4
Finley brushed the errant hair off her forehead before gripping the hilt of her sword with both hands. Her left elbow kept dropping so she corrected it, holding the sword toward her opponent.
“Now, lass!”
Without so much of a sound, Finley charged, watching as the young warrior recruit’s eyes grew round at her assault. He hadn’t anticipated that she would be able to move so quickly, and before he could dance out of the way himself, she had already knocked him down, the sword pressed up against his neck. When the tip drew the small bead of blood, Finley immediately stood.
The first sight of blood was their indication of a draw when they were sparring, Leeth preferring to leave a mark so that the warrior could remember their mistakes.
Finley herself had nicks all over her arms and torso from her training early on, reminding her that whatever bode her getting that scar was a mistake she could not make next time.
Reaching out her hand, she gave the young warrior a critical eye.
“Take it.”
He grumbled but took her forearm, and she helped him off the ground. “Yer weight is yer most valuable ally,” she told him as he dusted off his breeks. “Dinnae let anyone bowl ye over next time.”
“Aye,” he replied, his cheeks red. Finley recognized that look, one that she had seen all too often on the warriors that ended up being bested by her. They didn’t like the idea that they were bested by a woman, a woman who was perhaps more skilled than they cared to admit.
“Good,” Leeth replied as he joined them, clapping the warrior on the back. “For that defeat, ye will muck the stalls for the next week.”
“Aye, mah lord,” the warrior responded, his shoulders slumping at the thought. Finley hid her smile as he stalked off, remembering those days as well. Leeth didn’t just believe in the scar, but also the hard work that would build strength and patience, give a warrior time to think about the mistake that put them there, and they would come out more appreciative next time.
Or they didn’t become a warrior.
He had experienced some over the years that Finley had been in his care that did not want to put forth the hard work to begin with. Leeth quickly informed them that they go hand in hand, or they could seek their warrior stance somewhere else.
“He’s going tae be good one day,” she responded, watching the warrior as he retreated. “He underestimated me.”
Leeth chuckled. “They all do. ’Tis their greatest mistake. Clans are having more female warriors these days. That hesitation will get a lad killed in battle.”
“And wot of lairds?” Finley teased as she wiped her sword on her practice breeks, worn from years in the sparring ring.
The tips of Leeth’s ears turned red, and the older Scot waved a hand at her. “Dinnae go there, lass.”
Finley’s smile only grew. She had watched Leeth and Aunt Edna since the coronation, noting the small flushes between them, and couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired before her aunt took the position.
“All I am saying is that just because she’s Lady doesnae mean she’s a different person,” she offered up. “Ye can still be with her.”
Her mentor cleared his throat. “That will cost ye an hour of maneuvers, lass. Get on with it.”
Finley just smirked. “Aye, mah lord.”
Leeth muttered under his breath and stalked off, leaving Finley to position herself and her sword for what she liked to call shadow fighting.
Leeth had often said that if a warrior couldn’t handle his sword when there was no one around, then he would die in battle attempting to do so with a real opponent, so every warrior practiced maneuvers.
He had trained them to take their body and learn the art of sword fighting, where each move was deliberate, a perfect balance between the warrior and the sword. It had been one of the first skills that Leeth had taught her…
“Nay, lass! Ye are gonna cut yer own foot off like that!”
Finley’s arms trembled with exertion as she lowered the sword, her dress plastered to her back from the harsh midday sun. She knew her hair was out of its braid, and her body felt as if at any moment, she would just wither and die.
What had she been thinking about stepping into this sparring circle to begin with?
Leeth let out an exasperated breath as he snatched the sword away from her, his chest heaving. He had been yelling at her all morning, telling her everything she had been doing wrong as if he was trying to prove a point that a twelve-year-old lass didn’t belong amongst the great warriors.
Right now, she didn’t feel as if she did at all.
