Page 61 of Laird of Steel
“That’s it,” she said. “And when ye use it quickly, ye can feel the blade warpin’ just a wee bit.”
He nodded. “Making it less likely to break.”
“Aye. Thedaois made for speed, not strength.’Tis used as both sword and shield. Strike at me slowly from the right. I’ll show ye.”
He did so. Her blade caught his, but then circled around it with a scrape of steel on steel. It didn’t stop the blow directly as a shield would. It deflected it.
“Instead o’ blockin’ an opponent’s strike, ye use its force and change its path.”
“Let me try.” He motioned her to strike at him.
She brought herdaodown slowly. He snaked his blade around hers and cast it off in another direction. Then he returned with a slash that stopped short of her waist.
“Exactly!” Enthusiasm colored her voice.
They continued practicing the move, gradually moving faster and faster. Finally, he could do it at full speed.
From there, she taught him more complex maneuvers. Showy over-the-head circles. Sly under-the-arm thrusts. Levered behind-the-back attacks.
“That’s it!” she cried when he successfully mastered a spinning backhand strike.
He grinned. It had been a long time since he’d felt this challenged and excited. He didn’t want to stop. “Let’s spar now.”
Despite her determination to remain cool, her eyes lit up. “As ye wish. Sir.”
Merraid dominated the battle. Which was no surprise. After all, she’d had years of training. But it was a pleasure to test his flexibility and his capacity to learn new techniques.
Indeed, he was enjoying himself so much that he completely lost track of time. He didn’t notice the rest of the castle waking. Servants starting the day’s work. Warriors emerging to spar on the field. Or the arrival of the last person he wished to see.
Merraid was in the middle of a thrilling acrobatic attack. Gellir was left breathless—nearly unable to defend himself—when he was interrupted by a harsh reprimand.
“What the bloody hell do ye think ye’re doin’, sirrah?”
Gellir’s hackles rose. It was Henry. That pesky guard from Lady Maut’s castle. The one who thought Merraid belonged to him.
Gellir resisted the urge to come round with his sword. He’d like to lop off the man’s annoying curl—if not his head—for speaking to him with such insolence.
Merraid spoke before he could. “Henry!” she scolded.
But Henry’s gaze was locked on him. Blind to Gellir’s identity, he saw only a foe. “I’ll ask ye again. What do ye think ye’re doin’?”
Gellir narrowed his eyes.
The insolent guard came forward with a threatening hand on his hilt.
Merraid stepped in front of him. “Henry, stop!”
Henry’s piercing gaze dropped to her. “Are ye all right, Merraid? What’s he done to ye?”
Considering Merraid had the upper hand, Gellir couldn’t help but snicker at that. The sound that enraged the guard.
“God’s bones! What kind o’ knight are ye, sirrah, attackin’ a lass?”
Gellir opened his mouth to reply. But Merraid gave the guard a sobering shove backwards. “He wasn’t attackin’ me, Henry. We were sparrin’.”
That didn’t sit well with Henry either. He looked aghast at Merraid.
By now, the Darragh warriors who populated the field were alerted. Their intervention wouldn’t be necessary, of course. Gellir could easily quell the guard alone. But Henry had proved one thing. He cared enough about Merraid to protect her with his life.
