“Where is yer head?” he asked her, placing the sword back in the leather that was meant to strap on a warrior’s back. “Do ye even care aboot this?”
“Of course!” she said hotly, feeling the prick of tears suddenly in her eyes as she stared at the dusty ground. “I just, I cannae do it.” It was humiliating to admit defeat.
“Lass, look at me.”
Finley raised her head to look at the scraggly face of the warrior that had seen something in her.
“Ye can do this,” he said quietly, his words softer than she imagined. “Ye bested me. Ye went up against me. That proves tae me that ye deserve tae be here. Ye belong here. Now bloody hell, prove it tae everyone else.”
Finley shook out of the memory, blinking back the sudden onslaught of tears. That had been so long ago, yet it felt like just yesterday that Leeth had given her those words that had carried her through to this moment. She had memorized them to heart, repeating them in her mind as she had charged into battle with her fellow warriors.
She had cried them when she had sustained the cut on her face, forced to be abed for a week with her aunt fussing over her.
She had shouted them in the dim of the night when her arms were too tired to pick up a sword, yet her mind couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Prove to them that ye deserve tae be here.
Finley did that every day.
Sighing, she picked up her sword, taking her favorite stance. Finley enjoyed shadow fighting. It gave her time to clear her mind, hone in on her movements, and learn new ones without the threat of an opponent charging at her.
She had a great deal to think about this morning, and much of it had to do with the untimely visitor roaming the great hall. Last night, he had posed a simple question, one that shouldn’t have been so hard for her to answer.
What was her position? Was he asking because she was the niece of the Lady of the keep, or was it because he didn’t believe she deserved to be a warrior?
She had not seen him on his previous visits to their clan, choosing to stay far away from the keep and stay here instead. Her aunt had attended those meetings on behalf of the clan’s people, though none would have thought she would now be the Lady.
Erik. Erik McGregor. It was clear that he was some sort of warrior, and whispers around the keep were that he was the McGregor laird’s second-in-command and his advisor. A very lofty title indeed.
Had they met on the battlefield before? Finley would have remembered his handsome face, the twinkle in his eye when he was smiling. His hair had been shorn close to his head, a style that most warriors favored. She had enjoyed fleetingly the strong jawline, the way his shoulders had moved as he had poured her the ale last night.
His scent.
“Get it out of yer head,” she muttered to herself as her thoughts had her sword movements jerky at best. Finley had never been one to notice a man before like this.
Hellfire, she was around them constantly in the warrior barracks, in various modes of dress. Some were still respectful that she was a lass and therefore should be shielded from certain parts of a man’s form, but others had caused her to blush more than once. They all thought that she had taken liberties with a man before.
She hadn’t. She hadn’t so much as kissed one.
“Och, how did I know ye would be here this morn?”
Finley whirled around and pressed the tip of her sword into Erik’s chest. “Are ye daft? Dinnae ye know not tae sneak up on someone with a sword in their grasp?”
He chuckled and looked down at her sword. “Aye, lass, but I didnae think ye would skewer me so early in the morning.”
Finley let out a frustrated groan and lowered the sword. “Wot do ye want?” she asked hotly, embarrassed that she had been thinking about him at all.
He withdrew his sword from the sleeve on his back, the steel gleaming in the morning light. “A spar? I usually spar with mah warriors or mah laird.”
Finley’s thoughts screamed no, but her pride wouldn’t let the words come out of her mouth. What fun it would be to best him this time! “Aye,” she stated, taking a few steps back to get ready. “I will spar with ye, Scot.”
“Erik,” he replied, doing the same. “Mah name is Erik.”
She snorted, and he gave her a quick grin before he charged, their steel clanging in the still air. Finley successfully defended his rapid strikes with some of her own, feeling the delicious pull on her sore muscles as she did so. She drove Erik back into the dirt a few steps and smiled smugly as she saw the surprise flare in his eyes.
He underestimated her as well.
Her sword strike came mere inches from his face before he blocked it, and before Finley realized what was happening, she was on her back, staring up at the sky. She felt his heavy body on hers, and his face came into her view, though he was breathing heavy. “
