Chapter 2
Beitris blew some stray locks of dark hair from her face agitated. A braid had never managed to contain her unruly mass of curls.
Her fingers were twitching. In the sky above birds were gliding by, their wings outstretched, unaware that she was watching. Her newly acquired bow rested against her back and she felt the urge to swing it around and fire an arrow, which rested in a quiver that hung off the side of her horse.
The bow was made of willow. She had hewn it and strung it herself. Aunt Nessa, the finest archer in the Highlands, taught her that the greatest archers needed to make their own bows, to pour their emotions into it so that it was a part of them. It helped make the aim true.
Beitris had soaked everything up. While they might not have shared a last name with her aunt, they had almost identical blue eyes. Beitris had always seen much more of herself in her aunt. They were both feisty, ferocious, and fierce.
Beitris had never wanted to be outdone by her older brothers, so she had been precocious, always eager to shed youth and throw herself into adulthood.
She lived in a time when heroes were made and legends were forged, and she did not want to miss out on account of her youth.
Finally she was able to return and join the ranks of the guards.
While her parents were wary, they were not in a position to refuse her wishes.
They also knew that it would not have done any good.
There were plenty of other armies to join, and they eventually decided it was better to keep her close rather than send her elsewhere.
She licked her lips in anticipation as she waved at the farmers and merchants. They cried out her name. One of the farmers tossed her an apple and she plucked it out of the air. The fruit was sweet and crunchy.
It was good to be home. And home was what they were all fighting for.
A shadow had fallen across the Highlands and Laird Warnock still lived, plotting evil. His schemes had been defeated so far, but until he was slain there would always be a taint upon the land, and nowhere was safe.
Villages had burned.
People of all ages had been slaughtered.
Everyone had a harrowing tale and there was nobody who had not been without loss.
The alliance was holding steady, but Beitris knew how precarious peace could be. It might only take one battle or one death to shift the tides, and everything would change.
She would not lose everything her parents had built, and it angered her that there was a man selfish enough to want to tear it all apart. Who was Warnock, and why should he get to ruin things for everyone else?
He should be dead by now, and Nessa had bemoaned that she hadn’t killed him when she had the opportunity. He was like a serpent, she said, always slithering away into a hole.
Well, if Beitris had him in her sights she would not allow him to survive. Not with her new bow.
She rode into the courtyard and left her horse at the stables, greeting the grooms and stablehands with a cheeky smile and a flourished curtsey.
“I’m sure ye hae all awaited my return,” Beitris said.
They chuckled. “Aye, as I recall we paid for yer drinks before yer left. I think ye owe us,” one of the grooms called out.
Beitris raised her hand. “Just let me hae a word with Da first. I need tae ken if the clan can afford such a debt. I hae seen how much ye drink,” she winked, and then placed her quiver over her shoulder and marched towards the training grounds.
Her parents could wait. She wanted to show off her pride and joy.
The guards were busy training. The air was thick with grunting and sweat and the sound of steel against steel. It was a cacophony and Beitris looked upon them with pride, knowing that this was her army, the one in which she would be riding into battle, using her arrows to defend and attack.
As she grew closer there was one warrior who caught her eye.
He moved with surprising speed, twisting between three attackers. He had such skill that he made it seem as though they were at a disadvantage, despite them possessing the greater numbers.
What also drew her attention—though she would never admit it—was that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His body was thick and muscular, glistening with sweat. As he turned all the hard angles were highlighted and it caused interest to spike within her.
There was a deep ache that she was beginning to become familiar with.
Now that she was a woman there were so many things she had to get used to. The attraction to men was one of them, and she knew her type. She was not one for any wilting flowers, no, she wanted a strong man, a warrior who was capable of fighting off an army with his bare hands.
Beitris sauntered forward and stood beside the captain. Donal’s nose was more crooked than she remembered.
“Looks as though the men are well trained as always.”
“Welcome back, my lady. Aye, I will nae let them slack,” he replied.
“I see ye hae welcomed new recruits. Who is that one?” she asked, gesturing with her bow to the mysterious, powerful storm of flesh and steel.
The shape of his biceps was apparent as he brought his sword to bear.
He turned and she allowed her gaze to drift down the bed of hair that rippled across his chest and abdomen.
He kicked out at one man, thrust his sword at another, and caught the third mid-strike, hauling the man over his back and slamming him to the ground.
Within a heartbeat three men had been defeated, and Beitris felt her heart flutter.
“We call him Grimhand. I hae named him as my second. He hae proven himself tae be a champion. I would nae be surprised if his presence hae tipped the war in our favor.”
Donal did not give respect easily, so Beitris arched her eyebrows.
The prowess of Grimhand must have been formidable.
“From where does he hail?”
Donal rolled his shoulders. “I dinnae ken, and he hae nae told me. But some men are born tae fight, and with his intensity I would nae be surprised if he were a poor lost soul from one of the villages that Warnock burned.”
Donal then raised his voice. “Hey, Grimhand! Over here!” he beckoned.
Grimhand turned slowly. He took heavy breaths. His cheeks were flushed. He had a brooding look and a strong jaw. His copper hair glinted in the sun, and even from this distance she noticed the intensity in his eyes.
A shiver went through her. She was quite certain he wasn’t like anyone she had ever met before.
He came closer, swaggering, his sword unsheathed. He looked like power and aggression incarnate. Heat flowed from him in waves, almost overwhelming her. The masculine aroma of his sweat filled the air and she inhaled it with every breath.
“Grimhand, this is Beitris Knox, youngest child of the Laird,” Donal said.
“But eldest daughter,” Beitris corrected him, then lifted her chin.
Grimhand sniffed and curtly bowed his head.
“It’s a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance. I hear ye hae won Donal’s respect. That is nae easily done. I’m sure ye will serve yer clan well. It will be an honor tae fight alongside ye,” she said, her gaze drifting along the contours of his body, following the thick veins and even thicker muscles.
“Archers dinnae fight. They hide,” he said in a surly tone, his lip curling, a derisive look in his eyes as he nodded at her bow.
Suddenly her attraction shifted. There was a prickling, defensive feeling and her grip tightened on her bow.
“What dae ye mean?”
“Ye use distance tae hide. The bow is a weapon for cowards. Archers are weak.”
The words were laced with bitterness and Beitris pressed her lips together. Heat rose to her cheeks and she felt anger erupt in the pit of her stomach.
“Ah, lad, I ken ye are prone tae speaking yer mind, but I think ye may want tae rephrase that,” Donal said, but Beitris was already fuming.
“I would love tae hear ye say that tae my Aunt Nessa. I’m sure ye hae heard of her, aye? She is one of the finest warriors the Highlands hae ever ken, and I shall be just like her. I would love tae see ye trying tae defeat her.”
“It would nae be a challenge. All I need tae dae is avoid yer arrows. Once I am close enough, yer bows would only drag ye down.”
As he said this he flicked his wrist and thrust his sword through her strung bow. He then wrenched his hand back and slid his sword against the wood. The force took her by surprise and it was enough to wrench the bow from her hand.
It fell to the ground, and her mouth gaped in shock.
“I made that bow with my own two hands!”
“Ye wasted yer time. The only fight that matters is the one where ye can look yer enemy in the eye.”
As he spoke he lifted his gaze. Beitris met it and she had no doubt that she was looking at her enemy.
Her cheeks flushed and she could not believe that she had been attracted to this man for even a moment. His exterior might have been handsome, but inside he was rotten to the core. Whatever lust she felt initially had quickly turned to hatred.
Scowling, she bent down and picked up her bow, flicking off the mud.
“What dae ye ken of combat anyway?” she muttered.
“More than ye, I assure ye,” he replied and shook his head as he turned away.
He got half a step before Beitris spoke again. Perhaps she should have let him leave, but she had never been any good at keeping her tongue stilled.
“Prove it.”
He turned slowly.
“Let’s all just calm down. My lady, hae ye seen yer parents yet? I’m sure they would welcome yer return,” Donal said with a pained look on his face.
“What?” Logan asked.
“Prove it. I dinnae need a bow,” she said, although it caused her a great deal of pain to relinquish her bow, thrusting it into Donal’s hand. In return, she demanded the captain’s sword. Donal tilted his head to the side.
“Ach, I dinnae think that’s a good idea. Yer Da—”
“I demand yer sword, Donal. I will show this Grimhand what it is like tae face a Knox in battle,” Beitris said through gritted teeth, holding out her hand without taking her gaze away from Logan.
“I welcome it,” Logan said.
Donal sighed as he placed the sword in Beitris’ hand. Her fingers curled around the hilt.
“First tae send their opponent tae the ground wins,” Donal said, stepping back.
“Agreed,” Beitris said.
Logan was silent. Beiris wasted no time before she charged like a ferocious boar.
A lesson she had learned a long time ago was that she had to make her strikes count as the enemy would likely overpower her.
The longer the battle went on, the more her chances of success dwindled.
She needed to strike hard, fast and show no mercy.
She lunged forward, her sword coming down in a narrow arc. All she wanted was to wipe the smirk from Logan’s face, to see him staring up at her, his arrogance swept away by the tide of her fury. He deserved to be on his knees and she was going to be the one to drive him there.
For a moment, just a moment, she believed she had him. It looked for all the world that he was turning his body away, cowering in fear. A smile crept upon her face as she thought about battering him to the ground when suddenly he turned and their swords met.
The impact sent reverberations thrumming up her arm.
She might as well have struck the walls of the formidable Keep.
The impact ran over her shoulders and back, sending her back a step, her heel slipping on the ground.
She gritted her teeth and steeled herself, but he was the quickest man she had ever seen.
There was no time to think or adjust before his body twisted again, his feet shifting, his blade flashing in the air like a bolt of lightning that was fizzing towards her.
She cried out and brought her sword around, trying even though she knew she wouldn’t be swift enough. The flat of his blade struck her on the arm. Beitris wanted to prove herself to be stronger than him, but she could not stop herself from gasping with pain.
He then lunged forward, putting one hand on her shoulder, his fingers pressed against her collarbone. He thrust his leg between hers, his knee and upper thigh pressing against her groin.
For a moment they were as close as if they were dancing.
For a moment they were as close as lovers.
The world shifted as he swept her leg away and pushed her back. The sky rolled above her and then she crashed against the ground. His weight was upon her. His hand holding her down.
She felt his strength, his power, and for a moment something fluttered through her body, something she would later convince herself had been anger, although it was something else entirely.
Logan curled his lip as he returned to his feet. Beitris remained on the ground for a moment longer, having to take the time for a recovering breath. There was a deep ache in the core of her body that went beyond pain, but it was most decidedly caused by him.
“Consider it proven,” Logan said, sheathing his sword.
“Ach, lass, let me help ye up,” Donal said, taking her hand.
Then, someone else came sauntering up. He had a singsong melody to his voice. Beitris was in the process of brushing the mud off.
“I apologize for my friend. He had never learned how tae treat a lady properly. I’m Brody,” he said, holding out a hand.
Beitris stared at it. Her cheeks were still burning. She snatched her bow from Donal.
“Get him out of my sight,” she hissed.
Donal put his hand on Logan’s shoulder and guided him away, speaking low enough that Beitris could not hear his words. She ignored Brody’s hand.
“I hope ye will nae hang him for that,” Brody said.
“I hae half a mind tae show him the power of an arrow,” Beitris said, her grip tightening around her bow. “Ye are his friend?”
“Aye, his only one, which I’m sure is nae difficult for ye tae believe. He hae never been inclined tae endear himself tae people.”
“Grim by name, grim by nature.”
“Something like that. But it’s the world that’s made him that way. We’re both orphans trying tae find our way in the world. All we want tae dae is fight against those who hae caused sae much pain. Join me for a drink, my lady. I will make up for Logan’s behavior,” Brody said.
Beitris stared at him, unconvinced by his cheery personality and the smile that was a little too eager.
“I shall pass. I am needed elsewhere.”
“I am at yer disposal should ye ever need me,” Brody cried, but Beitris wasn’t listening.
She looked across the training field at Grimhand—or Logan, who was back to sparring with other soldiers. Beitris then looked at her bow. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to shoot him, but it wouldn’t have been right.
Hopefully he would be sent away on a mission soon enough and she wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer.
It was just a shame he looked the way he did.
He was like a ripe, bright apple that one only discovered was rotten by biting into it, when the blackened flesh and maggots revealed themselves.