Page 26 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Tav returned to the room, the fire had burned low—more glow than flame now, casting a soft orange wash across the wooden floorboards and the modest furnishings. The hearth light flickered gently over Agnes's back as she stood in the middle of the room, her posture tense and oddly… determined.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

He stopped in the doorway, lips twitching upward as he took in the sight of her—feet spaced apart, one arm awkwardly bent, the other jabbing forward with her dagger clutched tightly in her fist. She shifted into another stance, this one even more preposterous than the last, her brow furrowed, lips drawn into a thin line of concentration. Her elbow was too high, her grip too tight.

Gods above, what is she daeing?

Agnes whirled around, dagger still raised, cheeks already flushing a brilliant pink. A soft chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

"How long have ye been standing there?"

"Long enough tae fear fer the life o’ that poor chair," Tav said, nodding toward the wooden piece she'd just jabbed at.

Agnes straightened, lowering the dagger slightly but not sheathing it. Her chin lifted in defiance, though the color in her face deepened. "I was practicing."

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Practicing what, exactly? Dying dramatically?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Fighting. Nae all o’ us had the luck tae be trained by mystical sword masters."

"Ah. Aye. And ye’ve decided tae remedy that by performing a solo assassination on innocent furniture."

Agnes huffed and rolled her eyes, clearly regretting every second of this interaction. "Ye laugh now, but I’d like tae see yer face when ye’re on the wrong end o’ me dagger."

Tav’s grin widened. He dropped his pack to the floor and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, observing her. “That would indeed be a sight, but let’s nae pretend it’s likely. There’s nay world in which ye could successfully stab me, Agnes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

"God, nay. It's a truth. Painful as it may be." His tone was teasing, but there was a glint in her eye now that showed him she was serious. He watched as she squared her shoulders again, this time with a bit more intention. The dagger was still in her hand, and for all her inexperience, there was something commendable about her stubbornness. She wasn’t about to be laughed off.

“I suppose ye think ye’re invincible,” she muttered, stepping toward him. "But even gods can bleed."

“Oh? And ye’d be the one tae draw that blood?” he arched an eyebrow in amusement.

Her voice was lower now. “Ye willnae ken unless ye let me try.”

That caught him. Tav pushed off the wall, folding the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. She didn’t back away. Not even an inch. Brave little thing.

“All right then,” he said softly. “Let’s see what ye’ve got.”

She blinked up at him. There was a fleeting moment where he could see her reconsidering. But then she nodded. “Try nae tae cry when I bruise yer ego.”

He chuckled, pulling a spare dagger from his belt. “By all means, I welcome it.”

The first clash was clumsy. Agnes lunged, and Tav sidestepped easily, tapping the back of her knee with the flat of his blade. She stumbled, caught herself, and glared at him.

“Yer footing,” he said. “It’s like watching a drunk goat.”

“That’s nae a real thing.”

“It is now.”

Agnes growled and came at him again. She was faster this time, but she still telegraphed her movement. Tav blocked the attack with ease, deflecting her dagger with his own before stepping in and lightly tapping her shoulder. “Dead again.”

She huffed in frustration, spun back, and reset.

What began as a light spar escalated quickly. Agnes wouldn’t give up. Each time she lunged, Tav corrected her stance. But the more she fought back, the more he noticed the sweat forming at her temple, the flush deepening in her cheeks, the quick, shallow breaths she tried to conceal. Not from exhaustion. No, this was something else.