Lucan stopped next to a tent, snatching a piece of fabric off a rope hung for clothing. “Here.” He draped the fabric over her head, his fingers unusually clumsy as he tried to tie it beneath Briana’s chin.
Had her eyes always been so impossibly blue? The bottomless cobalt shade almost glowed around the edges.
A faint smile teased the corners of her mouth, and he hurried to finish the knot.
“There. To avoid being noticed by your family.” He smoothed the few loose strands away from her face, his fingers lingering far too long against her skin.
Briana Callaghan.
He wouldn’t have thought he’d remember her face, but the moment she’d tipped her face up in the moonlight, he’d felt the recognition like the hilt of a sword to the gut.
“Lucan?”
Letting his hand drop back to his side—a much safer place for it should any of her brothers spot them—and met her gaze.
“Where should we go?” The impish grin he remembered had blossomed into a stunning smile. No wonder her brothers were so protective.
Waiting, she cocked her head, and he remembered she’d asked him something. He’d blame the ale except he’d hardly had any all night. There might be a festival happening around them, but Arthur never let an opportunity pass to strategize with his men.
That left the woman herself responsible for the fact he couldn’t keep his thoughts from bumbling around in his head like one of Merlin’s sprites.
Her eyes narrowed a fraction at the corners. “Are you teasing me? Did my brothers put you up to this?”
“No.” He just hadn’t come up with a reasonable answer to her earlier question. The overwhelming urge to steal her away for a while longer where he alone could enjoy her company left him in unfamiliar territory.
Guilt snaked through him, a reminder of what was expected of him—what had always been expected of him.
“We’ll go anywhere you’d like.” Lucan pulled his shirt on, then reached for her hand again, unable to help himself. A dangerous action—one that would have his friends wanting to claw him apart. Though he was closest to the youngest Callaghan brother, he knew full well Cale and Tristan would be equally unimpressed with the direction of his thoughts.
But still he didn’t let go.
The crowd gradually thickened as they wove around tents to join the fun. Someone thrust a mug of ale into his hand, and then Briana’s. He watched her lift the glass to her lips and take a long drink without making a face.
Around them people sang and laughed, spinning exaggerated tales of Arthur in battle. Listening to them, a stranger would be convinced the half-god king was nearly ten feet tall and Excalibur forever stained red with the blood of his enemies. Few tales involved Arthur’s diplomatic strides to keep peace in Avalon.
They lingered through numerous accounts, each one more violent and graphic than the one before, Briana’s fingers alternately tightening around his as the storytellers cast their spells, drawing her in. Lucan contented himself with watching the pleasure of the experience light up her face, though she’d probably heard the same stories hundreds of times before.
Something else drew her attention, and she tugged him after her. Ahead of them, the crowd broke apart, surging toward them. Briana staggered backward, knocking into him. He caught her waist, her body leaning into his chest.
She laughed at the crowd and smiled at him over her shoulder.
Hypnotic. The effect she had on him—each glance more piercing, each touch more penetrating—confused as much as it enthralled him.
If she noticed he held onto her longer than necessary, she gave no indication, plunging back into the boisterous crowd and dragging him along with her. She changed direction mid-stride, leading him toward those gathered around two men in the midst of fighting one another.
Arthur wouldn’t be happy, Lucan thought, then recognized the two men battling with wooden swords. He watched Briana from the corner of his eyes, noting the second she realized who they were.
“Arthur?” she whispered under her breath, eyes wide.
Nodding, he maneuvered her closer.
Dirt-covered and grinning like the troublemaker he’d been in his past, Arthur kept his guard up, his movements slower, but more precise than the man opposite him. Constantine’s expression was far more serious, proving his reputation for smiling about as often as he lost a fight.
Their swords clashed as the two men grappled for the advantage, dodging blows and knowing when to get out of each other’s way. The size of their mock arena widened, more people venturing close to watch the match.
Arthur blocked a low strike, spinning in preparation of Constantine’s counter-move. One step ahead, the king knocked his heir backward. A knowing slash of lips broke the stoic mold on Constantine’s face.
Few men had been in a position to accept the responsibility of wielding Excalibur should anything happen to Arthur, and on more than one occasion Constantine had proven the most suited for the role. Had Arthur gotten around to marrying, as his people routinely encouraged, a blood-bound heir wouldn’t have been necessary.
Constantine lunged forward, nailing Arthur in the side. The momentum knocked Arthur off his feet.
The cheering crowd went silent.
“Will he be punished?”
Arthur laughed before Lucan had time to answer Briana’s question. Their king held up a hand, gripping Constantine’s forearm as the knight helped him to his feet. Those gathered surrounded the men, many talking at once.
Briana turned away, her gaze wistful.
“Your brothers are right, you know. The Guard is no place—”
“For a female,” she finished, not sounding convinced. “Women are just as capable.”
He rounded the closest tent, looking to make sure she followed before leaving his own sword and grabbing two wooden ones from the pile on the ground. When they were closer to the forest, he tossed one of the training weapons to her.
She surprised him by catching it, though her hand clenched uncertainly around the hilt.
He gestured to the tip of the sword. “You want to try to hit me with the pointy end.”
And just that quickly her mood shifted, challenge brightening her eyes. “I appreciate the clarification.”
Lucan circled her. “Being part of the Guard is more than just being capable. Your instinct needs to be honed as sharply as the blade on a real sword. You must be able to read your opponent’s eyes.”
He struck, but she blocked him, fumbling her sword in the process. By the time she recovered, he’d circled behind her.
“And you never want them to get too close.”
She spun around, her sword coming up in time to brush his throat. “Perhaps you should keep your distance then.”
How was it possible to be so impressed and aroused at the same time? With every swing of her weapon, she grinned wider, her steps increasingly bolder. While she failed to get so close again, she was surprisingly adept at blocking many of his attempts to knock the weapon out of her hand.
When he finally succeeded, between bouts of laughter that had drawn a small crowd of their own, she dove for the lost blade, reclaiming it with her wrong hand. Intent on taking advantage, he moved in to relieve her of the weapon entirely.
With a growl that was dangerously animal, she blocked him again, much too efficiently.
“Cian’s trained you to use a sword with both hands.”
She offered a secretive smile, her fingers flexing comfortably around the grip. “What are my eyes telling you now?”
“That you may be in over your head, kitten.”
Laughing, she went on the offensive, giving him more than enough time to note a weak spot he could exploit. He slashed up and across with his blade. Briana flinched under the force of the strike, but kept hold of her
