Page 37 of Bound to a Scot (Sins in a Kilt #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

E arly the next morning, Maddox had dressed and slipped out of his chamber. Adair was still sleeping, which hadn’t surprised him since the man had crept into their chamber in the small hours, no doubt after finding his amusement with one of the chambermaids. That hadn’t been what had kept him awake most of the night though.

He had gotten out of bed still angry and needing to burn off some of the energy, so he made his way down to the sparring yard. It was early enough that he figured he’d find Lorn there. And when he walked through the archway, he had been proven correct. The large man was just beginning to limber up before going through his forms and looked over as Maddox stepped into the yard.

“Dae ye mind some company?” he asked.

“Nae at all,” Lorn replied.

Maddox stripped out of his shirt and stretched, loosening up his muscles and getting himself warmed up. Once he was ready, he picked up one of the blunted practice swords as Lorn pulled another from the rack. They each took a couple of moments to get familiar with the grip and feel of the blade in their hands.

“Are ye ready?” Lorn asked.

“Aye.”

They moved to the center of the yard and tapped their blades together, the ring of steel on steel echoing around the courtyard. Moving slowly and deliberately, the two men moved in a circle, taking each other’s measure. Lorn was the first to move, wading in with a slice that cut from left to right. Maddox turned the blade aside, spinning to his right and slashing back with his own sword. Lorn seemed to remember the move from the last time they’d sparred because he was able to parry the attack with ease.

Maddox laughed. “Aye. Ye remember.”

“Of course, I dae,” Lorn replied. “I dinnae forget when somebody nearly takes me bleedin’ head off me shoulders.”

They laughed together as they continued to spar. Maddox was working up a good sweat and purging some of the dark feelings that had been plaguing him. The more he got to know Lorn, the more he liked the man. He silently chastised himself for being so distrustful and cruel to him at the start. After about half an hour, the men took a break to wipe the sweat from their bodies and to take a drink of water. Maddox was more relaxed than he’d felt in ages. It was a feeling, however, that proved to be short lived.

“Well, what dae we have here?” Burchard said as he strode into the yard.

Lorn immediately leapt to his feet, his back rigidly straight, all traces of the good humor they’d shared just moments ago gone. He inclined his head, giving his laird a polite nod. Maddox noticed Laith, the pale, creepy man who always seemed to be lurking in the shadows, standing beneath the arch at the edge of the practice yard, watching intently.

“Me laird,” the war chief said. “We were just getting a bit of a workout in.”

“Aye,” Burchard said. “I can see that.”

“Did ye need me fer somethin’, me laird?”

“Nay. Naethin’ at all.”

Maddox watched silently as Macfie walked over to the rack and selected one of the blunted sparring blades. He spun it around in his hand, hefting it and testing its weight and balance. Satisfied with the blade, he turned to Maddox, a wolfish grin on his face.

He raised his blade. “Shall we, Laird MacLachlan?”

“I dinnae think so, Laird Macfie. We’ve been at it all mornin’ and I’m done in.”

“Come now, surely ye can go a few more rounds with me.”

Maddox cut a glance at Lorn, who looked alarmed. More than anything, he wanted to say no, but he was getting the feeling Macfie wasn’t really asking. With a sigh, Maddox got to his feet.

“Sure,” he said. “Why nae.”

“Excellent.”

They moved to the center of the yard and Maddox made sure he had his footing in the sand that covered the ground. He had been expecting Macfie to circle him and get his measure the way Lorn had, but with a deep, rumbling growl, the man rushed forward, the point of his blade leading the way. Maddox moved to defend but at the last moment, Macfie drew his blade back and delivered a vicious slash that, had their blades been real, could have disemboweled him.

Maddox barely got his blade up in time, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and the shock of their swords meeting vibrating all the way up his arm. As Maddox danced backward on light feet, Macfie chuckled, the smile on his face vicious and the gleam in his eye cold and reptilian.

“I almost had ye there,” Macfie said.

“Aye,” Maddox replied. “Almost.”

Macfie frowned, his face darkening, as if Maddox’s words had displeased him. Maddox watched as the man tightened his grip on his blade and waded in once more. They crossed swords, their steel clashing and a sharp ring echoing around the sparring yard. Macfie was good, skilled with a blade. He had almost scored hits on Maddox several times. His steel flashed in the sunlight, his movements fast and precise. Macfie had obviously been trained well.

But there was a world of difference between being good with a sword in a controlled, practice environment and being skilled with a blade in actual combat situations. And as good as he was, Maddox could tell the man had little actual experience when it came to combat. He did not strike Maddox as a man who fought his own battles, but was more than comfortable sending others to fight in his stead as some lairds were apt to do.

His lips curling back in a snarl, Macfie waded in again, his blade spinning and flashing as he tried to break through Maddox’s defense. He wasn’t able to. Maddox parried every thrust and turned aside every slash, darting through when Macfie overextended himself to land several hits, which sent the man dancing backward with a howl of outrage. Maddox cut a glance at Lorn, who still looked concerned, but at the same time, mildly amused his laird was being bested.

Macfie’s eyes burned with frustration and anger, and he glared at Maddox with his teeth bared. Sweat poured down his face in sheets and his breathing was ragged.

“Maybe this’d be a good time tae stop, Laird Macfie,” Maddox said.

“We’re nae done here.”

Before Maddox could reply, Macfie rushed in again, his blade raised and ready to strike. He hacked and slashed, any sort of discipline or proper form gone. He sliced at Maddox like he wanted to cut him in half. Overwhelmed by the man’s outrage and the fury of his attack, Maddox was flustered and his instincts took over as he defended himself. This had gone from what was supposed to be a friendly sparring match to something much more serious. Macfie’s eyes shone with his hatred, and he attacked Maddox like he wanted to kill him.

Macfie darted in, thinking he’d found an opening to score a hit, but flowing like water, Maddox spun to the side and used his foot to sweep the man’s legs out from under him. Macfie went down hard, landing on his backside with a loud grunt. Maddox danced away, getting out of his reach and held his hand up.

“Laird Macfie?—”

“Silence!”

“Me laird,” Lorn called. “Let’s stop this foolishness.”

“I said shut up!” Macfie roared.

The man got to his feet, his face red and stretched with outrage. He raised his blade but before he could dart in again, Emmeline’s voice rang out.

“Stop this!” she called. “What in the bleedin’ hell are ye doin’?”

All heads turned to her as she stormed into the practice yard, her hands balled into fists, her face painted with anger. She stood between them, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched.

“What are ye bleedin’ donkeys doin’? Tryin’ tae kill each other?” she hissed.

A long moment of silence followed as Burchard’s gaze flicked from Emmeline to Maddox then back again. His body was taut and Maddox didn’t know what he was going to do. As he looked into the other man’s fury, Maddox had the terrible notion that Macfie knew everything that had happened between them. That he knew they’d been together. It filled his belly with ice and he fought to keep his wildly churning emotions off his face.

Burchard threw his blade down into the sand and spat. “I’m sure Laird MacLachlan appreciates yer concern, wife.”

With a darkly disgusted grumble, he stalked off, walking out of the practice yard. Laith gave them a lingering look, his eyes glittering with malice before he turned and hurried to catch up with his laird. Maddox was left standing there exchanging glances with Emmeline and Lorn, the tension in the air thicker than fog in the Highlands.

“What in the bleedin’ hell was that?” she asked.

“Trouble,” Lorn said. “’Twas trouble, lass.”

Maddox agreed with the man’s assessment but remained silent as he battled the dark feelings of unease that stole over him.