Chapter Forty-Four
“K eep your head up. And your blade. I could ha’ killed ye then.”
Liadan jerked the blade of Ardahl’s sword higher. Sweat ran down between her shoulder blades and stung her eyes. She smarted in other places also, where Ardahl had given her gentle swats from his sword. Conall’s sword. Each had been accompanied by the words I could ha’ killed ye then.
Her first training ever and she’d have been dead half a score times already.
Ardahl’s sword seemed much heavier than when she’d used it before. Of course, she’d had terror on her side then. And a surge of determination.
Now she faced the man she adored, him circling in a half crouch, his hazel eyes bright on her face.
Even she—a stranger to such skills—could tell why he was such a good warrior. He reacted with uncanny swiftness, his movements like controlled lightning. She had less than a chance of getting any blow in upon him.
He also possessed a casual strength honed, aye, by years of training, that she doubted he even applied consciously. It just came to him without thought.
She, however, had to think about every move. Worst of all, they’d acquired an audience.
After supper, when the light began to soften, they’d gone off beyond the huts to the open space where the trees began. No one there at all, and the guards at a goodly distance. Now they stood surrounded by a curious crowd of folks who had drifted up and stayed to stare. Mostly women. A few members of the guard who’d moved in closer to watch.
Enough to make Liadan’s humiliation complete.
She flattened her lips as Ardahl tapped her on the left shoulder with Conall’s blade. Light as the blow was, it hurt. She would likely have a bruise there.
Bruises everywhere.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her. “I do no’ wish to hurt ye, Liadan. But training does hurt.”
It did. It did .
They circled. One of the first things he’d told her: keep moving. It made a more difficult target. The second thing: Whatever ye do, never let the enemy disarm ye. Disarmed, ye are likely finished.
Since the beginning he’d sought to do just that—disarm her. Taps with Conall’s blade upon his. Swoops and clangs, harder. So far she’d managed to hold on, though the blade felt progressively heavier and heavier.
“What are ye doing?”
The bellow halted both of them. Dornach came striding up, an incredulous look on his face. Gratefully, Liadan let her blade sink to the turf.
Dornach swept Liadan with one disbelieving glance before focusing on Ardahl. “What is this, then?”
Ardahl flung his braided hair behind him. Another lesson—Liadan should have braided her own hair as well as his. It kept getting in her eyes.
Next time.
And aye, though she hurt, there would be a next time.
She stepped up to face Dornach. “I wanted to learn how to fight. I asked Ardahl to show me.”
Dornach turned on her. He sought visibly for words to say. “Ye? Ye’re naught but a slip o’ a thing.”
“My brother was a fine warrior, aye? And my father. Generations back. Why should I no’ fight?”
Instead of answering, Dornach eyed the weapon in her hands. “Ardahl, is that no’ your sword?”
“It used to be,” Ardahl replied somberly, “before I took up another. Now ’tis hers.”
Dornach gave him a long look, and Liadan wondered what he saw. “And d’ye expect her to face an enemy?”
“Enemies will come,” Ardahl told him. “She will face them one way or t’other, with or without a sword in her hands.
“Madness,” Dornach breathed.
The crowd of onlookers had stilled. Now one woman, a bit older than Liadan and with a child at her side, called out, “Aye, Master Dornach—and what are we women to do when an enemy appears at the door? How to defend our wee ones? I would fight also if I had a sword.”
Murmurs from other women supported her words.
Dornach shook his head. “Do your men no’ step out to defend ye? ’Tis the way o’ it!”
“’Tis the way it used to be, aye,” Liadan heard herself say. “Now we are here and vulnerable while our men are away. The fight comes to us.”
Dornach’s hard expression softened just a mite. “I understand these are difficult times. But we canna have this sort o’ thing. Ardahl, ye will cease wi’ this nonsense at once.” He reached out for Ardahl’s sword. “And I will tak’ this for safekeeping. Before,” he added deliberately, “someone loses her head.”
Liadan snatched the sword away. “Nay.”
Dornach’s dark eyes narrowed. “What did ye say to me, woman?”
“’Tis no’ yours to take. It was Ardahl’s. It is now mine.”
Dornach looked taken aback. He actually stumbled a step away from her.
“Aye,” called another of the women, “’tis hers. Are we now to lose our possessions as well as our lives?”
Still another, older woman: “Will ye, great war chief, also come to our doors and steal our cots and cook pots?”
“To be sure, nay!” Dornach bellowed. “Those are things ye are meant to have.”
“And who can say,” demanded an aged man in the crowd, “what a woman is meant to have? When I leave my daughter in order to take my place at guard, I do no’ like thinking on her being defenseless.”
“No’ defenseless! We are her defense. Ye and me.”
Everyone there stared at Dornach. The number of new graves attested to the success of that argument. The number of hearts broken.
“Look,” he said, “’tis this way. Wha’ if I leave Mistress Liadan that fine sword and she tries to use it during an attack? Wha’ if she fails? Her opponent will take the weapon from her. Then Dacha will ha’ a fine sword to use against us.”
“Or,” another aged woman proposed, “she may learn to defend hersel’ and kill one or two o’ the invading bastards.”
Dornach shook his head. “I will ha’ to speak wi’ Chief Fearghal about it. Meanwhile, Mistress Liadan, give me the sword.”
“I will not.”
“Then gi’ it to Master Ardahl. ’Twas first his.”
“It was. Mine now.”
Clearly frustrated, Dornach turned on Ardahl. “Wha’ kind o’ fool gives a sword to a woman?”
“Mayhap one,” said a younger man, a member of the guard, “who hopes she will survive.”
Dornach tossed his hands in the air. “We will see about this.”
He marched off. Everyone there eyed one another.
The guard called, “I am surprised, Ardahl, he did no’ order ye off to your post.”
Ardahl said, “I expect he did no’ think of it. Liadan”—he eyed her—“d’ye want to carry on while we ha’ the time?”
Did she want more bruises? Further embarrassment?
If anyone could teach her, it was this man.
“Aye.” She lifted her chin and the sword. “Let us carry on.”
Murmurs of approval sounded all around. Surprisingly, their audience moved off.
“There now.” Ardahl’s hazel eyes met Liadan’s. “First hurdle crossed. There will be others. Come.”
She set herself for endurance.
*
Ardahl had no doubt that Dornach had gone straight to the chief with his complaint, and after he’d sent home a visibly wilting Liadan—with the sword—he awaited chastisement. He waited while he paced the boundary of the settlement, through the night, but not so much as a stray fox disturbed him.
Not till morning when he headed home beneath the first threads of morning light did a lad run up to him.
“Chief Fearghal wishes to see ye.”
His stomach tightened. He did not want to fall out with Fearghal, one of the few men who approved of him. He’d already stood in opposition with the other man who approved of him—Dornach—over the matter.
“Aye, so,” he told the lad, and redirected his steps.
The chief and his family had moved into what had been the warriors’ meeting hall, after the great hall was burned. In the way of such things, the warriors still congregated there, hanging about the door of the place.
They stared when Ardahl came up, and stared when the chief’s wife invited him in.
The chief’s wife did not look happy. Visibly with child, she carried an expression that denoted strain, as if she had not slept.
The chief had two children, both young, and the fireside proved chaotic. Fearghal sat there trying to eat his breakfast.
He cast a look at Ardahl and waved a hand at one of the unoccupied rugs. “Sit down. Will ye ha’ breakfast?”
“Nay, thank ye.” Ardahl wanted to go home. To spend those precious few moments with Liadan outside the hut while he washed himself. To let her say the things she could not, with her eyes.
He sat, and Fearghal eyed him. “All quiet last night?”
“Aye, chief. A bit too quiet, if ye know what I mean.”
“I do. There is a quiet that feels like eyes in the dark, watching.”
“Just so.”
“Dornach has been to me. Complaining about ye drilling the women.”
“I ha’ no’ been drilling the women. Naught but trying to teach a single lass to protect herself while holding a sword. My foster sister,” he added deliberately.
The chief’s wife stopped bustling around the fire and directed a sidelong look at Ardahl.
“That is no’ the way Dornach tells it. He declares that furnishing our women wi’ weapons is admitting we cannot defend them.”
“Forgive me, and meaning no disrespect, but Master Dornach is wrong.”
Both Fearghal’s eyebrows flew up.
“The lass is frightened. She fought off some of Brihan’s men when they came—when we were no’ here to defend the settlement—and lost her mam anyway. I seek only to reassure her, at her own request.”
“And is placing a great sword in her hands reassurance?”
“Aye.” It was the chief’s wife who replied. “It may well be.”
Both men stared at her where she stood by the fire.
“Do ye think I ha’ not wished for a weapon, Fearghal? A hundred times I ha’ while ye were away. Ha’ I not armed mysel’ with a boning knife? ’Tis no’ a welcome feeling, being helpless.”
A curious look crossed Fearghal’s face. “Are we to arm our women, then?”
She put a fist on her hip. “Would ye rather arm us or come back from some battle to find us dead?”
“Bridie,” he whispered.
His wife turned to Ardahl. “I think ye do well, training this lass, if she wants it. Were I no’ wi’ child, I would ask ye to train me also.”
Ardahl said honestly, “I canna turn her into a warrior. But I may be able to still some o’ her fears.”
She nodded and glanced at her children. “Is a woman who can bear the pain o’ childbirth so weak she canna take up a sword?”
Fearghal exchanged a speaking look with Ardahl before saying, “No one would ever call our women weak.”
“Well then! Send the young man back about his business.” She gestured at Ardahl. “And let him get some sleep.”
Ardahl got to his feet. “Have I your leave, my chief, to continue wi’ some training?”
“Aye,” said Bridie.
“Aye,” Fearghal echoed her. “Some. But use your head now. Just a few pointers, mind.”
“Aye, chief.” Ardahl smiled to himself as he stepped back out into the sunshine, but not so Fearghal could see.