Page 6 of A Rogue and a Noble Lass

The prowess of Grimhand must have been formidable.

“From where does he hail?”

Donal rolled his shoulders. “I dinnae ken, and he hae nae told me. But some men are born tae fight, and with his intensity I would nae be surprised if he were a poor lost soul from one of the villages that Warnock burned.”

Donal then raised his voice. “Hey, Grimhand! Over here!” he beckoned.

Grimhand turned slowly. He took heavy breaths. His cheeks were flushed. He had a brooding look and a strong jaw. His copper hair glinted in the sun, and even from this distance she noticed the intensity in his eyes.

A shiver went through her. She was quite certain he wasn’t like anyone she had ever met before.

He came closer, swaggering, his sword unsheathed. He looked like power and aggression incarnate. Heat flowed from him in waves, almost overwhelming her. The masculine aroma of his sweat filled the air and she inhaled it with every breath.

“Grimhand, this is Beitris Knox, youngest child of the Laird,” Donal said.

“But eldest daughter,” Beitris corrected him, then lifted her chin.

Grimhand sniffed and curtly bowed his head.

“It’s a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance. I hear ye hae won Donal’s respect. That is nae easily done. I’m sure ye will serve yer clan well. It will be an honor tae fight alongside ye,” she said, her gaze drifting along the contours of his body, following the thick veins and even thicker muscles.

“Archers dinnae fight. They hide,” he said in a surly tone, his lip curling, a derisive look in his eyes as he nodded at her bow.

Suddenly her attraction shifted. There was a prickling, defensive feeling and her grip tightened on her bow.

“What dae ye mean?”

“Ye use distance tae hide. The bow is a weapon for cowards. Archers are weak.”

The words were laced with bitterness and Beitris pressed her lips together. Heat rose to her cheeks and she felt anger erupt in the pit of her stomach.

“Ah, lad, I ken ye are prone tae speaking yer mind, but I think ye may want tae rephrase that,” Donal said, but Beitris was already fuming.

“I would love tae hear ye say that tae my Aunt Nessa. I’m sure ye hae heard of her, aye? She is one of the finest warriors the Highlands hae ever ken, and I shall be just like her. I would love tae see ye trying tae defeat her.”

“It would nae be a challenge. All I need tae dae is avoid yer arrows. Once I am close enough, yer bows would only drag ye down.”

As he said this he flicked his wrist and thrust his sword through her strung bow. He then wrenched his hand back and slid his sword against the wood. The force took her by surprise and it was enough to wrench the bow from her hand.

It fell to the ground, and her mouth gaped in shock.

“I made that bow with my own two hands!”

“Ye wasted yer time. The only fight that matters is the one where ye can look yer enemy in the eye.”

As he spoke he lifted his gaze. Beitris met it and she had no doubt that she was looking at her enemy.

Her cheeks flushed and she could not believe that she had been attracted to this man for even a moment. His exterior might have been handsome, but inside he was rotten to the core. Whatever lust she felt initially had quickly turned to hatred.

Scowling, she bent down and picked up her bow, flicking off the mud.

“What dae ye ken of combat anyway?” she muttered.

“More than ye, I assure ye,” he replied and shook his head as he turned away.

He got half a step before Beitris spoke again. Perhaps she should have let him leave, but she had never been any good at keeping her tongue stilled.

“Prove it.”