The bigger of the two fighting men grinned wildly, bearing down upon the smaller one, whose eyes were wide in panic. Neala could tell that the younger man—presumably Tam, though different to the Tam who had bothered her before—was inexperienced with fighting an opponent with such a physical advantage. He was making all the wrong moves, and her own training itched at her to call out advice. The lumbering giant swung down with his wooden practice sword, and Neala wanted to cry out to Tam to use his speedier build to dodge. Instead, the young man panicked, and a second later he was sprawled out on the ground, a bruise blossoming on his cheek.
The victorious soldier scoffed and turned away, heading off to find another opponent. Ansel shook his head and made his way over to the downed Tam, and Neala braced herself as she prepared for the prince to scold the young man. She'd witnessed training at Blackthorn Castle before, and she knew that the king and his commanders were not gentle to those who failed.
Instead, Ansel crouched down to Tam's side, holding out his hand. "Get up," the prince said. "Come on. He didnae hit ye that hard."
Tam groaned and accepted Ansel's offered hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "I think he broke me jaw."
"Ye're still talkin'," Ansel told him. "Ye must nae let yerself get so intimidated, Tam. I ken ye can do better than this."
"But when he's attackin' like that…"
Ansel clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Strength is nothin' when ye have speed on yer side. Remember that. Now, go get that face looked at by a healer and be back here when ye're done. Ye can do this. I trust ye."
Tam visibly brightened. "Aye," he agreed. He bowed his head briefly, then hurried off.
Neala blinked. That had not been what she expected to see. And indeed, as she watched over the next half hour, she saw it was a consistent pattern. Ansel was not soft with those who were falling behind, but neither was he harsh. He offered practical advice and firm words of encouragement, and the men seemed to respond well to them.
"All right," Ansel called after some time. "Take a break or continue yer drills as ye please. I'm needed elsewhere."
A chorus of voices expressed their approval, and then, to Neala's shock, Ansel began walking directly toward her. Before she could dart away, he had come around the wall and was standing in front of her, a small smirk on his face.
"Enjoy the show, did ye?" he asked.
Neala tried to hide her blush. "I did. How long did ye ken I was here?"
"From the second ye arrived. I thought I told ye tae stay out of sight?" Ansel asked, folding his arms.
She considered acting compliant and apologetic, but instead she found herself boldly retorting, meeting his eyes as she said, "I got bored."
He arched an eyebrow. "Bored?"
"Aye. I finished the books ye left me, and I wrote enough on the paper." She chanced a cheeky smile. "And ye didnae leave me a chess set."
Her words were rewarded by a genuine laugh, one that created a flutter in her stomach and a warmth in her soul. Neala knew that he was the enemy, and she knew that she had resolved to end him, but still, when that mask slipped, she could not help the draw she felt to him.
"I didnae leave ye a chess set," he repeated, clearly amused. "Ye're right. Come along, then."
He walked away in a way that brokered no argument, and Neala fell into step beside him without even thinking about it.
"Where are we goin'? Back tae me rooms?" she asked.
Ansel smiled. "Just follow. We cannae have ye bein' bored, after all."
Neala gasped as Ansel led her through a grand set of double doors and into a huge library. The shelves ran along the walls as far as the eye could see, and there were several comfortable reading chairs dotted around the place along with many polished wooden work desks. There were also more shelves in the center of the room, though, curiously, some of them looked half empty.
"I'm afraid ye willnae find much in the way of enjoyable readin' material in here these days. I've commissioned some histories and even some storybooks, but most of those are in thelibrary at Blackthorn Castle," Ansel told her conversationally. "However, ye might be able tae find somethin' tae keep ye entertained here."
Neala stepped into the room, walking over to the nearest shelf and running her finger along the spines. All of the books were in English, none in Gaelic or even French or Spanish, as she had often found in the library at the convent. As she walked along, she found a few in old Latin, though there was so much dust upon them that she doubted they had ever been read.
"These are law books?" she asked. "This whole shelf seems to be on English trade law—nae very relevant tae us."
Ansel snorted. "Veryrelevant tae me father. Dinnae be naive, Abby." He moved to her side and then steered her toward another shelf. These books were bigger, emblazoned with gilt family names. "And these are genealogies. Ye'll notice several clan names are missin', but they're a fairly concrete record of Scottish and English nobility."
"Is that all that's here?" Neala asked, her eyes skimming over the books that Ansel had indicated and noticing the very conspicuous lack of the McNair name. "Genealogies and laws?"
"And other records," Ansel confirmed. "Lists of recruits, trade agreements, battle records, that sort of thing."
She wrinkled her nose. "Ye were right. Nae much readin' material."
