“Keep yer elbow up, lass! Ye’re going tae drop that sword if ye dinnae!”
Iris fought the urge to roll her eyes as she palmed her sword, her brother’s words filling her head. She had come out victorious with her first match, though the second one was proving to be a bit more difficult. Her opponent wasn’t a burly Scot at all, but one that was quicker than the first had been and better at swinging his sword. Iris’s tunic was clinging to her body from the perspiration under the warm sun, and her arms were starting to ache from holding her sword for so long. Normally in battle, she liked to use her sword and bow together, preferring the bow when she was on horseback.
Still, she used every bit of strength she had to fight back, yelling when the pain started to cloud her mind.
The other Scot was starting to wear down as well, his movements becoming clumsy the longer they sparred. Iris tried not to forget about her elbow as she thrust forward, nearly cutting through her opponent’s tunic before he jumped back, narrowly avoiding losing the match.
With each close mark, the crowd groaned and cheered, likely ready to move on as well. Iris wished for a warm bath and a mug of cold ale herself, but she wasn’t going to get either if she didn’t finish the match.
“Come on, lass!” Ian called out, his strong voice carrying over the crowd. “Ye can do this!”
Renewed by her brother’s apparent faith in her skills, Iris finally spied a weakness in her opponent, right where she could sneak the edge of her sword in when he thrust forward, nicking his upper arm before spinning away in time. She felt the quick pain on her arm as she did so, looking down to find her tunic also cut. A thin line of blood welled nearly immediately, and Iris’s heart sank.
“I cut her!” her opponent called out. “I should be allowed to continue!”
“She cut yer sorry arse first!” Ian stated. “Iris wins!”
“He’s right,” the advisor that had been monitoring their match stated, nodding to the drop of blood on his tunic. “Wallace is the victor!”
The crowd cheered, and Iris sagged against the rough-hewn fence, too weary of standing on her own feet. She had done it. She had moved on to the next rung. But was she going to be able to lift her sword when it came?
Her brothers were there when she exited, Stephan taking her sword from her.
“Och lass, ye look dead on yer feet.”
“I feel like it,” Iris answered as someone thrust a cold mug in her hand. It was just water, but she drank it greedily, wetting her parched throat.
“Well, ye have done well,” Ian added. “Ye only have one more tae win and then ye can rest easy.”
“Who?” she asked hesitantly, noting that the other sparring ring was empty.
“Lennox.”
James had won. It would be between the two of them.
“I…I have tae rest for a moment,” Iris said faintly, thrusting the mug into Ian’s stomach.
“Ye have an hour before the match,” Stephan called out as Iris turned away from her brothers. “The laird wished for ye tae be refreshed.”
Iris didn’t respond, pushing her way through the throng of people until she was on the other side of the camp, where the crowd was not. James. She would have to draw first blood onJames.
Sinking to a log in front of a burned-out fire, Iris rubbed a hand over her face wearily. She had slept poorly the night before, her dreams filled with James and a life that she had never thought to be hers. There were bairns, and she was happy, laughing alongside James as they watched their bairns play. What did it mean?
Was she willing to change her path?
Regardless, she couldn’t leave her family as he wished, not when she had overheard her brother and father discussing the latest negotiations.
“There is no hope in these negotiations. We should prepare for battle.”
Iris paused just inside her tent as she heard Ian’s weary voice, the faintest blush of the dawn creeping through the cracks in her canvas. She had been on her way to the gathering place to hear the last game, but she couldn’t very well do so and not disturb them.
Besides, she still hadn’t forgiven her brother for what he had done to James.
“They have been our enemy for so many generations,” her father replied, the same weariness in his voice. “I dinnae understand why we cannae put our differences aside. Our clansare suffering. Our lands are suffering. A truce would benefit both sides.”
Ian chuckled as Iris smothered a gasp at her father’s declaration.
“I never thought I would come across the day that ye wished tae not go tae battle, Da.”
