After washing at a nearby stream, the two girls went back to the castle, Grace wishing she could float downstream with the water and forget everything. But mostly to shutout Maisie. Closer to the house, grunts of training men reached them. She looked to the side, to find lines where the clothes would be hung and paused. A belated realization hit her.
Beyond that line, Duncan would be among the men, but she could not face him. A headache would serve as her excuse. After all, she could still blame the injury on her head.
Noticing that Grace had stopped, Maisie turned. Her voice had grown more excited. Grace realized that this was the part where she’d get to see Flynn training. Grace’s heart quickened, in spite of herself. She would blame the flush on her cheeks on the hot summer sun.
“Come…! What are ye doin’?”
“Maisie, I-”
“Maisie!” cook bellowed from the door. “I need yer help with the stew, come now!”
Maisie, who was infinitely terrified of the burly woman, promptly dropped her load, and with an apologetic glance at Grace, she dashed off, toward the kitchens. Grace wanted to cry. Left with no choice but to complete the task on her own, Grace lugged the buckets to the lines. She would be swift and with luck on her side, Duncan would not see her.
Then again, she was not betting much on luck these days. It’d pretty much deserted her. Starting with the sheets, she strained to throw them over, and stretch them down. This close, the grunts were louder. She could not see the men but when she heard Duncan’s barking command, goosebumps with no place in the hot weather, flared on her skin.
The noise spurred Grace on, throwing sheet after sheet over the lines. Focused on her task, she did not see the pair of boots stop in front of her until a deep voice called her name, “Jo.”
Startled, Grace shrank back, almost colliding with the bucket. She dragged the sheet back to see Duncan glistening smile and-
Her heart thudded to an erratic stop. That damned chest was bare again. Sweat formed a natural glowing sheen, rollingdownwards. His arms, burly like the branches of a tree, held the hilt of a sword, as he scanned her face. Grace snapped her head up.
“Stop ignoring me,” he said.
The guts. Put on a goddamned shirt!
“Is that a request or an order from the laird’s son?”
He made a frustrated sound. “Dinnae act like this,”
Grace swallowed past the heat building in her. “I will dae as I please.”
She hung up the last sheet. He grabbed her hand before she could lower it. Grace fought off his hold, her face tight. “Will ye please let me be and focus on yer fiancée?”
“Jo,” he said softly.
It was the closest they’d been in days. Grace’s heart quickened, despite herself. She followed a line of sweat falling down his naked torso, her mouth dried and she forced herself to swallow. His breath kissed her face, and when she met his eyes, they rested on her lips for the briefest seconds. His eyes glazed over as they traveled down her body, undressing her, burning her skin.
“Sir!” one of the boys called. “I learned the move!” Duncan cursed and turned in the direction of the call. Sweaty and ungrounded, Grace lifted the empty buckets and turned, taking his distraction as her cue. A few steps out and she heard a mocking chuckle in her direction. It did not sound like Duncan. Intending to keep on her way, Grace didn’t pay mind to it.
“Swords scare ye, lass? Why are ye runnin’? Nae used tae them, are ye?”
Itwasdirected at her. A man’s voice, different from the boy’s higher-pitched ones. Grace’s nostrils flared. Shehatedwhen men assumed women were weak bundles of flesh who could do nothing. And so, she could not resist dunking the load in her hand to face the sarcastic voice.
She swept Duncan’s sword from the ground and pointed it at the man, drawing the attention of the other trainees. She saw that they trained with only their kilts on.
“Get yers.” She challenged.
Duncan gave a short laugh. “Now ye have tae defend yer honor,”
“I…” he stammered, looking from Duncan to the fast-gathering men. “Ye cannae be serious. I willnae fight a woman.” He bristled.
“Ye called her,” Duncan reminded him.
Grace swiveled, sword high landing dangerously close to his chest. He had no choice but to block the blow with a cuss flying out of his lips. Through her peripheral view, she saw Duncan watching intently, his arms crossed. Initially, the man blocked her blows with arrogant nonchalance.
Grace went low, close to making a dangerous cut on his ankle. He leapt back, hitting back with a blow that almost knocked the weapon from her hand. His lips pressed in a hard line, the warrior lashed out left and right, blocking her moves. Svelte on the rough ground, he led until Grace realized she was being backed into the wall.
It would be bad if she showed any doubt in her skills now. While she was faster, she could not discount the sheer strength in his moves. A sheen of sweat covered his brows as a glint of victory glinted in his wildly dark eyes.
