“I’m prepared.”
Ulric looked to Lucan as if for help, but when Iris’s brother only shrugged, Ulric turned his attention back to Padraig, hisbrows lowering.
He charged without a sound, and although Padraig tried to block the captain’s blow, the man had not earned his rank through privilege. Iris gasped as the wooden sword went flying out of the Scotsman’s hand with an “Oof” and then a muffled cry of surprise as Ulric kicked out Padraig’s legs from beneath him. In a blink, the captain stood over Padraig’s prone body, the wooden sword poisedover his heart.
Iris cringed as she glanced at Lucan, but her brother seemed unbothered by the sight of the large Scotsman so quickly laidupon his back.
Ulric extended his hand and helped Padraig to his feet, even fetching his weapon and returning it to his hand once more. Then Ulric tucked his sword beneath his arm, taking hold of Padraig by his elbow and wrist.
“Like this.” He swung down Padraig’s hand sharply. “And get your weight behind it—elbow up. On your back foot, there—brace. Now an upward thrust. Look.” The captain released him and brought down his sword slowly, allowing Padraig to repeat the motion on his own.
“Good, lord,” Ulric said. “Now, step forward, hard; come around with it, full circle at my shoulder, here”—Ulric slapped his own arm—“or here, at the ribs.” The pantomime played out. “Again.”
The crack of the wooden swords rang in the air as the two men repeated the motion a score of times, Ulric adding in words of encouragement or correction. Each time Padraig defended and then counterattacked, his movements became faster, harder, and Iris noticed his feet moving more naturally beneath him.
Lucan, too, appeared to be watching closely.
“Your sword is an extension of your arm, lord,” Ulric said. “A sharp extension. Do not leave yourself open to your enemy—here”—he reached out and thumped Padraig’s chest and then his flank—“or here, yes? And keep your legs beneath your shoulders.”
“Aye,” Padraig said and then nodded, readying himself. “Again.”
Ulric laughed, and even Iris could see the gleam in Padraig’s eyes. The captain stilled, postured with his weapon, and then moved forward like a blur, swinging the wooden sword from a different angle. Iris winced, waiting for Padraig to lose his weapon once more, but to her surprise, the swords met with a crash, a slide; twin arcs raised in attack, parry. The sound of wood grating on wood filled the narrow valley as Padraig twisted and swung against Ulric’s efforts, matching the captain’s blows with such surprising, powerful grace that Iriswas mesmerized.
They parted after several moments, both men breathing hard, and Ulric threw back his head and laughed.
“By God, me thinks we have a soldier in our midst, Sir Lucan.”
Iris found her heart was beating very fast and she tried to calm herself with a long breath through her nose. But Padraig Boyd chose that moment to look over at her and his grin took her breath once more. She caught her lip between her teeth.
“Good,” Lucan called out, breaking the spell, but Iris was infinitely glad. He walked toward the two men. “Very good, actually. You have a natural ability, Master Boyd.”
“We’re nae finished, are we?” he asked, surprised disappointment coloring his words.
Lucan chuckled as he plucked the wooden sword from Padraig’s hand. “With these, we are.” He handed it to Ulric, who at once returned them to the case and withdrew two metal weapons. “It will do you no favors to become too used to a weapon of such light weight. These are dulled but will still cause injuryto the lazy.”
Padraig took the sword in his hand, and Iris watched him heft it appreciatively, the muscles in his forearm flexing in the sunlight.
Iris’s stomach fluttered.
Stop it, ninny, she scolded herself.It’s onlya child’s toy.
But when the two men engaged once more, she could not help her gasps of surprise, her little sounds of dismay, as Padraig struggled to hold his own before the seasoned soldier. The sound of steel on steel rang clear in the air, and Iris was rapt by the Scotsman’s efforts.
Ulric cried out and dropped his sword as Padraig’s clipped his bare knuckles. But rather than a curse, a laugh was again on thecaptain’s lips.
“I’ll know to wear my gauntlets tomorrow, lord,” he said in a voice fullof admiration.
Lucan clapped Padraig’s shoulder. “Well done. Next time we should havea boon to pay.”
Padraig looked to her suddenly, his smile still broad and sparkling on his face. “From thelass, perhaps?”
Iris’s breath caught in her chest, but she composed herself. “That is a highly inappropriate suggestion, Master Boyd. Now, if you boys are finished with your sport, Master Boyd must return to the hold for diction.”
She turned away to begin the trek up the hill as the men groaned in sympathetic dismay, but Iris’s cheeks were aflame and her lips were curved in a smile.
* * * *
A hunt has been scheduled. All the nobility within a day’s ride of Darlyrede are being invited. It is a dangerous time when so many strangers are gathered as—
