice ye always seem preoccupied when ye come back from spending time with my brother.”
Heat rushed to Anna’s face. She wanted to deny it, but knew it to be true. She sought a reasonable explanation to Nessa’s observation. “’Tis because he was my enemy for many days,” she replied, frowning.
Nessa eyed her thoughtfully. “Is he yer enemy still?”
Is he? No, clearly not. Was he really ever? Anna realized it was much easier to categorize him thus when she didn’t understand why they captured her. Now—it was muddled. She didn’t know how to make sense of what he meant to her, of how she felt when around him. He provided protection when able, and cared for her horse when she could not. He’d taken time out of each day to acquaint her with his home, to make her feel welcome.
He’d shown understanding of her situation. He’d been gracious, and did not seem to mind overly much when she bested him in training. Anna chuckled. How many men could say the same? She knew from experience male pride could take only so much of a beating. If she were to categorize him? She realized she needed a new category. He didn’t fit within any she knew. Remembering Nessa’s question brought her thoughts to heel.
“No, he is not.”
* * *
Anna felt a building excitement as Duncan addressed his father.
“Da, Anna and I have discussed how she might find a role with the clan, and wanted yer opinion.” Duncan’s statement garnered everyone’s attention, including those within earshot from the lower tables.
The laird nodded and glanced at Anna to continue.
“Duncan suggested I might assist in the training and care of the horses at the stables.”
The corners of the laird’s mouth crept up. “Is that all? Such work, while unusual for a nobly bred woman, doesnae require my permission.”
“Duncan also suggested I take on the more serious healing cases, particularly those requiring surgery. We spoke to Fiona. She is eager to relinquish such duties, as she prefers her midwifery tasks.” She looked to Duncan.
“If allowed, Anna would need a place to work. I thought she might use one of the store rooms off the main hall until needed for fall.”
Glancing over the faces at the table, Anna saw this request pleased everyone. Their approval warmed her.
“What an excellent suggestion,” Nessa chimed in, beaming her approval. “’Twould give me the opportunity to continue to learn from her, if ye allow it, Da.”
Anna smiled, remembering the questions as Nessa watched her tend her own wounds. Fascinated, she’d begun a journal based on their discussions, listing various herbs, their uses and doses. She was a quick learner, apparently enamored by the topic.
MacGregor frowned at Nessa’s declaration. “Yer mother and I will speak about what assistance would be appropriate for a young maiden.”
Nessa smiled and nodded obediently. Amused by their exchange, Anna knew with a certainty she would have not been nearly as submissive with her own father.
* * *
After the ladies retired from dinner, Duncan sat before the fire with his father to sip whisky and discuss matters of the clan. His da didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, which gave Duncan time to mull over his questions and try to understand why Anna had him so knotted up.
“Da, what are yer plans for Anna?” Duncan stared intently at the flames, not yet ready to meet his father’s keen gaze.
Kenneth seemed to carefully consider his question. “Why do ye ask?”
Duncan kept his face toward the hearth, but darted a glance at his da. “Taking her as yer daughter, do ye mean to form an alliance with her marriage?”
An edge of the laird’s mouth twitched. “Nae. She is not my blood. I have no authority to do such unless she asks. She still has living kin. Besides, do ye see her marrying against her will? I wouldnae wish such a fate on any man.”
“Aye, I have thought the same.” Duncan squirmed in his chair, and rubbed the back of his head.
“Has she agreed to stay?”
“Not yet, but I plan to convince her.” Duncan’s words sounded more confident than he felt.
Kenneth turned slightly toward him, a smile pushing its way onto his mouth. “And how do ye plan to do that?”
“I intend to take her to wife.”
Kenneth tossed his head back in laughter. Vexed at his reaction, Duncan waited for his father’s mirth to subside.
“Do ye think she would make a good wife?” Duncan faced his father, curious as to his answer.
Kenneth sobered. “I think there isnae much the lass cannae do. She could very well be yer greatest joy and yer greatest frustration. She willnae submit to any man easily. You might have an easier time fighting dragons.”
Duncan frowned, staring into the contents of his cup. “Mayhap the key will be not seeking her submission as if she were a common woman.”
The laird studied his son’s face for a moment. “Why Anna?”
Duncan exhaled deeply. “’Tis a good question. One I have mulled over since the day I laid eyes on her. Each day the list grows longer as I discover more of her character. I could name her virtues—most ye have seen, the rest ye have heard. There is something there when I look at her. It defies logic, or anything I’ve encountered before.”
He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “I cannae get her out of my mind. I think about her scent, her smile, about being around her all the time. I am content to simply watch whilst she grooms her horse. I dinnae have a name for it, but ’tis like a strong thirst. I cannae get enough of her.”
“Does the lass feel the same way for ye?”
“I dinnae know what she feels.” Duncan sighed and closed his eyes as he considered how to broach such a topic with her.
“So she no longer wishes to run the two of us through?” Kenneth’s tone, while teasing, held a measure of sincerity.
Shaking his head, Duncan opened his eyes, his lips turned downward. “Nae. I dinnae think she hates us any longer, but she doesnae trust us, either.” He shifted in his chair, ready to change the subject. “We sparred together today.”
Kenneth’s brow rose to his hairline.
“I found a secluded place to train. We worked with swords for many rounds. She bested me often, though ’twas close.”
The laird’s grin snapped back into place. “She beat you in combat?”
“Aye, she did fairly, several times.” Duncan found he didn’t mind any longer. He wondered if there was a man among them she couldn’t defeat in a fair fight. Maybe Duff. “I wondered what ye think of me bringing her to train with the men.”
This brought Kenneth’s brow back down, furrowing. “Ye may not mind being bested by a woman, but plenty of men will, marked as warrior by her clan or not.”
“I know, but she has much to show us. I learned more this morning than I have in a while. Her tactics counter the advantages of strength. Such methods would be useful for the younger lads and older veterans. She also possesses knowledge of weapons I have never encountered before.”
The laird
arched an eyebrow at this observation. “Have ye asked her where she comes by this knowledge?”
“Nae. I am trying to go slow. I dinnae wish to question yer decisions, nor argue again, but her first days with us have made all of this more difficult.” Exasperated, his hands splayed wide. “I am working on earning her confidence and friendship. She spoke at length about why she cannae go back to England.”
The laird grunted. “So, ye want a wife who can challenge ye in combat?”
“Aye, it seems I do. But only if ’tis Anna. You care not she has no dowry? That marriage to her would bring no alliance?”
“Ye are a good son and a fine man. At five and twenty ye know yer own mind. In a few years I will take my place on the elder council, and ye will become laird. ’Tis yer duty to marry and produce an heir. In all these years I have yet to see yer head turned by a lass. This one has not merely turned yer head, but has it spinning atop yer shoulders.” His chuckle made Duncan squirm like a lad.
“Whether ye recognize it yet or not, ye have lost yer heart to her. Yer mother and I agree on this and will support yer decision to wed Lady Anna, though I dinnae envy ye the task.”
Duncan gave a smirk in response, hiding his stunned reaction. Lost his heart to her?
They sat in silence, staring at the fire while the whisky flowed. A weight pressed on Duncan’s chest as he considered his next question.
“I wish to speak of something painful for both of us, if ye allow it.” Duncan looked his father in the eye, waiting for his father to offer a slight nod.
“Anna’s presence has disrupted me in more ways than I can count. Each seems to be more challenging than the next. I dinnae understand why she has me thinking of Callum. ’Tis almost as if he has risen from the grave to haunt my thoughts.”
Kenneth stiffened at the mention of his dead son’s name.
Duncan sighed. “We willnae speak of it if ye wish.”