*
“You know he’safter you,” Dallan slurred, clearly having lost his sense of decency with one of his cups of ale.
Alannah’s chest felt like it was filled with air, like it could take off into flight, even though she knew that was a ridiculous notion. “I highly doubt that.”
Why on earth would he chase her when Emer was such a catch? Petite, demure, a veritable ray of sunshine, and easily the prettiest girl in Ath Luain with her round face and dark hair. Not to mention her sister could cook well enough to serve a king. Her hand pies were legendary.
Oran was the only man who’d gone after Alannah, and he was clearly insane.
Alannah was skilled in many ways. Charming men wasn’t one of them.
But a round of sparring with someone who, by the looks of it, could prove a true challenge, sounded promising. Her brothers had been gone for six years, and even though she could convince Glasny to go a round or two on occasion, she was sorely out of practice.
Conan returned, sword in hand. He carried it like an extension of himself, as though it weighed nothing when Alannah knew perfectly well that a blade that size would be exhausting to wield without constant practice. Perhaps they were a band of mercenaries who’d retired as bards?
Shaking her head, Alannah gave up trying to make sense of their odd guests for the evening. If they were staying a month,she’d have more than enough time to figure out why they could fight like warriors but play like bards.
“Havefun,” Emer told her as she stood to follow Conan out the door.
She took him to the small patch of dirt behind the barn where she practiced the skills she needed to protect Emer.
The days of rain had turned it into a mud pit, her calfskin boots squelching and popping with each step. Sword in hand, she turned to the side and bent her knees, as her brothers had shown her. They’d given her a light sword so she could hold it with one hand, meaning she need not face her opponent fully and could make herself a smaller target.
An approving smile lit Conan’s face. Her pulse raced in response. Damn, but he was handsome. She’d been in a man’s bed before—as soon as she realized she’d never marry she decided she didn’t particularly care what anyone else thought. Not that she was jumping from one to the next or flaunting any of her fun.
But it had been alongtime. She hadn’t thought of anything but the business and her sister since they opened the place. And that was four summers ago. No wonder she was swooning so easily.
He did her the decency of attacking instead of asking if she was ready or talking down to her, which she appreciated. He did hold back though. Alannah wasn’t particularly skilled or experienced in swordplay, but she could tell he moved slower than he could, that he didn’t rebound as quickly as he would have in a real fight. It irritated her, but even still she couldn’t keep up.
“You won’t break me,” he grinned, taunting her. “Hit harder.”
“These aren’t practice swords,” she reminded him, as though there were actually a chance she’d strike.
“If you make me bleed, I’ll buy you a drink.”
She snorted. That only meant he’d let her hit him.
“What?” he asked. “You don’t believe me?”
“I don’ttrustyou,” she corrected, adjusting the grip on her sword. “You’ll let me win.”
He scoffed in what was clearly mock offense. “I would never.” He held the pommel against his chest as though she’d struck him.
He was certainly dramatic enough to be a bard.
“How about this,” he began, his voice softening. “Every time you win a bout, you can choose a prize. Every time I win, you cover one of my drinks for the night. Now I have incentive not to let you win,” he grinned, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief.
Her stomach fluttered, but she ignored the rush. She’d never win if she didn’t focus. “Every time I beat you, you have to answer a question,” she decided, now invested in the game. “Truthfully.”
“Is there another way?” he teased, taking up his stance.
Her eyes rolled as she matched him, attacking first and hoping to catch him by surprise. Steel met steel, and two moves later his blade stopped in front of her throat.
“Drink one.” His voice was low, seductive.
It shouldn’t have had any effect on her after that thorough defeat.
And yet, it did.
