Jane winced. “Is it afternoon already? I didn’t mean tae sleep the day away.”
“Ye needed the rest. Ye looked fair tae dropping yesterday.”
Jane blushed, feeling suddenly foolish. She wondered why the Robertson lass was being so courteous and kind to her.
“Thank ye,” Jane murmured.
Lorna’s eyebrows shot up, and then she laughed. “Naething tae thank me for, my lady. I believe ye enjoyed yer meal.”
Jane nodded, and Lorna reached for her arm and tucked it into hers. “Well then, let’s take ye tae see the grounds a wee bit.”
Lorna continued to chatter as they strolledthrough the keep. Jane could hear the tinny sounds of clashing swords and shields as they rounded the corner into the courtyard. Lorna's voice became muffled as they got closer, and Jane, having never seen men train so arduously before, widened her eyes alarmingly.
“They’re mostly fellows from the alliance,” Lorna explained. “Some of the lairds sent their worst men here, their criminals too, and they’re trained by my brothers. Thieves, murderers, and deserters are all given a chance to make something of their lives.”
Jane's eyes returned to them. These men certainly had a tough exterior. They didn't seem bothered by the heat of the afternoon sun or the rays that made Jane squint and wince. These were men who were accustomed to the odds being stacked against them. Herheart pounded as she realized her father's warriors might not stand a chance against these brutes.
“How does yer brother ensure their loyalty?”
Lorna narrowed her eyes at them. “Most who’d heard of him before came here respecting him. Others fell in line quickly enough when he showed them who he was.”
A sudden silence befell upon them. Jane blinked and moved her gaze to the center of the group, and she gasped. It was the laird, dressed only in britches and boots. Her eyes rounded in shock as she sucked in a mouthful of air. She was transfixed, utterly captivated by the sight.
Och, God have mercy on my soul!
She shivered, her eyes settled on his chiseled frame. Her hand fluttered to her chest, and her vision became slightly blurred. The laird's bare chest glistened with sweat, the sunlight kissing his bronzed skin as he wrapped both hands around the hilt of his broadsword, causing his muscles to ripple.
“Are ye alright, my lady? ‘Tis mere sparring.”
Jane let out a whoosh of breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. A look at Lorna’s face revealed to her that she’d been staring quite unabashedly at the laird. Heat covered her face, and she quickly looked away, not wanting her to see her embarrassment at being caught ogling her brother.
“I’m fine,” Jane muttered.
The sparring had begun again, and Jane watched in fascination as two broad-shouldered men circled Darach. She could not tear her gaze away from the sight of him nimbly darting away from the lads hacking their swords at him. He twisted and turned, blocking off their attacks, but one nicked him on the shoulder soon enough. A gasp went through the crowd, and the young men stopped attacking.
“Ye dinnae stop!” he shouted at them, knocking his hilt into the shoulder of the one closest to him. The lad tumbled into the dust and remained there, gasping. “Warriorsneverwaver. ‘Tis what will determine whether ye live and die.”
Darach was ready when the other lad swung back into action. His sun-lithair clung damply to his back, and thin braids swung around him as he pivoted in the dirt to deflect the thrust. The force knocked the man down. Darach swung his sword around his head, relentlessly attacking him. His sword slashed through the air, his muscles straining and bulging as he ignored the blood trickling down his arm.
Jane watched him with awe. He was probably used to it. A man didn’t get his kind of reputation without acquiring battle scars, and his massive chest sported several long-healed gashes—badges of honor, like her father used to call them. Scars were a thing of pride to Highlanders, and a man without them was considered weak, without courage.
Finally, the young man couldn’t bear the barrage anymore. He buckled under the blow hammering his shield. He fell, and his sword clattered to the ground. He lay in the dust, panting softly as the laird frowned, but extended a hand to pull him up.
“Ye lasted longer this time, Wiley,” he nodded and turned to Wiley’s partner. “Both of ye still allow emotions tae rule yer actions—a fatal flaw for a soldier. Until ye learn tae control that temper of yers, ye’ll prove an easy mark in battle.”
Wiley scowled, his face red with anger and disappointment to have failed his laird. The boys slowly made their way into the group, and then the laird turned around to address the crowd. It was then that he looked up and saw Jane standing with Lorna.
His eyes narrowed immediately, and Jane felt pinned by the force of his stare. He motioned for his tunic, which Morven tossed from the side. After hastily pulling it over his bare chest, he motioned for her to come forward.
Jane squashed a feeling of disappointment that he’d clothed himself again. Instead of dwelling on the feeling, she edged closer to him, dragging her heels in the dirt. It was silly. She was a grown woman. Yet in front of this man, she felt like an errant child about to be called to task.
“Come walk with me, my lady,” he drawled. “We have much tae discuss.”
She swallowed hard and snuck a peek at Lorna, who nodded as if to encourage her before turning and heading back the way they’d come.
He flashed a smile. “Come,” he said again. “I promise tae be courteous.”
The attempt at humor caught her unaware, and she smiled but quickly bit her lip before it spread over her face. He was still the enemy, she shouldn’t be smiling at his words.