Page 45 of Laird of Steel
He blinked. What did their skirmish have to do with it? “’Tisn’t about that.”
“Nay? Men are fore’er misjudgin’ me. Always thinkin’ they’re stronger. Faster. Smarter. I thought ye might be different. I thought ye might understand, bein’ from a clan o’ warrior women. But ye’re no different from the rest, are ye?” She began untying her apron. “So let’s settle this once and for aye. I’m goin’ to arm myself, and I’ll meet ye on the field in a quarter hour.”
His head was spinning. How had this escalated so fast? He was concerned about her ability to fend off seducers, not swordsmen. “What?”
“Ye heard me. A quarter hour. And if ye don’t show up, I’ll call ye coward from the high tower till all the clan knows it.”
With that, she snatched off her apron and whirled, marching toward the armory.
Gellir opened his mouth and closed it. How had it come to this? This wasn’t the outcome he wanted at all.
First, he didn’t want to engage Merraid. At all. He’d rather forget last night happened.
Second, he’d already fought the lass. He hated fighting novices. And to be honest, with the exception of his clanswomen, hereallyhated fighting females. He always had to soften his blows to make sure he didn’t harm them. And in his present state, frustrated and feeling the effects of last night’s overindulgence, what he really needed most was to crack the devil out of something.
Third, her little challenge was going to garner a lot of attention. From the warriors of Darragh. From Laird Dougal. From his cousin. He was in no mood to be the subject of castle gossip for the next fortnight. It was bad enough that Feiyan had turned his search for a bride into the clan’s favorite diversion.
His mood dark, he stormed past the stables. He vaulted over the wattle fence and charged toward the straw-stuffed dummy in the middle of the field. Again and again, he slashed and hacked at the dummy until it was reduced to shreds of canvas and a mound of scattered straw.
Sweat dripped from his brow. His chest heaved with every breath. His muscles trembled.
Now, with his temper calmed and his strength drained, he was ready to do what he had to do.
Lose the fight.
It was the only way to convince any men with designs on Merraid to keep their bloody hands off of her.
Merraid shivered into her chain mail and plucked up her double-sidedjianand targe. The march to the armory had softened her anger. But she wouldn’t back down from her challenge. Gellir didn’t believe she could take care of herself? She’d prove him wrong.
Ultimately, of course, she planned to surrender. She’d already defeated Gellir once in front of the Darragh warriors. It was only right she give him a chance to regain his dignity.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t put up a good fight. She’d let him triumph. But she wouldn’t make it easy for him. She meant to prove beyond doubt that she didn’t need him. She was capable of defending her own honor.
By the time she arrived on the field, a handful of bystanders had gathered at the fence. No wonder. It appeared Gellir had engaged in some sort of vicious battle with the practice dummy. And won. Its innards were strewn across the field. And Gellir looked exhausted from the ordeal.
She entered the field through the gate and swished her blade through the air in salute, garnering the attention of the onlookers, who began mumbling among themselves.
She strode up to what was left of the dummy and tapped her sword against the post. “What’s this? A warnin’?”
He gave her a grim smile. “A promise.”
She arched a brow at him. “I’ll be puttin’ up more of a fight than he did.”
“We’ll see.” He brought his blade down in a powerful, threatening slash that whistled through the air. “What do you say? Shall we make it more interesting?”
“More interestin’? How? Wear blindfolds? Tie one hand behind our backs?” She glanced toward the fence. The audience was growing quickly. “Whatever ’tis, ye’d best make it quick. I’m sure ye don’t want more witnesses to your defeat.”
He snorted. “Let them come. Unlessyou’reafraid of utter humiliation.” He raised his sword and casually sighted down the blade, checking the edge. “But nay, I meant shall we wager on the outcome?”
“What sort o’ wager? Coin?”
“Nay, nothing so crass. What about a wager of honor?”
“Honor? What would ye wager then?”
“If I win, you’ll do my bidding for a day. If you win, I’ll do yours.”
Her bidding? A dozen dangerous ideas flitted uninvited through her head. Ideas that made the blood rush to her cheeks.
