Highland Escape (13 page)

Anna glanced up enough to offer a grunt in response then went back to work on the billet. With each curl of wood dropping to the ground, her anger receded. She mulled over Duncan’s story and how she now fit into their clan’s history whether she wished it or not.

With a questioning quality to his next words, Duncan continued. “I worried how a woman might deal with having so much blood on her hands. I see by the way ye attack the wood, ye would do so again. Ye are Nessa’s champion in truth.”

Anna didn’t look away from her task or acknowledge his statement.

“If ye will excuse me I have other duties to attend to. I will see ye at supper.” Duncan bowed slightly then left.

She raised her head, offering a slight scowl in answer.
How like a man to think a woman could only wield a needle and thread or soup pot effectively, growing faint at the sight of blood.

Continuing her task, Anna reflected on the morning. She’d noticed the odd looks from the villagers, but nothing suggesting hostility. More like curiosity. Whether due to the laird’s declaration or her escort, she wasn’t certain. However, she knew everyone, especially the ladies who spun the wool, assessed Duncan’s interest in her. Like a filly on the block, she’d been rated all day. She frowned, not liking the sensation one bit.

She worked until she had a smooth, even staff of proper diameter. By the time she finished, darkness had crept past the lanterns into the stables. Having a task for her hands gave her mind the opportunity to take measure of her feelings and she was surprised to discover her anger toward the MacGregors no longer existed.

How did that happen?

Mairi and Nessa had always treated her more than kind. Duncan, if she were to be fair, had also been as kind as allowed, even more so this week. The laird? Though she vehemently disagreed with his handling of her the first week, he’d held true to his word about welcoming her into his family, accepting her as his own.

Could I truly make a home here?
Taking her new staff with her, she thought about putting it through its paces first thing on the morrow. The time alone would give her more opportunity to reflect on staying here, about working as a healer and horse trainer. Anna shook her head. She certainly needed more time to think on her strange feelings toward Duncan.

Chapter 10

Duncan arrived at the stables at first light and noticed Anna’s horse missing. Saddling up, he made his way to the strath, knowing she’d arrived, or would soon. Dismounting in the woods, Duncan tied his horse to a tree several yards away and quietly made his way to the edge of the clearing. As he suspected, she’d already reached their site. He chose a tree in the shadows to watch from a distance.

She unwrapped a long, thin rope from her waist. A small knife, or perhaps a spear point, appeared to be attached to the rope. What looked like a small red piece of cloth was tied to the base of the knife.
Odd.

She started slowly, then swung the blade faster and faster. She twirled with it, wound the rope around her arms, back, legs; then, uncoiling the wraps, launched it toward a tree some fifteen feet away. He was taken aback by how deeply the blade pierced the wood. It didn’t take much imagination to envision what this weapon would do to a man, even armored.

Jerking the blade from the tree, she whipped it around again in one deft motion, twirling and dancing, shooting it out again. The red cloth made a whirring sound as it cut through the air, marking the point. Without the red to hold his eye, he’d have had a hard time tracking it. Sometimes she kicked it, firing it into the air, as to a lower target, changing the trajectory. She seemed to be able to let fly this weapon, high or low, in front or behind her at will and with accuracy. Duncan sat in wonder. He’d never witnessed the like before.

After a number of minutes, she coiled the rope around and under her belt, hiding the blade in the waistband of her trews.

Did she have this in her possession her entire captivity?
The implication rocked him.
What other weapons did she have hidden?

Next, she picked up the staff she’d carved the day before. Again she started slowly, as if to become familiar with the heft of the weapon. Soon she whirled, whipping the staff around in circular motions. Her movements were graceful, but to Duncan’s trained eye, generated a fair bit of power. Enough for a woman to defeat a man.

Leaping up and squatting low, she struck from all angles. Never before had he witnessed such maneuvers in combat. He’d trained as a warrior since old enough to hold a wooden sword. Sparring had always been conducted in a straightforward matter. Combat never held the grace or fluidity he observed with Anna.

She changed tactics, now treating the staff as a spear.

Her actions mesmerized him. After a longer interval with the staff, she paused and took a drink from her water skin. He thought of her words the day before, about not being able to go back to England, back to her home. He didn’t want her going anywhere. His plans certainly didn’t involve her languishing in some nobleman’s keep, bearing his brats. A wave of strong emotion rolled over him.

Jealousy?

Aye, nothing else could explain the surge of passion he’d experienced these past few days. He vowed to find a way to win her trust, her friendship. Then perhaps he’d have a chance at seduction. With the damage caused by initial distrust, he would have to move slowly. Slow suited him fine. He’d been taught to be a careful hunter, allowing his quarry to come to him. Though a more clever quarry than any he’d hunted before, ’twas hunting all the same.

After catching her breath, she drew her two curved short swords, and the deadly exercise began anew. The intricacies of her footwork, the angles she worked from, demonstrated a style of fighting Duncan had never encountered before. Certainly not English or Scots.

He remembered the two MacNairns she’d taken with ease by sword. He recalled her oblique movements. Unable to contain himself any longer, he rose and strode toward the field. In truth, he felt powerless to resist. Mayhap the blood of a
leannan sith
truly flowed through her veins. Nothing he had ever encountered pulled at him so. Especially not a lass.

“I wondered how long it would take before you mustered the courage to leave the shadows.” A wicked gleam danced in her eyes.

Of course she sensed his presence. A warrior always knows.

“I dinnae wish to disturb yer practice.” He smiled in return.

“So if not to disturb, participate then?”

He could not mistake her challenging tone. His crooked grin widened. “All I brought is a sword. I have no stave with me.”

Anna stepped away, circling him. “Swords it is.”

Duncan slowly drew his long sword. “I have yer word then, ye will spare my life if I yield?”

The wicked look returned to her eyes. “Mayhap.”

Laughing, Duncan took a high guard.

Anna circled, darting in and out of range, gauging his footwork, trying to bait a reaction. He did not oblige. Eventually, her feints became bolder, trying to draw Duncan into a committed strike, knowing he’d fought many battles and therefore wouldn’t be easily tricked into giving up his guard.

Damn. She couldn’t lure him into attacking. Each time she offered him an opening, he refused, keeping a high guard and an annoying smirk on his face. Fine. She pushed a bit more to see if he could do more than hold a sword aloft. Unexpectedly, he attacked as she started another advance.

Caught slightly off-balance, she recovered in time to parry his blow. The clang of steel on steel broke the silence of the small meadow. Anna whirled to his side, seeking an angle to attack from. No such luck. He anticipated her move, blocking her strike.

So there is more to his ability than the consistent guard he offers
.

Stepping in with another strike, she quickly abandoned it and sought the other side. To her chagrin, he anticipated and countered her again. Blast! Did she give away her intent somehow? Realization hit. He’d watched her practice for some time before joining her. He knew she did not favor straight-line attacks, preferring angles, thus avoiding a direct blow she would be hard-pressed to block because of her disadvantage in strength.

A twisted smile settled on her lips. Time to employ techniques she’d yet to demonstrate. Staggering to the left then right with feints, Anna dropped to the ground, rolling past Duncan on his left, popping up slightly behind him. Before he could pull his guard around to defend her unexpected maneuver, she struck him on the back of the leg above the knee with one sword and at the lower back with the second, turning her blades at the last moment, hitting with the flat rather than the edge.

Duncan dropped to his knees as if the blows had been struck properly, surprised she bested him this round. He faced her as he rose. Anna’s smug grin reminded him much of a cat in the cream. Her green eyes sparkled with delight, her chest heaved with breathlessness, her face flushed with exertion. He doubted there had ever been a more beautiful creature on God’s earth.

He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her into oblivion.

She must be mine!
The thought was so powerful, it echoed in his bones. The hunter in him knew this to be one small step toward his goal. He mustn’t let his passion spoil the hunt.

“Again, my lord?” she teased with a toss of her head. She could afford to be playful, having scored first. Chuckling at her taunt, he reset.

They continued until both were spent. Neither could remember who bested overall, though ’twas close. He tossed her his water skin. She tipped the container upward, showing the smooth skin of her throat. The long, thin scar on her neck danced as she drank deeply. Watching her do something as simple as drink stirred his desire. He fought back the vision of having her beneath him, moving as they struggled together to quench a different thirst.

She tossed his water skin back. “My thanks.”

He congratulated his good sense in proposing they conduct their training away from the eyes of his kinsmen. He would hardly live down being defeated, even one round, by a woman. Though he wouldn’t mind if he were defeated occasionally by
his
woman. A feeling of pride swelled in his chest as he considered the possibility. Perhaps after a few more sessions, he’d bring her to train with his men, and let them see for themselves how well the lass fought.

Those who rode with him to fetch Nessa had already seen her in action twice. Upon consideration, the thought of sharing her in any setting brought forth a feral urge to hide her from those who might catch her eye.

He offered her reins. “To the keep, milady?”

She flashed a smile, striking him as breathless as the strongest whisky.

“As you wish, sir knight.”

Neither spoke on the short ride back. Duncan thought about his duties for the day, but his attention kept coming back to the lass next to him. To have a woman so strong, beautiful and learned in healing would be quite a treasure. To include fighting skills to rival his own would be a boon, indeed. A niggling of doubt in his mind made him pause and consider.

Would she find me as dear a prize?
He allowed the thought further rein.
What would Anna seek in a man?

Strength, no doubt. Protection? She clearly believed she could protect herself, continually bucking against the idea she needed such from a man—from him. Her headstrong self-reliance continued to be a source of vexation. She didn’t appear to have a submissive bone in her body. If he were to wait for her to ask for his protection, he would be waiting until the whole of Scotland sank into the seas. The usual tactics one employed to catch the eye and heart of a lass would fall woefully short with her. No, he needed another approach.

“I enjoyed our training, Duncan.”

“If ye wish, we can set aside time most mornings to do so.”

She again flashed him a dazzling smile, and though he’d experienced one moments ago, he was no more prepared for the effect of this one than the first.

“I would like that.”

Women spoke regularly about love and passion. He could see the beginnings of one and feel the flames of the other already. To win her, he would need more—what? What did she say a few days ago at the stables? She wanted respect, for them to at least act as if they possessed honor. Chuckling to himself, he thought she had no idea how much of his respect she already commanded.

* * *

Anna reflected on how at ease she’d become with Duncan. It reminded her of the years she and Edrick spent training. The same intensity existed, the same competitive fire, but it seemed different somehow. She considered the differences, lost in the comparisons. Belatedly, she realized Nessa spoke to her. She gave her a guilty smile.

“I am sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

Nessa gazed at her, a hand on her hip, a teasing smile on her lips. “I notice ye always seem preoccupied when ye come back from spending time with my brother.”

Heat rushed to Anna’s face. She wanted to deny it, but knew it to be true. She sought a reasonable explanation to Nessa’s observation. “’Tis because he was my enemy for many days,” she replied, frowning.

Nessa eyed her thoughtfully. “Is he yer enemy still?”

Is he? No, clearly not. Was he really ever?
Anna realized it was much easier to categorize him thus when she didn’t understand why they captured her. Now—it was muddled. She didn’t know how to make sense of what he meant to her, of how she felt when around him. He provided protection when able, and cared for her horse when she could not. He’d taken time out of each day to acquaint her with his home, to make her feel welcome.