Breathing rhythmically, moving forward as he moved back, then coming together with him and parting, she accepted his slow thrusts and countered him gracefully. He led her through one drill after another. Altercation became lesson; foes had become as equal and careful as lovers.
As a bladesmith, Lachlann knew swords intimately; he knew swordplay, as art and study, better than most knights. Years ago, he had read manuals on the subject in Latin and English, two borrowed, another acquired at a market in Glasgow. He had pored over every word and every drawing with painstaking care, learning to read and learning about swords. On the fields of France, he had used more of that knowledge than he had ever wanted to use.
Now he called it up in his mind and in the memory of his body, like a scholar reeling out his lessons one by one—only he was the master now.
He initiated a series of lunges and countermoves, and Eva responded, well rehearsed and practiced. Some were traditional, others she improvised with near brilliance, catching Lachlann narrowly more than once. Lachlann increased speed and force, careful to strike only her blade.
As much as he enjoyed this and wanted it to continue, he realized the contest must end before the sound of clashing swords brought the king's men toward them once again.
One powerful swipe from beneath, accurately timed, sent Eva's sword spinning out of her hand. Lachlann felt the jolt in his own arm. The sword landed in a bed of leaves, and she grabbed at her forearm, curling inward as if in pain.
"Are you hurt?" Lachlann asked with quick concern.
"I am fine," came her muttered, recalcitrant reply.
Lachlann lifted his blade tip to point. "Well done. Sit over there." He indicated the base of a wide tree. She sat, legs folded neatly, and cradled her wrist.
Lachlann sheathed his sword and snatched up the fallen weapon. His knowledgeable smith's eye took in the older style, the nicked and well-worn blade.
"Whose weapon is this?" he asked. She did not reply. He stood before her and drove the swords into the earth, folding his hands over both pommels at once. She rose to her feet and stepped into a shaft of moonlight to walk past him. He grabbed her arm. "Stay here," he said. "Eva."
She pulled, made a little frustrated sound. "Let me go!"
"Where are you going? And what the devil are you doing here?" He turned her, but she looped out of his grasp. "I told you to stay at Balnagovan," he growled.
"Are you my keeper?" She glared up at him.
"I did not think you needed one. I thought you were sensible, but I should have known better. Why the disguise? And where did you learn swordplay? We took you for a man at first, for love of God! One of us might have killed you!"
"I learned how to protect myself while you were in France. Give me that," she said, snatching at the hilt of her sword. "It belongs to Alpin."
"It is mine now," he said. "As victor."
"I let you win," she muttered. "I gave you that last shot."
"Did you?" he said easily. He handed the sword to her, hilt first. "Return this to Alpin, or I will."
"He gave it to me for my own defense." She slid it into the scabbard that hung from her belt. The sheath and sword were too long for her height, angling past her knee.
"When you were young, you followed your brothers and me in most things. But you never wanted to fight with stick swords, as I recall. You did not like to hurt anyone, or to be hurt."
"I have enjoyed the sword lessons, but I never intended to use the skills to fight in earnest."
"How long have you been training with Alpin?" He pulled his sword out of the ground and slid it into his scabbard, hearing the whistle of good steel.
She rubbed her wrist. "Almost two years."
"Well, he is the best teacher you could have for this. He taught me when I was younger, and your brothers too. But why you would choose to do this, even for self-defense, I cannot—" He paused. "Ah, the legend. Aeife's legend. The maiden with the sword. Do you think you must reclaim Innisfarna this way?"
She stilled her hands and regarded him silently.
"Do you not trust your beloved husband to keep your isle safe?" he asked, low and bitter.
"Would you?" she snapped.
"Then why accept the marriage? You can refuse it." He wished she would do that, and soon—or he would take care of Colin Campbell himself. His patience ran thin on that topic.
"Not as easily as you think. We cannot talk about this here." She stepped away. "I must find my brother and warn him."
He grabbed her arm, fearing she would bolt. Robson's men must not find her dressed as a boy, armed and skilled like a soldier—and clearly in league with the rebels. He had to keep her with him, even if she did not want that. "I told you I would find Simon. You should not be out here."
"I did not come out only to annoy you," she snapped, shaking off his grip. Then she winced and rubbed at her wrist again.
"Let me look at that." He took her forearm and skimmed his fingers along its slender length to the elbow, probing gently, turning her slim wrist in his hand. She seemed small and vulnerable in his large hands, but he knew her formidable temperament, had seen her fight with courage and skill. Her fragility was deceptive, her strength and resolve genuine.
"It is not swollen, but it is bruised, and it must be sore. A cold cloth and some of Mairi's willow ointment will help. I struck the sword too hard from your hand. Though if I had not, you might have taken me down," he remarked wryly.
"I may do that yet," she retorted.
She had done it long ago, he thought, plucked his heart from him neat as an apple from a tree. "Come," he said, taking her upper arm. "We are going back to Balnagovan."
"I came out here to find Simon!"
"He is no fool. With all the noise of sword fights and king's horses out here, he is not about to make himself seen, if he is nearby. I want you safe, and Simon wants that too, I am sure. Come." He walked her firmly toward the downward path.
"I can watch out for myself."
"That is what worries me. Go easy in the dark."
"I know the way," she said, as they edged their way down the hill. "Oh—listen!" She stopped and turned. He heard the creak of steel and leather, and the crunching of feet through the leaves on the hillside. "They are back!" she cried softly.
"Down!" Lachlann hissed, taking her arm. Before she could protest, he slid her sword out of its scabbard and pushed her to her knees and lower, shoving her into a high drift of dry leaves.
Drawing his own sword, he slid it to the ground with hers, and dropped down beside her, swirling his dark cloak over both of them, shimmying into the cover of leaves with her.
"What are you doing—"
"Shh," he whispered, touching his finger to her lips.
Holding her snug, her hair soft against his jaw, he peered over a fold of the cloak. Between the trees a little distance down the hill, he saw the two soldiers who had earlier accompanied him. He ducked inside the cloak's cover and lay with Eva, their forms blending with the leafy rumple of the hillside.
Chapter 22
The incline seemed to tilt beneath her when Lachlann took her down to the ground, swirling his cloak over both of them. Eva clutched at him, fearing they might roll down the hill.
"Be still," he whispered, his embrace tightening. "Wait."
Wrapped in his arms, his breath warm upon her cheek, she lay motionless. His steel breastplate was hard and cold against her chest, and his beard was like sand against her brow. "Why should you hide from them?" she whispered.
"I do not want them to find you," he murmured.
"I would have run—"
"Hush." His finger pressed her lips.
A moment later the ground shook as men walked close by, footsteps crunching through the leaves, their voices clear.
"MacKerron!" As the name echoed, Lachlann's arms tightened around her. "He was here not long ago, and his horse is still tethered down the slope. He must have chased that rebel elsewhere," one of the men said. "No one appears to
have been injured here. I will wager MacKerron could not take that quick little fellow and ended up running after him."
Cocooned with Lachlann inside the cloak, Eva felt the ripple of his soft chuckle. She knocked him on the shoulder.
The other soldier laughed. "I swear I heard the sound of weapons hitting after we left him. But there is no one about."
"'Tis rutting season. You might have heard two stags clashing horns over some fine doe." More footsteps crushed the leaves. "What a place this is, steep and rugged. Come ahead. The others are waiting down the hill. We canna wait for the smith. He knows that Robson wants us to meet him down in the glen after we search the hill." They walked away, making no attempt to muffle the crashing sound of their departure.
Silence descended over the hillside again. Eva rested her head on his shoulder and felt his hand soothe over her hair. She sighed, glad for such peacefulness, however fleeting.
"Best to wait until we know they are gone," he whispered.
She nodded, willing to linger in his arms inside their dark haven. A turn of her head brought her lips against his chin.
"Be still, you." His tender whisper stirred a sensual force within her. The air between them seemed laden, pulsing. Her body pulsed, too, as her mouth nearly touched his.
She felt an overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him, to feel his passion again. Wanting him to hold her, to love her and never let her go, she closed her eyes and pressed closer to him. "Lachlann," she whispered, wanting to tell him her thoughts about Colin, about pledges.
"Hush." He shifted his head, and his mouth swept over hers, certain and hungry. When he gently tilted her chin and deepened the kiss, she dissolved in his arms. Tender, magical, she did not want the moment to end. A kind of wildness filled her, tinged with desperation. She wanted him fiercely, and felt his desire manifest, firm and urgent, against her hip.
"Dhia," he breathed in her ear. His fingers traced downward, over her shoulder, lingering upon her breast. She gasped as his thumb brushed her stiffening nipple, the feeling deep, startling, irresistible. His palm stilled over her beating heart and his mouth sought hers again, gave and slaked. She arched against him as his mouth traced over her cheek.
"This is madness," he whispered. "I cannot be near you without..." His lips took hers again, and her body responded with a burst of passion, deep and low. "Eva, tell me you do not want that marriage." His voice spiraled into her like a flame. "Tell me so," he said, kissing her.
"Ach Dhia," she moaned, "I do not want it—"
"Good," he murmured, his mouth fitting over hers again. Her lips opened for him as his tongue touched, swept over hers, while she wrapped her arms around him, sighed, began to tremble.
"Lachlann—" she whispered.
"Shhh." He turned his head, his hand stilling at her waist. She froze, aware of the crunch of footsteps through leaves. The silence crackled with another's presence.
"If you continue like that, my friend," Simon drawled, "you will be the one marrying my sister before the night is out, regardless of who else might claim her."
* * *
Suppressing an oath, Lachlann flipped back a corner of the cloak. "Simon," he murmured calmly, disguising his astonishment.
Eva's brother leaned easily against a tree that sprouted upright out of the steep hillside. He folded his arms and stared down at them. "Lachlann. Eva, come out, girl."
Eva sat up. "Simon, you cannot stay out here in the open. The king's men are searching for you."
"Looks like one of them found me," he said. "Lachlann, your friends went down the hill calling for you."
Lachlann stood and assisted Eva to her feet, then turned. "We must talk," he said.
"Not here. Follow me." Simon headed up the slope, with Eva and Lachlann close behind him.
Lachlann had climbed this way before, but not for years. Moonlight and the milky froth of the burn marked the way in the darkness as they climbed along a rocky gorge, moving carefully over the slick stones.
He knew exactly where they headed. Above the gorge and to the left of the waterfall, he remembered an excellent cave, large and dry, tucked in the rocky wall that soared above the hillside. Only the locals would know this place; rebels would be safe here.
Eva moved ahead with Simon, while Lachlann followed at a slower pace, encumbered by armor and more cautious by nature than the MacArthur siblings. His polished cuirass shone silvery, and he pulled the cloak around his shoulders to hide the glint.
At the peak of the slope, where the burn poured into the gorge, Eva and Simon crossed the stream, stepping from stone to stone, and walked toward the soaring black rock face.
The cave entrance was as he remembered, a narrow cleft hidden by scree and bracken, further disguised by a dark blanket slung on a rope. They entered a tunnel-like passageway that opened into a spacious natural chamber. Golden firelight flickered on rough walls, and familiar faces turned toward him.
Lachlann paused inside the opening. Parian and William came forward, grinning. He had not seen Margaret's twin brothers since they had been with him in France, and he returned their hearty embraces with a smile. Then he turned to see three young men, brown-haired, lean, handsome, and lightly bearded. He recognized Margaret's youngest brothers, Fergus, Andra, and Micheil, who stood with an older man he had never seen.
"You have grown, you rascals," he said, grinning as he grasped the boys' hands in turn. "Tall as me now, you are," he said to Andra, the youngest. "Still playing pranks?"
Andra laughed. "Whenever I can."
"Lachlann, this is our father's cousin, Iain Og MacArthur," Fergus said, indicating the older man beside him. Iain nodded his iron gray head in gruff greeting.
Simon gestured for Lachlann and Eva to follow him to the deepest part of the cave, while the others resumed their seats around a small campfire. Game roasted on a spit, and Fergus tested the meat with a short dagger. Lachlann noticed that the smoke spiraled upward and disappeared, drawn by a good draft.
In a shadowed corner, where the ceiling dipped down and the smoky air was fragrant with charred cooking, Eva and Simon took seats on a split log. Lachlann sat on the earthen floor next to Eva and propped a knee up, resting his back against the wall.
Simon leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and listened while Eva explained that Colin had returned with the deed to Innisfarna in his pocket, as they had all expected—and the offer of a pardon for the MacArthurs, including Donal, if they accepted exile.
"Soon you will be free, and Donal released," she said.
"Exile?" Simon asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Freedom for all of us? And at what price?"
"Eva's marriage," Lachlann said stiffly. "And her isle."
Simon shook his head. "We cannot do that."
"But they hunt for you even now," Eva said. "If you are caught this time, this will be your only chance. Colin is furious."
"That cattle raid was ill timed," Lachlann added.
"The cattle we borrowed will net us a nice profit," Simon said. "We will be able to pay you to smith weapons for us."
Lachlann frowned. "That will do you no good. And Colin is not as tolerant as Robson. I guarantee it."
"You will be free men soon—do not take such risks!" Eva pleaded.
"I dislike Colin's arrangements for us," her brother answered. "Donal would not like them either, if he were here."
"Simon, we do not have a choice," Eva said.
"We do," he insisted. "There must be some other way. Lachlann, we need weapons from you. We will be fighting our way out of this, I think."
"Simon, please," Eva said. "Colin has offered the means to save all of you. Listen to me." She grabbed his arm. "I will do whatever I must to keep you safe, do you not know that?"
"Just because you are older," he said, "you do not have to shepherd me still." He sounded weary but affectionate.
"Our father is gone—and Donal in prison, and all our people sent away from their homes. Simon, I cannot lose you too."
"We will think of some way to free you from this marriage," he said stubbornly.
"I thought there was a way," she said, looking at her brother with pain and earnestness in her eyes. "I hoped so. But now I see that it would save only me, and not you. I cannot ask that sacrifice from you."
"And I cannot ask you to sacrifice yourself for us," he said. "So we disagree once again."
Eva sighed and lowered her head, covering her brow with her hand for a moment. "Simon, I beg you. No more fighting, no more raids. Accept the king's pardon. Exile is often remanded. After a while we will petition again, and the king will let you come back to Scotland."
Simon narrowed his eyes, shook his head.
"I want you to live," Eva said in a raw whisper. "It does not matter to me where you are, so long as you are alive."
Lachlann frowned, watching her. Not for the first time, he admired her tenacity, her dedication, her fire. And he understood clearly then why she believed she must remain married to a man she loathed; she loved her brother and her kinsmen that much. When Eva loved someone, she gave her whole soul and self into the bargain. He closed his eyes, sighed.
Fergus came forward. "We could gather men and weapons, and win Eva's isle for our stronghold. Then we could bargain with the crown on our own, without Green Colin's interference."
Micheil joined his brother, the two young men standing tall and strong together, and within moments the others gathered with them. "We do not want Eva to give in to Colin," he said.
Iain Og stood. "We will fight. Eva should fight, too."
"If you will not make weapons for us, smith," Micheil said, "then make a sword for Eva. You are a MacKerron, after all. You have the knowledge of making a faery blade, and she needs one now, to do what she must do."
Eva looked at Lachlann. "Faery blade?"
"You know it is just a tale," he answered, frowning.
"So is Aeife's legend, but we would be foolish to ignore it," Fergus said. "Magic exists."
"It does, in some ways," Lachlann murmured, gazing steadily at Eva. "But it is ridiculous to ask me to smith a blade for her, magical or otherwise. It will solve nothing."
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 22
