“They look… amazing. I saw Ronan with a bow.”
“No one can beat him at archery. He’s almost a legend, like our Faelan,” she added. “Do you want some breakfast? We eat late when they’re practicing.”
“Maybe in a bit. I think I’ll wander outside.”
Coira smiled. “It is an impressive display. All those braw lads. Oh, I remember when Sean was young.” She patted her heart and sighed. “My, my.”
Bree laughed with her and walked outside. The sounds grew louder and the testosterone thicker as she approached the field. Sorcha wasn’t there. Faelan must have worn her out. Bree paused to watch Jamie throw Brodie onto his back, relieved to see he wore underwear beneath his kilt. “That’ll teach you to fight wearing a skirt,” Jamie teased. Brodie shot up and grabbed Jamie around the knees, and they both went down.
Faelan was still in the same spot, sparring now with Cody, who, like Jamie, wore jeans. The men circled each other like big cats, swords extended, movements controlled, precise. Metal clashed as the blades met, muscles shifting with each clang. Then, Faelan whirled and lunged, knocking Cody’s sword from his hand.
“The Mighty Faelan lives,” Cody said, retrieving his sword.
Faelan grinned and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm.
Just a show of teeth, and Bree’s knees turned to water. She looked away before she forgot how angry she was.
At the back of the field, Tomas was fighting hand-to-hand with Anna. She flipped him over her head, landed behind him, and kicked out, catching him in the back of the knees. Bree grinned and wandered over to a table holding an assortment of weapons; knives, daggers, the bow Ronan had used, and a wicked-looking crossbow. A target was set up against several bales of hay.
She idly picked up a dagger, testing it in her hand. It felt like a crowbar, not an extension of her arm. She made sure no one was watching, drew back her arm, and let the dagger fly. It sailed over the target, and she heard a curse.
Ronan stepped out, chest glistening above his kilt, hair damp with sweat. He held the dagger in his hand. His bandage was gone and the gash was almost healed. “If you need more practice bandaging wounds, just ask, darlin’. In fact, if you feel the need to practice anything at all…”
“Sorry about the dagger.”
“You’re holding it wrong.” Ronan moved behind her and placed the dagger in her hand.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Please,” he whispered. “I’m trying to look busy. I had only two hours’ sleep. Niall’s killing me.” He put one hand on hers, pulling it back, slow and smooth. The heat from his body seeped through her, though the morning was cool. “Now, release, with your wrist like this.” He demonstrated with his left hand. They practiced the move a few more times, Bree doing exactly as he said. As she released the dagger, she caught sight of Faelan coming toward them, face set like one of Druan’s gargoyles. The dagger flew over the target a second time.
Niall stepped from behind it. “You throw like a lass.” He turned the dagger sideways, tossing it to Ronan. “You hiding from me?” Niall asked, folding thick arms over his chest. His legs looked like tree trunks sticking out of his kilt. He had to be over six and a half feet tall, the only warrior she’d seen with a hairy chest.
“No.” Ronan gave Bree a warning nudge.
“Sorry,” Bree said. “I threw the dagger. Ronan’s trying to show me how to do it, but it’s not working like it did before.” She frowned and looked at her hand. “When I killed that halfling, it felt different, like the dagger was part of my arm.”
“You killed a halfling?” Ronan said.
“Faelan was fighting off a bunch of them after rescuing me. They had him trapped. I knew he was going to die, and I had his dagger.” She shuddered, thinking how close the blade had come to his head. “I threw it at the one holding him. Hit him smack in the chest, and poof, he was gone.”
Both warriors went slack-jawed. “The halfling disappeared?” Ronan said.
“Impossible,” Niall muttered.
“It is?”
Ronan shook his head. “You said you saw the light from Faelan’s talisman, but I didn’t know—”
“She watched an engaged talisman?” Niall put his hand over his massive chest, his expression wavering between horror and shock.
Faelan approached. “I need to talk to Bree,” he said, addressing Ronan and Niall.
Still looking dazed, Ronan raised a questioning brow at her. When she nodded, he nudged Niall, and they walked away.
“How the hell could she…” Niall’s words faded as they moved toward the fence. She could see their animated gestures and puzzled stares and knew they were talking about her.
“We need to talk,” Faelan said, his voice expressionless.
She stared at the trickle of sweat running like a lazy river between his battle marks. She wished he’d worn a shirt with his kilt. She wanted to tell him what she’d discovered in the drawings, but she was too angry. “I don’t,” she said and turned away. Ronan and Niall pretended to study the warriors still sparring on the field.
Faelan moved in front of her, gripping her arm, his features like his voice, recognizable but fake, as if he wore a mask of himself. “I shouldn’t have jumped you like I did.”
“Are you referring to last night or the night before?”
“Both.”
