“Me first,” Mark said, and flicked his wrist to draw a pattern in the air with his sword. Rhys didn’t have his own sword on him, so Dominic allowed Rhys to use his.
“It’s lighter than I’m used tae,” he said as he inspected the weapon and tested the weight of it. He strode in front of Mark and took a measure of the man. Mark was tall and strong compared to other boys his age, but he was like a child compared to Rhys. The competitive fire that was a natural part of every Frasier man flared inside him, but he had to remain composed. This wasn’t a duel where the goal was to crush the opponent. These were Caitlin’s brothers and it was an opportunity to bond with them.
He got into his stance and nodded at Mark, who came at him with far more fury than Rhys had prepared for. The blade whirled and slashed in the air. Rhys stepped back as he deflected the wild strikes and was concerned at the gleaming rage in Mark’s eyes.
“I’ve been impressed with ye sister,” Rhys said through clenched teeth as he dodged one blow and fought back with one of his own, meeting Mark’s sword with his own. The familiar tremble ran down his arm and he clenched his grip even more tightly on the sword. “I’m looking forward tae marrying her.”
This remark prompted another vicious response from Mark, who pummeled Rhys with his sword. Rhys’s defense held; he was far too good a swordsman to allow himself to be overwhelmed with such unfocused anger. But Mark kept coming and Rhys didn’t want to hold him at arm’s length for too long. At some point, he would have to fight back, but he would also have to rein himself in, as the last thing he wanted to do was cause these boys any harm.
“I take it ye are nae a fan of the marriage?” Rhys asked as he held his sword firmly and tested the strength of Mark. Their faces were inches apart and Rhys could feel the hot, fervent breath of the teenager.
“Ye are nae husband tae her. Ye are a Frasier, ye dinnae belong here!” Mark spat. He drew the sword back and then doubled over, lowering his center of gravity as he spun around and slashed the sword against Rhys’s back. Pain bloom as the blade struck the sinews of his broad back, and a cry of despair burst from his lips. It wasn’t enough to fell him, just a flesh wound, but they were only supposed to be sparring, not drawing blood.
Rhys turned to face Mark, who had a malevolent smirk on his face. He held his sword aloft as though he had just proven something, but he had only angered the beast. Rhys could feel the warm trickle of blood settle against his clothes and he made the pain a part of himself. He wasn’t about to let Mark enjoy these games any longer.
“I learned from my da,” Mark said. “Strength and size is nae everything.” His words had a boasting tone and he ran in again. This time Rhys watched him more closely and saw how his eyes darted to a certain spot. His body twisted. Rhys had hunted enough prey to know the movements of when they were going to strike, and he prepared himself. When Mark was near him Rhys moved with great agility and Mark thrust his sword against empty air. Rhys spun on his heels and brought the pommel of the sword down onto Mark’s back, sending the boy sprawling to the ground. He yelped in pain and the sword fell from his grip as he cradled the blistering pain that ran through his neck and the base of his skull. Rhys quickly kicked the sword away and then stood over Mark as the boy rolled onto his back. He looked up and saw the point of Rhys’s sword bearing down on him.
“Aye, they’re nae everything, but neither is aggression. Ye hae a lot tae learn,” Rhys said, scowling. Mark breathed heavily and snarled at Rhys, but didn’t make a move, for the sword was threatening. Rhys let him stew in his fear and anger for a few moments before he took the sword away and picked up Mark’s, now wielding both weapons.
“Ye first lesson is tae never let ye sword out of ye hand if ye can help it. As long as ye’re nae dead ye can fight, sae dinnae give intae pain. Make it a part of yerself. Let it fuel ye tae fight even harder.” He held the sword out to Mark, who took it begrudgingly. Dominic was in awe of Rhys’s show of dominance and easy dismissal of Mark.
“That was amazing!” he cried as he ran up. “What else can ye teach us?”
“I dinnae ken if I should,” Rhys said carefully. “I’m nae sure I’m wanted here.”
“Oh, dinnae worry about him. He’s just sad that Caitlin is gaeing away and he doesnae want tae admit it, sae he’s trying tae act like a man, but he haes nae idea how tae.” Dominic shot a look at Mark. “She’s never been happier.”
“Except when she found that family of hedgehogs!” Pip piped up. He took his sword and mimicked Rhys’s movements, poking it in Mark’s general direction. Mark was sitting on a stone bench, sullen and sulking. He waved a hand in Pip’s general direction as though he was swatting away a fly. Rhys nodded in understanding and tried to give the boy the benefit of the doubt, for he remembered what it was like to be that age himself.
“Can ye teach me how tae beat him? I’ve never done anything like that,” Dominic said.
“I can give ye a few tips, but if ye want tae beat him ye are gaeing tae hae tae practice like
