Page 22 of It’s in his Highland Kiss

He never ventured too far into the woods all alone.

And then, she heard it. Anyone else would have mistaken it for the wind, but Marion knew what it was, and she stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding Eiric’s wooden sword.

Did he just jump off a tree? He is mad!

Marion didn’t have time to wonder, let alone ask. Eiric gave her no time before he attacked again, but Marion could now match him move for move. Where Eiric was strong, she was slender, and where he had brawn as his advantage, she was quick and sly, slipping right through his fingers.

With a pirouette, Marion jumped to the side, just as Eiric tried to attack her once more. His efforts were to no avail, though, as she jumped on a fallen tree trunk, far from his sword’s reach.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, a small, devious smile spreading over her lips. Then, she gestured at him to come at her—if he dared.

Eiric took it as the invitation that it was, and he, too, jumped onto the tree, their swords meeting with a dull clang. Time after time, swing after swing, Marion managed to push Eiric away or simply escape his blows, and soon, Eiric was out of breath.

But Marion could keep going, through the sweat and the warm puffs of air that escaped her lips. There was only one thing that she wanted, and that was to prove to Eiric that she was a good enough fighter.

She jumped off the log once more, and Eiric followed. The more tired he became, the more eager he would be to put an end to their fight, Marion knew, and so she prepared herself for an attack that would be much fiercer than the rest, one that perhaps she couldn’t even parry.

She could see the sweat dripping from Eiric’s forehead, beads of it collecting on his temples. She could see the way that his breath fogged in the crisp morning air, looking like fire in the sunlight.

She could see the determination in his eyes.

Just like Marion had predicted, the attack came soon. Eiric charged at her, sword swinging, eyes wide and wild, and Marion parried it, thinking that she had won. The smile was wiped off her face, though, when Eiric’s foot connected with her chest, sending her down onto the ground with a thud and making her sword fly out of her hand.

He had kicked her gently, she knew, just hard enough to push her over, but she was furious. She hated that satisfied smile on his lips, she hated the way that he looked down at her as though he had been right all along, as though he were saying, “See? You weren’t ready.”

Before Marion even knew what she was doing, she swung her legs, bringing herself closer to Eiric while still on the ground, and grabbed his sgian-dubh, the blade that he always wore around his leg. With another swing of her legs, she was standing, the blade held close against Eiric’s throat.

Neither moved for what seemed like an eternity to Marion. They were simply standing there, in the middle of the woods, Eiric watching her with a look in his eyes that she didn’t understand. It was unfamiliar, and too intimate, and Marion didn’t know what to do, what to say about it.

In the end, she didn’t have to say anything. It was Eiric who spoke first.

“Weel done, lass,” he said, as he took a step back from her. Marion couldn’t blame him; she was holding a blade, after all, and she doubted that anyone would be comfortable having a blade so close to their throat. “Verra weel done.”

Marion looked at Eiric with narrowed eyes, expecting him to have another trick up his sleeve. He was that kind of person; he always had some fight left in him when she least expected it, and so she kept the sgian-dubh where it was, refusing to lower it.

“Ach, I mean it,” Eiric said, as he approached Marion once more, though he did so cautiously, and wrapped his hand around hers, making her lower the weapon. “Ye did weel. I wasna expecting ye to go for this,” he said, as he swung their hands together, along with the blade.

“Well, I learnt from the best,” Marion reminded him. “I thought, what would Eiric do? And I figured that you would do anything to hold your ground.”

“Ye werena wrong,” Eiric said. “That is precisely what I’d do had I been in yer place.”

It was hardly praise, but Marion couldn’t help but beam at Eiric, proud of herself that she had managed to outsmart him and beat him in a fight.

Surely now he’ll know that I’m not a helpless little damsel.

And she wasn’t. She had once been, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit that. She had once needed help and protection, and she had found it in many different ways—her parents, Adaria, even Eiric himself. Now, though, she didn’t need anyone’s protection. Now, she was strong enough to protect others.

“We’re done for today,” Eiric said, and just like that, the smile vanished from Marion’s lips. That could only mean that he would spend the rest of the day with his father or Edan, talking about things to which she was not privy. She would only see him in the evening if she were lucky, if the strategies and the plans didn’t make him miss dinner.

And yet, there was nothing that she could say to him to have him spend more time with her. A request such as that would be selfish, and she also couldn’t bring herself to ask, too shy to make her desires known.

How could I ask him to spend more time with me? I’d sooner die than let such words out.

“Do you not think that I am ready for a real sword?” Marion asked instead of saying what was on her mind. “We’ve been practising for so long, and you said I did well, so I don’t see why I have to keep practising with a piece of wood!”

“Accidents happen all the time when ye use a real sword, lass,” Eiric said, and then proceeded to pull his shirt up, revealing his stomach. Marion quickly averted her gaze, her eyes searching for something, anything, that she could look at that wasn’t Eiric. She didn’t think she could hide her desire and her embarrassment if she dared to look at him.

But Eiric didn’t seem to notice. “Do ye see this one?” he continued, as he pointed at a small, faded scar on his abdomen. “This was Edan, ten or so years ago. And this one,” he said, as he pointed at another scar, “was from trainin’, as weel. So ye may be good with a sword, but I willna risk givin’ ye a real one.”