“Aye,” Dermot said, grinning. “’Tis the best way to learn what nae to do. I gave yer brother several scars, and he’s a damn fine swordsman now.”
“That’s true!” Rhys called from his place in the circle of men surrounding Reikart. Dermot had said he was to fight each of these men today because they each had something valuable to teach him. Eight men. Eight fights in all, and he was on the first fight. Christ, he was going to be too sore to move tomorrow.
When Dermot lunged at him again, Reikart moved swiftly backward and out of his reach, then dodged to the left and struck a blow to Dermot’s back with the blunted blade of his practice sword. Dermot swore, and a feminine voice yelled, “Well done!”
He scanned the men to see Deirdre grinning, her face alive with excitement, and he felt suddenly as if he could fight all day. That was not good. Not good at all that the mere sight of Deirdre and knowing he had her support made him feel invincible. He wasn’t supposed to care.
Look away.
His eyeballs didn’t seem to get the message his brain was transmitting. He could not make them move. She was a classic beauty. The sort of woman who would be remembered long after she left a room and long after a man left the century she lived in. It was in her delicate bone structure, the long graceful lines of her neck, the way she carried herself. Her take-me-to-the-bedroom hair that tumbled over her shoulders in long, luxurious golden waves.
Her gaze connected with his, and she looked as if she was appealing to him somehow.Idiot.What would she be asking him to do except maybenotto offer any more public declarations of how he thought she looked. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that, but Rhys’s teasing this morning left no doubt that Reikart had definitely made an ass of himself last night.
Suddenly, Reikart was looking at the tip of Dermot’s sword, which had sliced through the material of the tunic Reikart was wearing and was pricking his skin. Crimson stained the light linen, and Dermot scowled at him. “Looking at a woman,” he said in a low voice Reikart knew was meant only for him, “is a certain way to lose yer life in a fight. Consider this a warning.” He yanked his sword away.
Reikart pulled the tunic away to check the superficial cut, and then he jerked it off as Dermot changed places with Rhys. As Rhys came to stand before him, Reikart threw the bloodied tunic out of the circle, and then tapped the point of his sword to Rhys’s, which apparently was standard protocol to begin.
“Stay focused on me, bro. I’m not gonna go easy just cause we’re related,” Rhys said with a wink. “And Maggie’s watching, so I have to make myself look good.”
Reikart snorted at that and started circling his brother, just as Rhys did the same to him. “Never thought you’d be the sort of man to live to impress a woman.”
“Me neither,” Rhys said, striking a blow to Reikart’s right arm and then one to his left hip. Damn. Rhys always had been fast and deadly. “I gotta say,” Rhys continued in a low voice, “no amount of money I’ve ever earned or companies I’ve ever taken over gave me the high I get when Mags looks at me with pride and love.”
“Spare me the blathering about your wife,” Reikart said, managing to land a blow to Rhys’s chest. He might just be able to hold his own, after all.
“Like you spared all of us last night with your surprisingly poetic description of Deirdre?” Rhys shot back, giving Reikart a smug look.
“Drop it,” Reikart said, anger spurring him to move recklessly and lunge once again at his brother, who swiveled his wrist as if he were holding a pencil as opposed to a heavy sword. Rhys hooked the edge of Reikart’s sword, and the weapon went flying outside the circle of men. The clansmen and women were apparently smart enough to know not to stand too close to the training circle as no one screamed in pain before the sword thudded to the ground.
Rhys stepped toward his brother and clapped a hand on his chest. “Consider it dropped and your ass beaten. That little move is known as ‘the Rhys Special.’ Care to learn it?”
“Yeah,” Reikart said, tossing his inflated pride aside. “But I need my—”
“Sword?”
He swung around toward the sound of Deirdre’s voice, and his chest constricted at her nearness. She had her head tilted back ever so slightly and cocked to the side. Her eyes flashed with amusement and a challenge, and a teasing smile played at the corner of her lips. He was dumbstruck with the feelings this woman he had known for such a short time was causing within him. It was a tidal wave of light in the darkness he’d dwelled in for so long.
Her smile broadened. “Or do ye need lessons on how to properly wield a sword? Mayhap a woman to show ye how it’s done?”
“Are you offering?” he asked before he could think better of it.
“I believe I just did,” she replied and held his sword out to him.
Once he had a firm grip on the weapon, he watched as she lifted up the edge of her skirt and one slender ankle peeked out, followed quickly by a long, shapely calf. He’d seen more flesh in the last four years than he cared to think about now, but that little display of creamy perfection, that hint of the lines that formed this woman, set a fire in his veins.
She bent over, her blond hair cascading forward like an alluring golden waterfall that hid her face for a moment. He could see her hands work quickly to grab a dagger out of a sheath, and she came up with a wicked grin, her weapon pointed at him. “Are ye ready for yer first lesson?”
Good God. The woman could be dropped in the middle of the twenty-first century and give anyone foolish enough to cross her a run for their money. He looked around, assuming someone would protest, but when no one did, Maggie stepped into the training circle by pushing two men gently aside. “I should warn ye, Reikart, Deirdre is nae as gentle as she looks.”
Christ, that was a damn enticing piece of information. “No?” His lust-filled brain couldn’t manage more than one word at the moment.
“Nay,” Deirdre answered. “My father taught me how to defend myself, and I had hoped that if I was good enough with a dagger, he’d let me become one of his guards.”
“Aye, that she did!” called one of the warriors Reikart was supposed to fight.
“I remember, too,” said another older man, also among the warriors. Soon, every man he was to learn something from that day had spoken up about how Deirdre had always been underfoot during training, making her father livid and causing mischief when she was a young girl.
She stepped toward him, closing the distance between them and leaving just enough space that they weren’t touching. Her heat caressed him as if she had traced a gentle finger down his stomach, and her scent—Christ Almighty, she smelled as if she’d just taken a roll down a hill of heather, and it made him want to take a roll with her. He had to suppress the shudder that begged to course through him as he looked into her eyes, those eyes that beckoned him to forget. For this one moment, he didn’t see the harm in indulging in the dance of seduction, though, especially since it would never play out to the end.
