Again, he beat her.
And again.
Alannah lowered her sword to catch her breath, noting that Conan wasn’t even breathing hard. “Looks like your drinks are on the house tonight,” she panted. She needed to find a sparring partner or she’d never be able to adequately defend Emer should the need arise. “Go on,” she sighed, “tell me how a woman has no business carrying a sword she can’t wield.”
“Is that what you believe I’m thinking?” he asked. “Has someone said that to you?”
Alannah laughed darkly. “You mean has someonenotsaid that to me.”
His jaw tightened.
Her heart reacted. Damnit. This man.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You struggle because you need practice, not because you have tits,” he said roughly, speaking as though she were one of his men and not some lady that needed gentle treatment.
“Do you still practice?” she asked. “Even though you’re a bard?”
“Every day.” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘still’?”
“I assumed that you lot were mercenaries with a change of heart or some such. Why else would a band of giants armed as warriors walk around as bards?”
“Giants?” he laughed.
“Compared with the rest of us, aye. Poor Emer has to look straight up at the lot of you, like she’s talking to trees.”
He chuckled from his belly, a sound that brought a smile her own face.
“Aye, we’re all trained as warriors,” he admitted, “but we don’t like to speak of it.”
She nodded her understanding. That made sense. And she knew all about leaving the past behind you. “Tell me how to beat you.”
“Your technique isn’t bad, just slow. The first thing you need is to practice, every single day, until you can fight with me and not be winded. Until every swing of your sword is so familiar you needn’t think—only react.” He took up his stance. “Again.”
Alannah obeyed, knowing he did it to push her, to help her improve. This time she picked up her pace, throwing everything she had into every swing, every recovery.
He moved a little quicker, she noted with pleasure. She still hadn’t even come close to landing a blow, but he’d had to work harder to block her.
“Ask me your question,” he offered.
“But I didn’t win. I don’t need pity.”
“Think of it more as motivation. You’re exhausted, but you went again. Every time you pick that sword back up and fight me like your life depends on it, you win.”
It made sense and it hurt her pride a little less, so Alannah decided to ask her question instead of arguing. “Why are you out here with me?”
“Because you intrigue me,” he answered evenly. “Again.”
He didn’t give her time to weigh his answer, starting up the next bout before she could get control of her breathing again. Lord, this sword was heavy all of a sudden. As much as she wanted to earn his respect, she couldn’t keep going. One move in, she lost her grip on her sword.
“My win,” he grinned, picking up her sword, flipping it effortlessly, and handing it back to her. “But you’ve already covered all my drinks, so I’ll play the question game.” He paused, looking to her for consent.
She nodded, her heart hammering.
“Why are you resisting me?” He took a step toward her. “Are you really not interested?”
Alannah swallowed, her mouth going dry in spite of the damp that clung to the air. “No,” her voice cracked. “I just doubt that you are.”
“Why?” His dark brows knitted.
