Page 85 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Rhys grinned. “Nae a single one of them would dare challenge ye, Finn. What’re ye on about?”
They walked together toward the ring, pausing at the fence. Inside, two of the younger lads were hacking away at each other like they were fending off wolves with broomsticks.
“They’re still green,” Finn muttered. “That one’s holdin’ the blade like it’s a trout.”
Both men paused to watch the lad. A chuckle ripped through Rhys’s resolve and Finn lightly jabbed an elbow into his side.
“They’ll learn,” Rhys replied, laughter still playing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Or they’ll bleed enough to learn.”
“Aye, and when they learn, they’ll become sure of themselves enough to challengeme… or evenye.”
“I fought them yesterday without any issue,” Rhys countered. “I doubt they’d request another round any time soon.”
“Ye always were a romantic.”
They watched in silence for a moment, then Rhys said, more quietly, “So. Ye gonna tell me how it happened?”
Finn didn’t look over.
“How what happened?”
“Yer escape,” Rhys said. “Ye were half-dead and riddled with bruises. I can guess they dinnae give ye a proper send-off.”
Finn’s grin dimmed just slightly. “I got lucky.”
“That so?”
“Slipped a guard, made a run for it. Hid in an old quarry for a day and a night. Caught the wind north.”
Rhys raised a brow. “Was there nay pursuit?”
“None that got close.” Finn’s mouth twitched. “What’s it matter? I’m here now.”
“It matters,” Rhys said, his voice hardening. “Because it wasnae just a message they were sendin’. They meant to break ye.”
Finn finally looked at him. “And yet, here I am.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes, but didn’t press. Not yet.
“Come on,” Finn said, stretching his arms again. “Let’s give the boys a show.”
“Nay, Finn, ye need rest nae a fight.”
“Thought ye might cry off,” Finn called. “Kent ye couldn’t stomach losin’ in front of the lads.”
Rhys snorted. “I’ve nay need to worry about losin’. Yer ribs are still bruised… and yer arm, man.” He pointed at the limb hanging in the cloth sling.
“All the more reason ye ought to go easy on me.”
Rhys stripped off his outer layer, rolling his sleeves back and flexing his fingers around the hilt of a wooden sword. “Ye think that’s how I earned their respect? Pity bouts?”
Finn straightened and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Nay. Ye earned their respect by bein’ a right brooding arse who never smiles and trains like he’s got demons to slay.”
“Demons daenae yield.”
“And neither do Murdoch daughters, apparently.”
Rhys froze mid-stretch.
