The sight of him coming at her, a nasty looking sword in his grasp, forced her into action. Rolling away from him, she jumped up on her feet and crouched low in a flash, her own weapon in hand.
He stopped an arm’s length from her, tipped his head and asked, “D'ye seriously want to do this?”
His words, delivered in a low voice, sent a sharp pang of fear straight into her gut. Admittedly, he was huge. His arms alone could crush her, and his fierce expression confirmed he had no qualms about doing that very thing. If he got close, he could easily overpower her, and she had no doubt that was his ultimate goal. He was giving her an out as if she had no chance against him. She’d have even less of a chance if he knew she was a female.
She gritted her teeth but raised her own blade, shortened to accommodate her smaller size, to ready position. Her terse nod was met with ayou-asked-for-itlook, and his blade was pressed against hers so quickly she barely had time to step forward and brace her arm against it.
The man smiled, and she could have kicked herself. He saw the fear in her eyes.
“A lad yer size should know better than to engage a seasoned warrior.” He pressed his arm more firmly against hers with little effort, and she struggled to hold her ground. “Ye need to be put in yer place.”
With barely any effort, he shoved her away from him and lowered the point of his blade directly at her. “Show me what ye’re made of, pup.”
The distance was a gift and she knew it. He was giving her more of a chance than she deserved. Light on her feet, her speed was her most powerful weapon. She’d experienced it over and over again. The lads she’d trained with had grown stronger over the years, but they’d also become slower. Surely this man’s momentum did not match his strength.
Shifting from foot to foot, she didn’t dare to say anything in her defense. The big man merely watched her maneuvers, his eyes narrowing. When she jabbed at him, he turned his body aside to easily miss the blade. The only problem with thismiodógintended for her shorter height was its shorter reach.
“Ye’ll have to try harder than that.”
She bent her arm, raising the hilt of her blade as high as her shoulder, and slashed at him, catching hisbrait. It was her unexpected step forward that caught him off guard. He jumped back, obviously surprised by the tactic. Confidence welled in her chest.
He had thought so little of her abilities that he hadn’t even shoved the heavy material from his shoulders to give himself full maneuverability. He did so now, and she used the opportunity to repeat the same tactic going the other way, once again catching him unprepared. The thin line of blood where her blade had sliced through the sleeve at his forearm was a minor wound, but it emboldened her.
With a fast shifting of her slight weight from side to side, she pressed her advantage. The dagger tight in her grasp, she pulled her elbow back to ready herself for the shove into his belly when he was within reach. He appeared too dumbfounded to withdraw. She’d drawn first blood, but this would be the first time she’d actually impaled anyone. When the moment was upon her, she hesitated, giving him the time required to shift away from her lunge. He dropped the heavy material back into place before she could pull back. Instead of making contact with his body, her arm became tangled in his mantle. She was unable to clear her weapon.
With a growl and a shove, he easily toppled her backward. The pursuer dropped on top of her, straddling her with his heavy weight. His massive legs easily pinned her arms to her sides, the weapon still clasped in her fist. She moved her shoulders back and forth in an attempt to work herself free.
She was helpless, and that fact sparked a hot rage deep within her.
“Ye little shite.” He growled through tight lips barely discernible against the heavy growth of beard. Dark, wide eyes filled with anger peered down at her. When he backhanded her, she gasped.
The sting at her cheek spread into a burning sensation across the side of her face, and her mouth flooded with blood. Struggling to move her arms and free her hand, she was lurched forward when he grabbed her by the front of her tunic.
Nose to nose, he said, “Give me the name of yer leader. He’ll not get away this time.”
Just as suddenly, he released her and was squeezing his knees into her again, backhanding her for the second time. The wave of pain exploded across the other side of her head.
“Ye’ll talk, or I’ll kill ye straight away.”
With the taste of her own blood mixing with the rotten stench of his breath, her stomach threatened to heave. Her fingers wiggled on the hilt of her dagger.
“What swine enlists the aid of a smooth-faced lad? Who sent ye?”
Blood trickled down her throat and she was forced to swallow it. Clamping her jaw tight, her attempt at a fierce scowl merely caused him to laugh.
“Ye think ye can withstand my fists?”
He shoved her shoulders flat, his legs clamped to her sides, and set about proving her wrong. The first punch was to her side and the pain was more intense than anything she’d experienced. She squeezed the hilt so tight, it pierced her flesh.
“A name is what I want and a name I’ll get.”
When he punched her in the stomach, her gut gripped tight and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.
“How much d’ye think ye can bear?”
Despite the pain, she kept alert. Escape was imperative. He flattened himself against her with his massive hands gripping her sides, pressing into her ribs, his stinky breath again in her face. She was suffocating beneath his weight and panic set in.
“A name is all I want.” Spittle accompanied his word and dripped down her chin.
