Page 9 of The Lost Highland Prince (The Last Celtic King #1)

8

Chapter Eight

Maeve had spent her entire life under the thumb of men who thought themselves above her. It had started with her father, then her husband, then the prison guards and Bill, and all the minor men in between. She knew what it looked like when a man was posturing, when he was trying to make a point, and when he was throwing his weight around in an attempt to be intimidating. She'd faced too many blows and too much pain to not know the difference between when a man really wanted to hurt her and when his real intention was to scare her and exert his power.

Cailean was doing a good job at puffing up his chest and causing her nerves to jangle, but not good enough. She saw right through him. She didn't know why he wanted to be rid of her so badly, or why he was so against her training as a warrior, but she knew one thing: she was done being scared of anyone, especially of men. She would not allow him to scare her off, not when she'd faced so many worse fears in her life and escaped all the stronger for it.

Maeve moved to the weapons rack, and after a short time perusing her options, she reached for a long, thin sword similar to the type that Senan had encouraged her to use. It would not be as powerful as many of the options, but it would give her the agility she needed to aim and evade as she required throughout the fight — so long as she could avoid the punishing blows that would be coming her way from Cailean's huge weapon of choice. He made a small sound when she selected the sword, but Maeve couldn't tell if it was approval, surprise, disappointment, or something else entirely.

She moved back into position. "This is me selection," she said, showing him the sword. It wasn't blunted like his, she noticed, and she wondered if he'd make her change it, but all he did was shrug.

"Are ye ready?" he asked her.

Was she? Maeve knew she had to take a moment and mentally prepare herself if she hoped to even stand a chance. She was all too aware that people were arriving and eyes were increasingly upon her, and while she didn't care about embarrassment, she knew that now was her best chance to prove herself. She couldn't beat Cailean in an all-out fight, she didn't need to be a genius to know that. But Senan had taught her over the weeks that there were many ways to win a fight, and that she stood just as much chance as anyone, so long as her mind and body remained sharp.

So what was the angle here? What could she do?

Maeve glanced around her. The sun was still not fully up in the sky yet, though the brightness of the rising orb caused her to squint as she glanced at it, and she quickly turned away. She looked next to Cailean and saw that his eyes were red with the outlines of dark circles beneath them. Could it be that he was tired? Had he perhaps not slept well? A glance at the way he held himself confirmed her thoughts; this was a man suffering from fatigue, though upon reflection it may go deeper than just one night.

She knew fatigue and sleeplessness, perhaps better than most, and usually, she would have been flooded with sympathy. Now, though, she couldn't afford such a thing; all she could do was try to work out a way to use this to her advantage.

The idea came in an instant. She shifted slightly, positioning herself so that the rising sun was directly behind her, giving her the blessing of shadow while Cailean would have to bear the full brunt of the morning light in his eyes.

"Come on, then," she called. "I'm ready."

"I disagree," Cailean replied.

Then, in a flash, he was on her. He darted forward, more quickly than she could have ever expected a man of his size to be able to move, his training sword held high. Her eyes, trained from years of evasion as well as the weeks of honing by Senan's guidance, focused hard on his movements, and as he bore down upon her with the flat side of his sword, she darted out of the way. He didn't even stumble, turning the blow to the side and swiping it toward her, but Maeve was ready, throwing up her own sword in an awkward but effective way, blocking his attack.

Cailean grunted, and the fight began in earnest. He was relentless in his attack, and though Maeve was quick and well-attuned to his movements, she felt herself quickly being pushed to the limits of her current strength and skill. She took a few blows, but managed to stay on her feet, avoiding most of his major attacks and successfully remaining in the game.

She caught the look in his eyes, and frustration filled her as she realized that this wasn't even Cailean's maximum effort. She wasn't foolish; she knew she was no match for his years of experience and skill, never mind his overall size, but she had hoped he'd at least take her seriously. Was she not worth at least that? Did she mean so little to him, to the world, to everyone that she wasn't even worth the effort it took to fight? She knew how irrational that train of thought was, and that just made her even more annoyed, this time more at herself than at anyone else.

Renewed by this frustration, she applied herself more seriously to the battle, wielding her sword with all her strength, dodging and twisting and avoiding his attacks with everything she had. Then, as a crucial moment arrived and he bore down upon her once more, she predicted that he would swing to the left and dodged to the right — and she was correct! The power he'd put behind the swing caused him to overbalance, and for a moment, he lost focus and had to steady himself.

A surprised cheer sounded from behind them, but Maeve didn't allow it to distract her. She knew that she had to stay focused; she'd managed to win this little moment of victory, but it wouldn't be too long before Cailean was back on his feet.

Sure enough, before Maeve had a chance to reorient herself in the wake of her victory, Cailean steadied himself and was upon her. With a sweep of his sword toward her legs, he sent her tumbling to the ground, and then a moment later pinned her in place with his body.

"Yield?" he whispered in her ear.

The closeness of being pinned to the ground by him caused a swell of panic to rise within Maeve. This was how Bill had held her down when he was going to attack her, and the association was making her body prickle with fear and her nerves jangle and scream at her to get away. She was about to punch, kick, scream at him, and do whatever it took to escape, but then she caught the expression on his face above her.

He was watching her with a faint smile — not a smug one from his victory, but a genuine smile, as though he was impressed with what she'd achieved so far. There was a gentleness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, and, unexpectedly, that gaze soothed the panic that was rising inside Maeve and her racing heart slowly returned to a normal rate.

Cailean pushed against the ground and got back to his feet, then held out a hand to help her up. "Nicely played," he said.

Maeve lay there for a moment, staring up at him. The sun was glistening on his now sweat-covered torso, highlighting the scars that crisscrossed across his body. What would it be like, she wondered, if she bore as many scars on the outside as she did on the inside? And how many of Cailean's scars could she not see? He'd clearly removed the shirt as part of his intimidation tactic, but now that he was smiling at her, she found herself drawn to him, wanting to explore each of those scars and their stories.

With a start, Maeve caught herself, blushing furiously as she tried to understand what she'd just been thinking. She hoped that nobody noticed how hot her face had gotten, or if they did, that they wrote it off as exertion. She took the offered hand and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

"Ye did well," Cailean told her once she was standing again. "Better than I expected, for sure."

"Perhaps yer expectations should have been higher," Maeve replied. "Senan picked me for a reason."

This caused Cailean's smile to grow, and then he actually laughed — the first genuine sound that Maeve had heard from him since arriving. "Aye, perhaps ye're right," he agreed.

They both looked down at the same time and realized that their hands were still joined. Strangely, neither of them felt the urge to pull away too quickly, though eventually Maeve let go.

"So, ye'll train me?" she asked.

"I already said I would," Cailean said. "I expected ye tae run off, but ye didnae. And actually, ye've got quite the wit about ye, well done on yer tactics. Perhaps we'll spend some time on trainin' each other, if in different ways."

The praise got to Maeve in a strange way, and a glowing orb seemed to light up in her chest at the words, brighter even than the sun that was now shining down upon them. She was not used to feeling pride, only embarrassment, fear, and shame, but now she allowed herself to accept the well-earned praise with grace. Perhaps there was a time and place that she could be proud to just be herself, and perhaps that time was now, and that place here.

"Cannae believe Mary beat ye down!" someone called, and Mary turned to see Ferda and Darren standing together at the side of the training grounds. Darren was the one who had called out, teasing his friend. Darren winked and added, "Until Cailean got ye pinned on the ground, Mary. I suppose ye're nae a miracle worker."

"The real miracle is that ye made it out of bed before lunch," Cailean called back, and general laughter sounded from the crowd that had grown around them. Many had arrived during their fight, and Maeve was stunned to see how many people had been watching their little bout — and cheered for her.

"She's a danger," one of the woman warriors called out. "Mary, I'll send ye after me husband if he keeps up stealin' the blanket every night."

"Nae wonder Senan took ye in," a man added. "I bet ye threatened him with that sword and tripped him intae a burn. He was probably drippin' wet and ready tae drown when he finally agreed tae take Mary as a student."

That caused much more laughter around them, but rather than taking the teasing personally, the buoyancy of the success and praise made Maeve see it for what it was — good-natured banter from people who might soon be her friends. Maybe even her family.

Ferda called out, "Cailean, are ye needin' a wee rest after that?"

"Rest is for those who've got time," Cailean retorted. "And it seems like I'm gonnae be quite busy for the rest of the day." He nodded toward Maeve. "After all, I've got a new student tae train — if she doesn't overbalance me again."

"Ye'd better watch yerself," Maeve told him daringly, inspired by the lighthearted mood around her and her own good mood. She theatrically pointed her sword toward him and said, "If I have me own way, ye'll never be fully balanced again."

Cailean grinned. "Is that so? Bring it on."

* * *

The morning's training was not just the two of them, which Maeve was reluctant to admit made her secretly disappointed. She'd enjoyed the bond that she and Cailean had formed in that strange, intimate battle, but she knew that she needed to be flexible and ready to take whatever was thrown at her. Cailean organized the gathered warriors into pairs, matching her up with Fergus Bruce first, then Darren, then another rebel and another.

As the morning wore on, Maeve became more achingly aware of the bruises on her body and the tiredness in her mind, but her spirit did not falter. She threw herself into each battle with renewed determination, taking the blows when she failed but allowing herself to feel pride and satisfaction when her clever tactics or quick dodges succeeded. Unfortunately, as the morning wore on, the former was more noticeable than the latter. She was not a trained warrior, and exhaustion quickly began to overtake her.

"Ye're fallin' behind," her current partner, a rough but kind man named Jock, pointed out with a laugh. "I've knocked ye on yer behind thrice."

"Aye, and I keep gettin' up," she replied, then pounced toward him again, her sword drawn.

Jock laughed and met her sword with his.

Each of the others teased her as the sparring continued, but after some time, the teases gave way to genuine camaraderie and maybe even respect. By the time she faced Darren again, the other man simply said, "Ye're doin' a damned better job than anyone expected."

"Good," she panted. It was all she had the energy for.

After a while, they stopped the sparring, but the day's training wasn't done yet. Cailean ordered them all to run laps around the training field, taking the lead himself. Maeve could not believe the effortlessness with which he seemed to be able to run after all this time training, and her body screamed with the effort, but she gamely threw herself into the run along with everyone else.

This was when it became clear that she was well behind her peers. Her muscles screamed at her and soon her run became a jog, then not long after, a stumbling walk as she struggled to keep up. Cailean eventually indicated that she should stop, but though her aching body longed to agree, she stubbornly kept walking, determined to finish just as many laps as everyone else even if it meant she had to crawl the final circle. Thankfully, it didn't come to that, though when she made it back to the middle of the field, she collapsed onto the ground, breathing heavily.

"I did it," she said to nobody in particular. "Naebody can say I didnae."

"Tae Mary the determined!" Darren called out, and someone else cheered.

"We're done for the day," Cailean announced after a while. "At least for the mornin' session. Everybody should go rest and get themselves something tae eat, and we'll resume after lunch."

Maeve's body cried out in agony at the idea of doing even more, but instead of showing it, she burst into laughter. Some others around her began to laugh too, and Maeve began to realize the real kind of warmth and camaraderie which was truly surrounding her.

Sitting back, Maeve rubbed her aching hands together, feeling their stiffness as she laid her sword to the side. Others who had taken part in the training were also sitting down on the field and gathering their energy, so Maeve did not feel ashamed for just sitting around, though she did catch more than one of them looking at her with concern.

Was this it, then? Was this what life was to be? Maeve remembered herself as a young girl, lost in the world, without anyone to help her, and wondered how that little girl would feel if she could see her now. Would she have even believed what she was seeing before her? Probably not. Young Maeve had never believed that she would account for anything.

But looking around her now, she wondered if all that she had been missing for her whole life was her place. Could this really be it?

"Room for me?" someone asked. She looked up and saw Cailean standing over her again, his broad shoulders blocking the sun and casting a shadow over her. "I'd like tae talk tae ye, if ye're willin'."

Maeve looked up at him and smiled. "I suppose I'd be wrong if I told me own teacher tae go away," she said with a chuckle. "But I hope ye dinnae expect a full conversation. I'm knackered."

"Och, ye've energy in ye yet," Cailean told her, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. He held out a hand like he had earlier. "On second thought, though, let's not sit and talk here. I want tae go for a walk. Will ye come with me?"

Maeve wanted nothing more than continue to sprawl on the ground, but she knew that if she did, her muscles would just ache even more when she finally moved. So, even though it hurt, she took his hand and allowed him to haul her to her feet once more. She dropped his hand quickly, and the two of them began to walk side by side from the training grounds and along a small pathway.

"Is this part of me trainin'?" she asked as they walked, winding past the huts of the rebel camp and along the nearby riverbank. "Are ye gonnae attack me with a hidden knife or somethin'?"

Cailean laughed. "Nae knife," he promised. She noticed he was walking slowly, allowing her to keep up without making too big a deal of it.

They kept walking along the river until eventually, they reached a small body of still water not too far from the village where this tributary of the river seemed to come to an end. It was bigger than a pond, but nowhere near big enough to be considered a loch. Maeve wasn't sure what to call it, but as she spied the ducks gliding across the surface and the sun reflecting on the waves, she knew that it was lovely.

Cailean led her over to a log on the bank and sat down, beckoning for her to sit next to him. She did, and said, "Are ye sure this isnae part of me trainin'?"

He laughed. "Well, I may have lied. It is part of yer trainin' after all, but maybe not in the way ye think."