‘Because Rob is one of the best fighters,’ Jamie said over his shoulder as he cleared a path for them to the front. ‘And Alan has not trained with him for a while.’
When they reached the fence, Jamie called out a bit of advice to his friend. Even though she wanted to watch, it was unseemly to do so. She stood back behind Jamie, letting his size block most of her view until the two fighters moved towards them. Bared to the waist, with their hair pulled back and out of their faces, Sorcha saw the blood already flowing from Alan’s mouth and one eye. Rob looked untouched but out of breath.
But Alan’s chest glistened in the sun’s light as they turned and spun and stepped this way and that. Muscles she’d felt when she’d held on to him on the horse were now visible and she watched as they flexed and tightened with each movement. He smiled at Rob, but it was a grim one, promising pain and defeat. Sorcha could not breathe as they circled each other, delivering blows when they discovered a weakness or opportunity.
The two did not use swords due to their deadly nature. Instead they used wooden poles which, as much as she could tell, could still inflict a goodly amount of pain and damage. At least those weapons would not kill the one receiving the blows.
They feinted. They struck. They circled. All the time others cheered or booed, calling out insults and advice. Rob and Alan appeared impervious to all the interference and Sorcha found herself staring at his every move. At some point, she moved to Jamie’s side to better see them.
Then, Alan managed to back Rob up against the fence in front of where she and Jamie stood and she gasped aloud as he hit the wood with enough force to shake it.
Which drew Alan’s attention to her, his eyes widening a scant second as he recognised her there.
Which was enough to give Rob a chance to take control once more.
Which he did.
Horrified, she watched as Rob rolled to his side and swiped Alan’s legs out with the pole. Alan fell hard, his breath knocked from him as he landed in the dirt. As Rob made a final move to complete his win, Sorcha stumbled back and ran to the chapel, hoping no one had noticed her there.
But Alan had. His gaze at that moment told her so. A flash of recognition in those stormy eyes, followed by a second of something else, unidentifiable and yet something that sent a thrill through her at the same time.
She grabbed the cloak she’d heedlessly left on the wagon and made her way into the cool, dark chapel. Tossing it around her shoulders, she sought refuge in the shadows of the silent building.
Chapter Seven
Alan spat out the dirt from his mouth and wiped the blood off his face as Rob reached out his hand to help him to his feet. Waving him off, Alan pushed up and brushed more soil from his skin.
‘Not quite ready,’ Rob boasted with a wink. The man comprehended how close he’d come to defeat in front of his own warriors but would never admit it now. ‘A little more work with the quarterstaff should help.’
Tempted to wipe the smirk off the commander’s face with his fist, Alan nodded and clenched his teeth together to avoid saying what he knew to be the truth. The lass had done it—distracted him and given Rob the victory in their skirmish. One moment Alan was winning, about to take Rob down, and in the next, he stared into those amber-and-blue eyes of hers, recognised her concern for him and lost his concentration. It was all it took for him to falter and for Rob to take advantage.
He walked over to a large barrel of water at the side of the training area and splashed himself to wash off the worst of it. His eye would swell a bit, but the cut was more bluster than substance. His lip was split and not for the first or worst time. Overall, his pride took more damage because he’d been trying to beat Rob Mackintosh for years and this had been the closest he’d come to accomplishing it.
Until he saw her face. She might have gasped—that might have been what drew his attention. Either the sound or the sight of her witnessing the brawl—it mattered not what had drawn it. Now, with the fighting done, the crowd drifted off as he washed and retrieved his shirt and plaid from the fence. When Rob came over, Alan shook his head.
‘You were lucky, old man,’ he said, glaring at the man. Rob had been the one who’d gotten him drunk for the first time in his life when he’d been two and ten and a prisoner of the outlaws of Clan Mackintosh. Though he was older in years and experience, Rob Mackintosh was still the strongest and fittest warrior outside of their chieftain.
‘Aye, I ken the truth of it though I would never admit to it.’ Rob reached out and smacked Alan on the shoulder. ‘If not for the lass stepping up just then, I would have had to break into a sweat to take you down, lad.’ They both laughed at the blatant lie even though it revealed a truth.
For some reason, the lass affected him in a way that other women had not, did not. The rush of interest and attraction that filled him in the hall when he’d first seen her rose even now as he wanted to glance around the yard to find her. He resisted because he neither wanted to give Rob another reason to taunt him nor expose this strange weakness in his concentration.
Just then, Rob’s wife walked out of the keep, carrying their newest bairn in her arms. Rob stopped breathing, stopped talking, stopped everything as he gazed across the distance at her.
‘Damn women,’ Rob whispered a few moments later, his voice full of awe and worship and yet frustration, too. ‘They grab you by your bollocks and you cannot do anything but follow them around.’
As Rob climbed up and over the fence, shirt in hand, and gazed on the lovely woman holding his child, he shook his head at the last moment and smiled at Alan.
‘At least you know that lass is headed for the convent,’ he said. ‘No need to get yours in a vice when you know you cannot have her.’ And with those words, Rob was gone, off at a fast trot to reach the woman who held his b—though to be candid, Alan was certain it was Rob’s heart that Eva held.
Looking around, Alan did not see the woman who had been the cause of his defeat. Jamie’s cart stood nearby and Alan knew he was working at the stables this day. On the morrow, he would be at the miller’s house. Alan had purposely not gone to the village this morn because she, Saraid, had rattled his control with the instantaneous attraction to her. He’d known she was someone to avoid, someone who would avoid entanglements. But when he had noticed her there watching, it had been even worse for him than he’d expected. He spit into the dirt again, his mouth yet carrying the reminder of his defeat because of her.
Alan did glance around then and wondered if she had sought out the chapel. Was that why she was there? Surely not to watch him fight with Rob, for that was an unplanned opportunity he’d seized, both to defeat the strong Mackintosh commander and to work out some of the tension that yet hummed in his blood and his muscles. Instead of the relief he’d hoped for, her presence made it worse.
Now somewhat clean, he pulled on his shirt and wrapped the plaid over his trews and around his waist, tossing its length over his shoulder as he walked up to the stone building. Father Diarmid lived in a small annexe added to the back of it some years ago when Brodie convinced the priest to remain here. There were enough souls needing tending that the priest was kept busy most days. He’d returned just yesterday from a journey across Mackintosh lands. A young woman considering entry into the religious life would wish to speak to him, so that was her most likely reason for being here in the keep.
Alan stood in front of the door with his hand on the latch and unexpectedly hesitated to open it. Mayhap he should not invade her privacy at prayer? Mayhap she was speaking to Diarmid and should not be disturbed? He’d not been this unsure of himself or his actions ever before, so he stood there, stunned at that realisation.
She was not for him and could not be, as Rob had reminded him. A simple concept, but he had to tell himself that a few more times as he waited there. So this could only be simple curiosity or a gesture of friendship towards Clara’s cousin who was both new and alone here in Glenlui—something he had been and understood how it felt to be so. Convinced now, he lifted the latch, tugged the door open a bit and slipped inside.
