To Wed A Highlander (21 page)

“I hoped to make it impossible,” he said, tugging on her bliaut so that she fell against him.

Makenna surrendered to another kiss, and then tried once again to finish dressing. “You must let me finish, Colin. Someone might approach, and I would forever be shamed.”

Colin let her go. “No one will come. Remember? Gorten is ensuring that none come near.”

Makenna stopped and stared at him. “Lord, I had forgotten. Do you suppose he thinks we are still fighting?”

Colin laughed and stood up, helping her adjust the bliaut. “I highly doubt it.” Colin knew Gorten genuinely liked Makenna and would have interceded on her behalf by now if he believed Colin still to be angry with her. It was both good and bad to have someone as loyal and devoted as her guard.

“There,” Colin said, wiping off the last blades of grass from her sleeve. “No one will ever know how you seduced your husband after defeating one of his men in combat.”

Makenna’s jaw dropped.
“I
seduced you?” she squeaked.

“Aye, and you can do it again tonight if you wish,” he replied, his voice both arrogant and lighthearted.

“Nay, husband. Tonight it is you who shall be doing the seducing.”

Colin grabbed the reins to his black mount and walked with Makenna to where hers remained tethered to a tree and eating grass. She smoothed the chestnut-colored mane. Adjusting her sword, she sheathed her Secret into the specially made scabbard. She then spoke kindly into the mare’s ear and mounted.

“Would you like to join me and ride to the training fields?” Even as the words left his mouth, Colin couldn’t believe what he was asking. But even as he mentally explored the request, he knew that he would not take it back. “Just this once.”

Excitement bubbled inside Makenna.
The training fields.
The place Colin prepared his men. She would finally get to see the size of his army and watch them display their skill with a sword. “Aye, Colin, I would like it very much.”

“Come on, then. Let us tell Gorten that he no longer needs to fear for his life before we find Dunlop. Today, he is working with new recruits who think they already know all there is about sword fighting.”

Makenna smiled and joined Colin in the brisk ride to find Gorten and then to the grounds where men learned to be Scottish warriors.

As they approached the wide expanse of land a few miles north of the Lochlen, Makenna could hear shouts and the clinking of metal swordplay. Dunlop rode out to greet them. “Ho, Laird! My lady! It is good to see you riding once again.”

Colin caught the implication. “Have you not been riding, Makenna?”

“Nay, not once while you were gone,” Dunlop interjected, knowing Makenna would somehow evade answering the question.

Makenna shot the commander a scathing look. “I thought it best not to since we did not know exactly what had happened to the farmers or by whom,” she quickly explained and focused on the men practicing.

Colin stared at his wife as she intently avoided his gaze. Her answer was too full of logic, and much too safe to be true. No, there were other reasons that kept Makenna from partaking in one of her favorite pastimes.

Before Colin could ask, a shouting match exploded between several men, and he moved to intercede. Makenna persuaded her mount to move beside Dunlop’s. She studied the fields, estimating over one hundred head practiced here. “Dunlop, how is it possible to train so many men at one time?”

“Colin has grouped them by skill and by weapon. Those you see in the distance practice the longbow. Over there, down the hill and to your right, those men are focused on the mace.”

Makenna watched in fascination. Most were training on the battle-axe, the mace, and the claymore, but some were training on the small ballock knife. The men were quite good. They lacked originality, but they were quick and deadly accurate.

“I’m surprised Colin has so many men training with knives.”

“’Tis a common mistake some leaders make to train only with swords. One does not fight just in war, and most men cannot afford swords. But everyone carries a knife. Why, even you carry a small version in your hilt, do you not?” Makenna nodded. “A man does as well. And it can be deadly if a soldier does not know how to fight, deflect, and disarm an attacker with a smaller weapon. Additionally, a man who is knowledgeable with a knife can defend, wound, and kill—important skills to have in battle.”

Makenna pointed to where Colin was standing. “And what group are they?” Colin was surrounded by boys of varying ages, some very young, approximately thirteen or fourteen, but a few looked nearer to twenty summers.

Dunlop grimaced. “Beginners. They heard about our laird’s leadership and his ability to train younger men and recently joined. They are inexperienced and young, but eager to learn. At least most of them are.”

“Most of them?” Makenna inquired.

“Aye, most, but not all. There are some who feel learning the basics of fighting is beneath them,” he answered, pointing to the obviously much older boys in the group.

They were training with single ash sticks, just as Camus had started his instruction with her. Makenna moved forward and was surprised to hear Colin declare that a truly skilled soldier could discern when to defend himself and avoid killing and when it was absolutely necessary.

One of the bigger boys leaning disrespectfully against the tree threw down his stick. “And I keep telling you that I am ready. I have no need to practice with sticks. I want to fight with real weapons and train with the men.”

Again, Makenna was surprised. She expected her husband to lose his temper at the boy’s insolence, but Colin remained calm, even patient, as the young man droned about how he had never been so underappreciated in his father’s army.

Dunlop leaned over and whispered, “Most lads are eager to listen and learn, but the dozen or so that have been sent to us from Crawford deem they are already great fighters. They want to be moved over to the more advanced groups and begin working with the
claidheamh mor.”

Makenna gasped. The little she had seen was evidence enough they were not ready. “But they would be slaughtered.”

“Aye, but at least they’d stop complaining,” Dunlop returned, grinning.

Makenna couldn’t help herself and smiled back, swallowing laughter. She watched as the group recommenced their training. They were too eager, consistently forecasting their intentions. Much practice would be needed before they would be ready for the
claidheamh mor,
the great sword, her weapon of choice.

A few years ago, Camus had specially made her a two-handed broadsword close to the size of a normal claymore, yet much lighter. She doubted if there was another man in all of lower Scotland who could equal Camus’s knowledge on the properties of metals, how they reacted to heat and which combinations made them stronger. His skill and knowledge had created her Secret, a claymore she could wield much faster than her opponent expected.

Colin felt himself getting frustrated. Dunlop had not exaggerated when he told him about the new Crawford recruits, especially Jaimie’s sons. They truly judged their skills to be the same or even superior to those of his men. Each time they lost, they claimed it was because they had competed against Laird McTiernay’s finest.

An impulsive idea took hold. Hooking his sword in his belt, Colin crossed his arms and ordered the protesters to gather around him close enough for Makenna to hear.

“Do you see that woman over there?” Colin asked, pointing at Makenna but not looking in her direction. “She is my wife, Lady McTiernay. What you may not know is that she enjoys sparring with the
claidheamh mor.”
He could see the disbelief in their eyes and continued. “Aye, she carries her sword upon her even now.” He paused as some of them craned their heads to look.

“You believe you are good enough right now to spar with the more experienced men and that I treat you differently because you are sworn to Laird Crawford, not to me. I say you are not ready because you lack basic skills. But I am willing to give you the opportunity to prove me wrong. Select one of your men, and I suggest that you pick your quickest and most skilled. If Lady McTiernay is willing to spar, and you win, then I shall move your entire group forward. If not, never again shall a complaint spew from your mouths.”

One older boy scoffed. Makenna eyed the young soldier. He was of average height with bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and an expression on his face he thought made him look intimidating and fearsome. He had the body of a man, but he was not one yet. Misplaced pride and lack of humility stood in his way. “It would be unfair. I would not be able to truly fight in fear of hurting her,” the boy complained.

At this comment, Makenna jumped down and unsheathed her Secret. Colin looked unsurprised. He considered warning her that these were the sons of an ally, but decided against it.

Makenna unpinned the bulky plaid from her shoulder. “Colin, I would not mind the least in offering a few of the lessons I learned during my singlestick tutelage. I request only that you not interfere for any reason unless I ask you to.”

Upon Colin’s nod in agreement, Makenna turned back toward the smirking boy who had been joined by someone who looked to be his brother. “What are your names?”

The more polite of the two similar-looking young men stepped forward. “I am Auburn, and he is my brother Korbin.”

“I was watching you, Auburn, and you as well, Korbin, and in many ways I agree with you, I think you have the promise of being great swordsmen. I also admit to never being in battle or a true one-on-one fight for my life. However, I enjoy the art of swordplay immensely and some even consider me quite good. Do you, Korbin, think that I could ever, even at my very best, defeat a Scottish warrior? Even a marginal one?”

Korbin looked at the healthy, but definitely much smaller woman and shook his head. “I do not.”

“Thank you for being honest. I absolutely agree.”

Makenna twirled her Secret and then moved to the middle of the clearing field. She pointed its tip to Korbin and then Auburn. “I shall fight you both simultaneously. And I warn you now that you both will receive scars to remember that no matter how good you are, there is always somebody better, and oftentimes it is the person you least expect. Now fetch your swords.”

Colin was still mentally debating on whether he should stop her challenge. He had meant for her to fight
one
man, not two. But before he could make up his mind, they had both returned and the fight had begun.

Korbin made the first move and lunged at her with the idea of scaring her. Makenna easily sidestepped his attack. At the same time, she shifted her weight and angle so her sword cut the air in a powerful, fast arc, easily disarming her opponent when it came down. Without stopping the graceful and unexpected move, Makenna twisted and this time with an upward thrust neutralized Auburn, sending his claymore flying several yards away.

“Lesson one. Never underestimate your opponent,” Makenna stated calmly.

Korbin looked at his brother. Auburn fetched his sword and returned, looking both embarrassed and mad. “I am afraid that I will hurt you, milady, if I truly try to fight.”

A whipping sound sliced the air as Makenna moved with precision. She disarmed the young man, and at the same time carved a future scar into Auburn’s upper chest.

Upon seeing Makenna’s blade draw his friend’s blood, Korbin raised his sword and came down where Makenna was standing with all his might. Yet when he arrived, she was not there. Somehow, she had been able to move behind him and with a speed Korbin had not thought possible when wielding such a large and heavy weapon. The shock of finding her gone was immediately replaced with a fiery pain of a sharp edge cutting his upper fighting arm.

“Lesson two. An emotional enemy can be your greatest asset in combat. Your own emotions, however, are your greatest weakness.”

Colin wondered what Jaimie Crawford would think about his methods of training upon hearing who gave his sons scars during training. No doubt Trista would be even less pleased that Makenna hurt her boys. Then again, he doubted anyone could teach Korbin and Auburn the lesson in humility they desperately needed better than Makenna. This moment, while embarrassing, would someday save their lives.

Colin decided not to intervene.

Korbin and Auburn were now angry enough to fight, woman or no woman, lady or no lady. The wounds she issued were minor. They probably stung like hell, and Colin had no doubt that Makenna had fully controlled the size and placement of each slit.

Korbin began dancing around Makenna. Auburn followed his lead. Makenna looked bored. Both began twirling the swords and slicing the air in hopes of intimidating her with the sounds. Makenna let them continue their exhausting dance for several minutes, easily sidestepping their jabs and thrusts.

“Engage!” Auburn yelled in frustration.

Makenna arched a single eyebrow and then pivoted on one foot, bringing herself unexpectedly close to her opponent. Auburn shifted his weight back and at the same time, she brought her sword down at precisely the right time to ensure that Auburn lost his balance and fell.

“You won’t find it so easy to do the same to me,” Korbin taunted, continuing to dance around her.

Makenna didn’t even aim for Korbin’s sword. Instead, she thrust her blade between his constantly moving legs so that they twisted, causing him to fall. She kicked his sword away. Then with two hands, she brought her sword up and aimed it toward his heart in a mock display of what it would be like if someone caused you to fall.

“Lesson three. Maintain balance or fall and die,” she said, completely devoid of emotion.

Korbin gulped, sought his sword, and then prepared again for Makenna. He had thought sheer strength and size were all that was needed to fight and win. Lady McTiernay had neither, yet she found it not in the least bit difficult to disarm him even when he had faith he was completely prepared for her attack.

Auburn looked even less sure about continuing the lesson and wanted to say so.