Page 14 of The Laird's Wicked Game
“None other.” Still grinning, she glanced around her then, raising her bound blade in a challenge. She knew Kylie disapproved of her choices—of the fact she’d learned to fight like a man and now served in their father’s Guard—but she didn’t care.Her sister had never tasted the exhilaration that came from winning a fight, and from seeing respect ignite in a man’s eyes. “Who’s next?”
A heartbeat passed, and then a tall, lean warrior with long flaxen hair pushed himself off the wall where he’d been lounging. And as she looked on, he approached her with an arrogant, loose-limbed stride. “My turn.”
Makenna held onto her smile, even as tension rippled through her.
Not him.
She’d been enjoying sparring with the Guard. After a fortnight on the road, accompanying her sister to Mull, restlessness boiled within her. This morning was a chance to flex her muscles and keep her skills honed. And she got to show off a little—something she found hard to resist.
But MacDougall made her uneasy.
She’d watched the ugly scene the day before, had marked that he might well have killed the man he’d been choking if the laird hadn’t intervened. She’d also caught him staring at her earlier that morning when she’d taken a walk around the walls. His stare had been carnal, and she hadn’t liked it.
And the glint in his eye now made wariness flutter up once more.
Nonetheless, she wasn’t a lass who backed down from a fight. And so, she nodded brusquely to MacDougall before stepping back and lifting her sword, readying herself to spar once more.
“Go easy on her, Tormod,” the captain murmured, and Makenna clenched her jaw.
Go easy on her?Hadn’t she just proved she was a worthy opponent? It looked as if she was going to have to prove herself—again.
They circled each other briefly before MacDougall leaped forward, making the first strike. Makenna was ready for him though, their bound blades thudding as she parried his blow and danced back.
The blond warrior flashed her a smile that revealed strong white teeth. “Ye’re fast.”
Makenna cocked her head, even as she flexed her fingers on the grip of her blade. “Faster than ye,” she taunted.
Something moved in those ice-blue eyes, and once again, nervousness slithered through her belly.Don’t goad this one.
She’d trained and fought alongside many men since joining her father’s Guard and had developed an instinct for sizing up her opponents. There were those men who were all brag and bluster, while others said little yet let their blade do the talking. But MacDougall was different from any man she’d fought—and as their swords met once more, she caught the glint in those unnervingly cold eyes.
Makenna usually enjoyed adding a little flair to fights, giving the onlookers a spectacle, but she cast the temptation aside now. Instead, her gaze never left MacDougall. The man fought with fluid grace, and she sensed his leashed power.
He impressed her. The bastard was better than her. Better than anyone she’d ever fought—even Alec Rankin. The former pirate captain had taught her several ‘tricks’ earlier in the year, and she used them now. She tried to kick his feet out from under him, to confuse him, and to lure him into making a mistake. Unfortunately, MacDougall anticipated them all.
All the same, she got in a few hits, one across the ribs and another on his hip, before he lunged at her, slicing under Makenna’s guard.
The next thing she knew, she was on her back, staring up at his gloating face, the point of his sword at her throat.
“Well fought,” he said, with a smirk that made her blood heat. “For awoman.”
The training had ended for the morning, and the aroma of baking fowl pie that drifted out of the nearby bakehouse made it clear the noon meal wasn’t far off.
Makenna was sweaty from sparring with half a dozen of the Guard, her muscles pleasantly sore, as she unwrapped the cloth from her longsword. It was a warm morning, and she stood in the shadow of the granary. It had been a good session, although she’d been relieved that her other opponents had been more straightforward than MacDougall. She’d avoided looking his way ever since their fight.
All the same, she’d felt his gaze upon her.
Sheathing her sword, she glanced around, realizing that she was now alone in the barmkin. The others had already gone inside. She would quickly return to her bedchamber and splash some water on her heated face before joining everyone for the noon meal.
She was about to step away from the granary wall when a male voice, laced with amusement, intruded. “A feisty one, aren’t ye?”
Stiffening, Makenna glanced left at where MacDougall had just stepped out of the armory. He moved toward her now, with that same stalking gait that had unnerved her earlier. And, just like before, she held her ground.
The man drew close, nearer than was appropriate, although she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her step away. He was tall and she short—so she was forced to lift her chin to hold his eye. “Did ye want something?” she asked coolly.
“Only to congratulate ye on yer skill with a blade.”
Makenna’s gaze narrowed. “Ye bestedme, remember?”