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He turned away and went to inspect the weapons, picking a few up in turn and testing the feel of them in his grip before he selected a sword. Fiona watched him, his broad back, his powerful muscles. He was the kind of man that really seemed to inhabit the world; he had the kind of presence that was impossible to ignore, although it was hard to shake the sight of him with children hanging off him. The hands that she had seen cradle a child as he helped her to the floor now gripped a sword tightly. Was it possible that a man could have an equal amount of ferocity and tenderness?

Varrik returned to Fiona, standing before her. He held out his palms and was about to speak, but Fiona did not give him a chance. She screamed as she ran toward him, bringing her sword crashing down in a heavy arc. It slashed through the air and met his. The steel rang, and reverberations rippled up her arm. He moved quickly. She was impressed.

Spinning around, her ponytail flailed like a pendulum. She brought the sword around with her and struck toward his back. Varrik matched her movements and managed to deflect her blow, sending her spinning away. He countered with a thrust of his own, which she hopped back from. All her weight was on her heels, and she moved forward, thrusting herself along. She slapped back his sword and had her tip pointed right at him. He swiveled at the last moment, and the sword hit empty air. Her foot hit a loose stone, and she stumbled. The ground rose to come and meet her, but she was suspended in the air. Varrik had caught her. His arm was around her waist, holding her tightly. He pulled her back to her feet; their bodies pressed close together. His hand melted into the small of her back, and her chest heaved. For a moment, she became lost in him, but then she regained her senses and pulled herself away, bringing her sword up again.

Varrik wore a stern expression and closed his grip around the hilt of the sword, adjusting his stance. Fiona’s eyes gleamed as she started forward again and met his sword. Their wrists twisted, and their swords met each other, crashing and clashing and gleaming in the morning sunlight. Their feet were quick, their bodies agile, and it looked more like they were dancing than anything else. They met each other equally.

Sweat beaded on Fiona’s temples and trickled down her body. Her wrists and arms ached, but she was determined not to let him see any sign of weakness. Never before had she met anyone who could duel with her for as long or as well as he could. Whenever she saw an opportunity to strike at a weak point, he always managed to bring his defense down, and the same was true of her. Neither of them could land a blow on the other, but Fiona wasn’t going to let him defeat her.

A wicked thought flashed in her mind. She lunged forward again and slipped again, but this time it was only a pretense. She bet on the fact that Varrik would seek to rescue her once again, and indeed he did. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her around, but this time Fiona did not allow herself to get lost in the moment. As she twisted around, she brought her sword up with her and thrust it toward his throat. It came between them, the sharp blade reflecting the sunlight, the tip inches from his throat.

Fiona smirked. “Ye men are all the same. They see a woman before they see a warrior,” she said smugly.

“You tricked me,” Varrik said.

“I used every weapon I hae,” Fiona shot back.

He still hadn’t let go of her. She looked into his eyes, and she wasn’t sure what she could see. Was it just annoyance, frustration, or was there something else in there as well? And what did he see when he looked into her eyes? A lump appeared in her throat, and she could feel some kind of energy crackle in the air. She told herself that it was just the rush of blood that came with an intense duel, even though she was lying to herself. Varrik’s arm eventually fell away, and she stepped back, missing the heat of him pressed against her and the masculine scent that surrounded her whenever she inhaled.

“Well, I hope that I at least proved to you I’m a worthy warrior,” Varrik said.

“Indeed ye hae,” Fiona said, sheathing her sword.

Varrik returned his own sword to the rack and wiped sweat away from his forehead. His shirt clung to his body, his muscles were taut, and it caused something to stir deep within Fiona. It was a feeling that swept through her as swiftly as a summer breeze, and she had to turn away from him lest he see the rosy shade that bloomed upon her cheeks and the breathless way she gasped. He wasn’t supposed to have this effect on her. She was supposed to be stronger than this.

Once she had regained her composure, she turned around to address him again, but to her dismay, they were no longer alone. Lotta was approaching, carrying a basket with her. She bounced when she walked and wore a pretty smile.

“Good morning. It’s Varrik, isnae it? I’m Lotta, Fiona’s sister, and I wanted tae welcome ye properly tae the village. I actually hae a task for ye if ye would nae mind helping. I can assure ye that it’s more fun than moving around this patch of dirt.” Lotta turned up her nose as she said this and flashed a look at Fiona, as if to say that she wasn’t going to have this man all to herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lotta. Of course I’d be happy to help,” Varrik said.

Lotta’s smile widened, and she squealed with joy. “That makes me sae happy! I wanted tae make some jam later sae I need tae collect some berries. The juiciest and tastiest ones are deep in the forest, though, and usually, they’re in difficult-tae-reach places. Would ye mind escorting me?” She fluttered her eyelashes as she said this, and Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Of course,” Varrik said. He turned to Fiona. “Would you like to accompany us? I’m sure we could use your sword if any wild beasts come and attack us.”

Varrik had turned to face Fiona, so he didn’t see the change in Lotta’s expression, but Fiona did, and it made her smile.

“I’d love tae,” Fiona said.

Lotta scowled deeply, and her hands clenched into tight balls. Fiona smirked to herself. She probably shouldn’t have taken so much joy in goading her sister, but Lotta always made it so rewarding.

They made their way into the forest that surrounded the village. The trees were thick and fallen leaves crunched underneath their feet. Occasionally there was the sound of a small animal scurrying about or a bird disturbing the leaves as they flew from branch to branch, but they didn’t encounter a fierce beast. Lotta had taken Varrik’s arm, and Fiona was a couple of steps behind, finding it amusing to listen to the unsubtle way Lotta tried to endear herself to Varrik.

“From what I’ve heard, ye hae lived an exciting life. Ye hae been all over the Highlands! I’m sure ye hae many stories tae tell,” Lotta said.

“A few, but I’m not sure they’re the kind of stories a fair girl like you would want to hear about. I daresay that you have a few stories of your own. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you and Fiona don’t look all that alike for sisters,” Varrik said.

“We dinnae act alike either,” Lotta said, and seemed almost proud of this fact. “If ye must know, I am nae her sister at all. My parents were killed, and Laird Callan was kind enough tae give me a home. Fiona and I just call ourselves sisters, but we are nae that similar. She likes fighting and training, while I like the…finer things in life. The fun things,” Lotta said, shooting a glance to Fiona.

Fiona rolled her eyes again. “And if the clan should come under attack, ye are gaeing tae be helpless,” Fiona said.

“I will nae! We hae men like Varrik now, strong men,” Lotta said, giving Varrik an admiring glance. To Varrik’s credit, he didn’t respond to her honeyed words as Fiona assumed he would. In fact, it was quite difficult to understand what was going through his mind at all.