Page 47 of Laird of Steel
She slapped it away and scrambled up by herself.
He murmured, “We don’t have to do this, Merraid. I have no wish to humiliate you in front of the whole clan.”
Her jaw tightened. “What makes ye think ye’ll win, sirrah?”
He shrugged. “’Tis inevitable. I’m a man. I’m stronger. Bigger. Swifter.”
That did it. Her eyes blazed. “Ye think so?”
She answered with a volley of attacks that were so fast and fierce, he barely had time to defend himself. But when he finally found his footing again, he replied in kind. His blade clanged against her targe a dozen times before she slipped out of his reach and spun round, smacking him on the arse with the flat of her blade.
The onlookers’ laughter made the blood rush in his ears. He meant to let Merraid win. He didn’t mean to let her embarrass him.
Two could play at that game. He swung high with his sword, forcing her to raise her shield. Then he swept his targe low, knocking her off her feet and onto her backside.
This time he joined in the crowd’s merriment.
He was still mid-laugh when she rocked back and sprang to her feet with acrobatic ease, giving him a hard shove that sent him staggering backwards.
Colliding with the fence kept him from falling. But when she rushed toward him—the point of her sword aimed at his heart—his eyes went wide. He was only narrowly able to deflect a skewering.
She crashed into him, and they grappled in that awkward position for a moment, too close for swordplay, before he was able to push her away.
He expelled a harsh breath. The pesky maidservant had tried to run him through. This was no friendly battle. It was clear now that Feiyan had molded Merraid into an expert warrior.
He still meant to throw the fight. He still meant to send a message to the men of the clan. But he certainly didn’t want to die for it.
Perhaps he didn’t have to temper his blows so much after all. He meant what he’d said. Men were naturally bigger and stronger. But they weren’t quite as conniving as women. If he wanted to avoid being slain, he’d have to use more clever tactics.
He faced Merraid again, who waited with her targe raised and sword ready. But before he could begin his next attack, he heard a bellow from the crowd.
“Hey now! What’s goin’ on here?”
It was Laird Dougal. The last man he wished to see.
“’Tis a friendly fight, my laird,” he called out in assurance.
“Does she know that?” Laird Dougal jested.
The onlookers chuckled, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Merraid’s gaze narrow. No doubt she’d heard her share of jests about the lowly maidservant who thought she was a noble warrior. It had to hurt, no matter how hardened she was to their ridicule. Their scorn made him even more determined to let her win.
To her, he murmured, “Pay no heed to them. Don’t hold back. If I can’t defend myself, I don’t deserve the title of knight.”
She seemed empowered by his words. She straightened her shoulders and bent her knees in readiness.
They engaged again. This time he unleashed his full strength. Their swords clashed and sparked and clanged. With his long reach and superior power, he pressed her gradually back to the center of the field. He was in control now. Now he could manipulate the battle.
“Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch!”
He jerked in surprise. It was Feiyan. In a foul mood.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He was afraid of that. In his absence, he’d asked his cousin to keep Merraid safe. Now here he was, sparring with her himself.
“’Twas my challenge, m’lady,” Merraid called back.
“And you agreed?” Feiyan asked him in disapproval.
