Read Mary Reed McCall Online

Authors: The Maiden Warrior

Mary Reed McCall (7 page)

“Aye, something physical would be perfect, I think,” he added, his voice a husky murmur. “A prize of true worth. Something that the winner would find…exciting.”

Helpless to drag her gaze from his, she swallowed and managed to whisper, “What exactly did you have in mind?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and suddenly stepped back. “Why, the chance to spar with me on the battlefield, of course. It seems to be what you most desire, and I’d allow you to use your choice of weapons—blunted, I should think. I wouldn’t want either of us to be truly hurt for the sake of sport.”

She was so taken aback that she just gaped at him.

“If you win, you’ll have what I overheard you saying you longed for—the opportunity to knock me about a little. A bit of satisfaction for all that I’ve put you through at Dunston.” Grinning, he feinted back and gave a playful jab at her shoulder, making her stumble sideways. “Eh? What say you, Gwynne? Are you game to try?”

She righted herself with a scowl, surprised at the dark rush of annoyance—and emptiness—that filled her. How dared he treat her so…well, so much like a
man
? ’Twas his idea that she play the part of delicate female while she stayed with him. He’d brought her out here in almost the same way that she fancied a gallant might escort his lady for an afternoon’s stroll, yet now he was proposing that they engage in sport-fighting like any two common soldiers.

Looking away, she muttered, “A sparring match is the prize if I win. What about if
you
win the wager?”

“Ah, yes.” He paused for a moment before giving her another half-smile. “If I win, then every afternoon for a week, beginning tomorrow, you’ll agree to learn court dancing—with me as your teacher.”

More faint giggling tinkled through the clearing again, momentarily overriding Gwynne’s shock and setting her instincts afire. Whirling around, she growled, “What in blazes
is
that?”

“What?” Aidan asked calmly.

“That noise,” she almost shouted, spinning back to him.

She clenched her fists when she saw that he was looking at her as before, all wide-eyed innocence. He shrugged and murmured, “I don’t hear anything,” before bending to pick a few more berries to sample.

And he was right. At least for the moment. Whatever she’d heard was gone, and the woodland was as silent as ever, the only sound the faint rustling of the leaves above them.

“Blast it to hell, but I think you’re driving me mad,” she muttered, yanking off her veil and jabbing her fingers through her hair.

“So, do you accept my wager or not?” Aidan asked, popping the last of the fruits in his mouth, as nonchalant as if her outburst had never happened.

“Aye, I’ll take your cursed wager,” Gwynne snapped, jamming the veil into the neck of her gown and hiking her skirts to her knees as she stalked to the baskets. “Just let me get started, so that I can get to the part where I’m allowed to crack some sense into that wooden skull of yours.”

She snatched one of the baskets up and marched off to a spot in the clearing where the strawberry plants seemed clustered most thickly, muttering all the way about Aidan’s stubbornness and his dim-witted ideas. Deliberately, she put her back to him and began to pick as if her life depended on it, ignoring the masculine chuckling that came now from the opposite end of the glade. After a moment she dared a glance and saw Aidan picking the crimson fruits with a passion of his own…

With a fervor, she thought, shuddering, that if she wasn’t careful, might consign her to the hell of having to spend a whole week of afternoons in the disturbing proximity of his lean, hard form—and locked in the depths of his strangely compelling gaze.

A
idan nudged his basket closer to the edge of the clearing, surreptitiously glancing at Gwynne as he did. Her back was still to him, thank God. He hummed a lilting tune and kept picking, pausing to sample some of the juiciest berries as he went. He knew he should stop eating them. She’d already looked over and caught him at it several times, not to mention the fact that his tasting had made quite a dent in what little he’d managed to accumulate. He paused to peer into the depths of his basket, grimacing at the paltry sight.

’Twas a good thing he’d arranged a back-up plan.

By the time the agreed-upon half hour had elapsed, his carefully plotted strategy had borne its expected fruit. Quite literally. He checked the sun’s position to be sure that time was up, then looked at his basket again, gratified to see that it was filled to overflowing. In fact, there were so many berries that several plump gems had spilled over the top edge to form a crimson mound on the ground beneath it.

“Time!” he called to Gwynne, who straightened slowly and turned to meet his gaze. She shaded her eyes with her hand, her piercing stare shifting from his face to the abundance of fruit at his feet. At the sight, her mouth went slack, then tightened in wrath. In the next instant she burst into motion.

“What is
this
?” she yelled, pointing at his basket as she dragged her own over to him with angry strides. “You couldn’t have picked all of these so quickly. I looked but a few moments ago, and you hadn’t enough even to come level with the brim!”

Aidan felt a prickle of guilt, but he raised his hands and tried to look sincere. “Would you believe that I pick more quickly under pressure?”

He blinked a few times, hoping that his innocent look would distract her from scrutinizing his take. But she just kept glaring at his basket as if she was certain that the berries must have appeared from thin air to have accumulated so quickly.

“You couldn’t have gathered so many,” she said, fisting her hands on her hips as she finally lifted her accusing gaze again to his. “’Tisn’t possible. Not in the amount of time you’ve had since I last looked.”

He swallowed and then coughed, thinking that perhaps he
had
overdone it just a bit.

“Well, I—” he began feebly, trailing off when a renewed sound of giggles echoed through the clearing, followed closely by a swishing and crackling of branches. He closed his eyes and grimaced as two exuberant bundles shot into the glade from where they’d been crouching behind him, concealed in the brush. Little Clara and Ella shrieked with laughter, their chubby, berry-stained fingers curled over their mouths with glee.

Clearly, the two village imps had forgotten the part of his plan that directed them to stay
hidden
from Gwynne’s sight.


We
did it!
We
did it!” they shouted between giggles, dancing around to a position on either side of Aidan before throwing themselves at his legs to give him a mighty hug.

“Did we do good, Unca Aidan? Did we?” Clara crowed, lifting her cherubic face to gaze at him in adoration.

“Aye, sweet, you did very well,” he murmured, tussling first her blond head and then Ella’s before directing a helpless look at Gwynne.

She stood open-mouthed for a moment. Then her brows drew together and a storm unleashed in her eyes.

“Damn you, de Brice—you cheated!” she snapped.

“’Tis a forfeit. I win the wager, by rights of your deception.”

He was about to try offering some kind of explanation, when a faint sniffle pulled their attention downward again. Clara’s bottom lip jutted out, her violet eyes filling with tears. She dragged one grubby hand across her nose and looked up at Gwynne, blinking, even as she continued to cling to Aidan’s leg.

“Unca Aidan didn’t cheat! We only helped him, is all. We wanted to play our pipes for you, and he said that we could if we helped him gather lots of berries!”

“Aye,” the slightly elder Ella chimed in, stepping away from Aidan with a wavering smile. “Uncle Aidan said we’d get to practice our songs if we helped.” She pulled a reed pipe from her tunic to blow a few sample notes. “If you give us the chance, we’ll make grand music for you to dance by, we promise!”

Aidan’s heart lurched. Looking away, he cursed himself for ever thinking to involve children in his scheme to get the better of Gwynne. Damn his eyes for being a selfish brute. He’d have to think of a way to smooth it over once she was done with them. He’d learned far too well in the past few days that when she was angry, nothing and no one stopped her from unleashing her wrath. Poor little
Clara was so sensitive to begin with, not to mention Ella’s tender—

“’Tis not your fault, girls,” Gwynne said gruffly.

Aidan looked on in shock, watching as she dropped to one knee and brushed a thumb over Clara’s cheek, wiping away the wetness there. Then she patted Ella on the shoulder in turn, giving her a smile before pushing herself to stand and face him, her expression shifting to match the frost in her eyes.


Uncle Aidan
and I will work out the details later. But beginning tomorrow afternoon, I’ll expect you to be here in the glade and ready to play your pipes for us. So make sure you’ve practiced well between now and then.”

The joyful whoops and shrieks that rose from the girls could have deafened anyone within a league. Aidan couldn’t help but smile as they swung around him and Gwynne a couple of times before skipping off down the path from the clearing, yelling back about how well and often they were going to practice.

When they were gone, silence weighed heavy in the glen. Gwynne hadn’t moved a muscle since uttering her agreement for the girls to play. Aidan glanced at her sidelong; she stared straight ahead, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you for that,” he said quietly.

“’Twas for the girls’ sake, not yours,” she answered, locking her arms in their customary position across her chest.

When she finally shifted her gaze, the cold anger he saw there rocked him, reminding him viscerally of the hardened warrior she’d become—a woman very different from the tender girl he’d loved so long ago.

“But you’re not off the hook,” she continued, slicing him with the steel of her eyes. “By rights, I still won today. I’ll go along with the dancing part for the children’s sake—but you owe me. I’ll let you know how and when
you’re going to repay me once I decide on the method.”

Then, without allowing him to utter a word in his own defense, she turned and headed down the path toward the castle, leaving him to mull over all that had happened here this day…

And to wonder how in God’s name he was going to reconcile his gentle memories of Gwynne with the harsh reality of the woman who had stalked away from him just now—with all of the love she’d once felt for him seeming to have changed, in the past twelve years, to hate.

 

Gwynne thumped into her men’s quarters a few hours later, still trying to shake off the black mood that the incident with Aidan had inspired. She kept telling herself that her disappointment made no sense. But no matter how she tried to ignore it, it remained, a throbbing ache akin to a feeling she hadn’t acknowledged in years. Not since Marrok was first training her to be a warrior.

Not since she was naught but a simple girl instead of a Legend.


Lugh’s bones,”
she growled under her breath, struggling to pull off her cumbersome gown before throwing herself onto a pile of old sacks that served as a pallet.

The chamber was empty, her men having gone to deliver her shield to the appointed envoy who’d arranged to meet them in the wood outside Dunston each week for news and the exchange of messages. They’d been gone since morning and should have been back by now. Another twist of fate to be annoyed about, she thought, running her hand through her hair before leaning back on the pallet.

She closed her eyes, trying to quiet her turbulent emotions. She had to keep hold of herself. Allowing Aidan de Brice to play havoc with her like this was exactly what Marrok had warned her against. He’d said that Aidan
would try to delve beneath her defenses. That he’d work to weaken her in ways that had nothing to do with battle prowess or physical abilities. And her mentor had been right—but in her vast ignorance about the workings of men and women, she’d had no idea what he’d meant. Now she was beginning to understand, and it was unsettling, to say the least.

A creaking sound pulled Gwynne from her musings. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she glanced to the door she’d secured behind her, expecting to hear Owin and Dafydd scratch the sequence that would reveal their identities, so that she could lift the bar and allow them entrance. No one else was authorized to come into their chamber but Gwynne, them, and de Brice; Aidan had made that clear to everyone, and she’d secretly appreciated it, knowing it meant she could be in her masculine garments here if she chose, without fear of discovery.

But no familiar scratching sounded at the door. All was silent, save for the creaking. With a start, she realized that it was coming from behind her, from near the wall.

A mouse, perhaps?

It seemed unlikely, unless it was an awfully big mouse.

Slowly, she stood and made her way to the area from which the noise came, picking up her sword as she went. ’Twas dim outside the ring of rush-light near the pallets, and she squinted, her hand tensing and relaxing out of habit on the hilt of her weapon.

She could see nothing in the gloom, so she stood still and cocked her head to listen. There. The scuffling, creaking noise echoed through the chamber again. Gwynne softened her breathing until it was barely perceptible, so as not to distract from her hearing as she honed in on the source of the sound.

Suddenly, she scowled and headed for the door. The noise was coming from
outside
. Something or someone
was on the other side of the wall, trying to get in.

She paused to glance at her gown and veil on the floor where she’d left them, considering whether or not she should put them back on over her own garments before she ventured out to confront the intruder. Her hand flexed again on her hilt. Blast it, but ’twould be difficult to explain her masculine attire and sword if ’twas naught but an errant stable boy out there—but even worse to try to fight hampered by skirts if ’twas indeed someone plotting harm to her or her men.

Mouth tight, she compromised by grabbing the short, hooded cloak Aidan had given her and throwing it on. Suddenly, the familiar cadence of scratching rang out. Cursing under her breath, she lifted the bar on the door and yanked it open, stepping aside to allow Owin and Dafydd entrance.

“What in blazes were you two doing banging around out there like that?” she asked, jamming her sword back into its sheath. “I was about to go out and ambush you, thinking you strangers prying where you didn’t belong.”

Owin frowned. “We made no noise,
Chwedl
. We only just now returned from delivering your shield,” he said, looking as confused as Dafydd at her chiding.

In the next instant, all three locked gazes and as quickly ducked outside, drawing their weapons as they went. Gwynne followed her men, throwing her hood up as they sneaked around the building to ferret out the real interloper. Their search yielded naught but a scrap of green fabric, torn away, apparently, when the person who’d been wearing it had fled at Owin and Dafydd’s approach. It fluttered there, snagged on a splinter of wood that poked from the wall.

Gwynne picked the bit of cloth from its mooring, rubbing it between her finger and thumb. ’Twas of a fine texture—too fine to have come from a servant’s garment.

The evening breeze wafted again, summer-warm, rustling the straw at their feet and bringing with it the familiar scent of horses bedded down in the nearby stable. Shaking her head, Gwynne walked closer to the wall, stepping up onto the mounded straw where the intruder had obviously been standing. After examining the area at her vantage point for a moment, she announced, “There’s a large hole here in the boards. Whoever it was intended to spy on us.”

“But why?” Dafydd scoffed. “We’ve sworn peace with the bastards for these three months.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

She squinted and peered into the hole again. The dim light made it difficult, but just in view jutted the end of the pallet where she’d been lying. Chances were, then, that she’d been seen. And there was only one person she knew of who would feel he had the right to check up on her like that without her knowing of it.

“De Brice,” she murmured, brushing her fingers along the rough edge of the peephole. Anger pierced through her, hot and sharp. But as annoyed as she was at the thought of Aidan spying on her, she couldn’t deny the forbidden pleasure that flared beneath it. Of all people, he would have known that her men hadn’t returned yet—he would have known that she’d gone into their chamber on her own. But he’d come anyway.

Because he wanted to watch you…alone.

The little voice inside her whispered its seductive message, and Gwynne swallowed, wishing she could obliterate it from her mind. Instead, she cleared her throat and stepped down from the mounded hay.

Glad that the dusk of approaching night hid the heat in her face, she motioned for Owin and Dafydd to follow her back inside their chamber. She shoved the tingling thoughts of Aidan as deep as they would go, chiding her
self for allowing them at all. She and her men had much to discuss, not the least of which was how to prevent anyone from spying into their private domain again.

By the time Gwynne took leave of Owin and Dafyyd, securing inside her tunic the sealed missive from Marrok that they’d brought back from the messenger, she’d agreed to demand that Aidan provide them with tapestries to hang inside the chamber on every wall.

It was a good plan, Gwynne decided, as she walked down the narrow pathway back toward the castle courtyard. And in the process of making her demand of Aidan, she’d have the chance to watch his reaction, to see if his expression betrayed him as the culprit this night.

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