Finally, near dawn, exhaustion claimed him for a few restless hours of sleep, plagued by dreams he couldn’t quite remember but left him feeling more tired than when he’d closed his eyes.
The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, mocking his dark mood.
Murdock dressed in his finest clothes with mechanical efficiency, then made his way to the training yard. If he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t think clearly, he could at least work his body until the restless energy found an outlet.
Hamish was already there, as Murdock had known he would be. His man-at-arms had been with him for over a decade, knew his moods better than anyone, save perhaps Skye.
“Couldnae sleep either?” Hamish asked, tossing him a practice sword.
“Daenae want to talk about it.”
“Didnae ask if ye wanted to. Just saying that ye look like hell.”
Murdock grunted and took his stance. They’d danced this dance a thousand times. Hamish would prod, Murdock would deflect, and they’d beat the hell out of each other with practice swords until one of them yielded or collapsed.
The familiar rhythm was soothing in its own way.
They circled each other, trading blows that rang out in the early morning quiet. Hamish was good, always had been, but Murdock was better. Faster. Stronger. More ruthless in his execution.
Usually.
“I hear yer bride is hidin',” Hamish said conversationally as he blocked a strike. “Locked herself away these past two days.”
“She’s nae hidin'.” Murdock swung hard, forcing him back. “She’s preparin'.”
“Preparin' to run, perhaps?” Hamish feinted left, then struck right. “The maids say she’s barely eaten. Just sits by the window, starin' out at the horizon like she’s looking for an escape route.”
“She willnae run.” The certainty in Murdock’s voice was absolute. “She gave her word.”
“Aye, but is that enough?” Hamish pressed his advantage, driving him back toward the edge of the yard. “A woman marryin' ye because she gave her word rather than because she wants to?”
“What she wants is irrelevant.” The words came out harsher than intended. “Ragnall arrives in three days. The weddin' protects her. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” Hamish’s sword slipped past Murdock’s guard, the blunt tip tapping his ribs hard enough to bruise. “Because it seems to me ye’re protectin' everyone except the one person who needs it most.”
“And who would that be?” Murdock reset his stance, but his focus was fractured now, his mind on Leona rather than the fight.
“Ye, ye stubborn bastard.” Hamish struck again, and this time, Murdock barely blocked it. “Ye’re so busy buildin' walls to keep everyone out that ye’ve trapped yerself inside. And now ye’ve found someone willin' to climb those walls, to meet ye where ye are, and ye’re pushin' her away because ye’re too afraid to let her in.”
“I’m nae afraid.”
“Like hell ye’re nae.” Another strike, harder this time. “I’ve ken ye since we were lads, Murdock. I watched ye grow up under that man’s shadow. Watched ye fight tooth and nail to be different from him. And yearedifferent. But ye’re so convinced ye’ll become him that ye cannae see what’s right in front of ye.”
“Which is?” Murdock blocked and parried, but his movements were sloppy now.
“A woman who loves ye despite yer broodin' and yer walls and yer stubborn refusal to believe ye deserve happiness.” Hamish’s next strike came fast and brutal, catching him off guard. The practice sword went flying from his grip, clattering across the stones.
Silence fell between them.
Murdock stared at his empty hand, then at Hamish, then back at his hand. In all their years of training together, Hamish had never disarmed him. Never even come close.
“Well,” Hamish drawled, lowering his weapon. “That’s a first.”
Murdock retrieved his sword, his jaw tight. “Again.”
“Nay.”
“I said again.”
