Chapter 6 #2
Eilidh watched Davina’s eyes flicker over her shoulder, and she knew that Arran would be looking back approvingly at his wife.
“Ye are right,” Eilidh agreed. “If any of us sees Gordon, we will—” She pulled back and threw her dirk at the target. She missed. By a wide margin.
“Eilidh!” Arran groaned. “Did I nae just say it? No talking and throwing at the same time! Stab, then throw.”
She shot a look at her brother-in-law over her shoulder.
It really wasn’t fair that every time one of her sisters married, Eilidh ended up with another elder brother.
Even though Arran hadn’t had any little sisters until he’d married Davina, he had proven staggeringly adept at fraternal exasperation.
“If I ever meet Gordon, I promise to stab before I gloat,” she promised, batting her lashes at him playfully.
“If ye ever meet Gordon, my silly wee sister, it will be because I—and James and Ewan and Graham—havenae done our parts. But it is still worth learning to fight. Every lass should ken how to defend herself, both in times of war and times of peace.”
The women found themselves unable to deny the wisdom of this point, and so they diligently returned to their practice.
“Mayhap this renewed alliance with the Gunns will be the thing to turn the tide against Gordon,” Eilidh commented as she massaged her aching wrist.
Mairi, proving that Arran had been right all along, tossed her knife expertly before tossing her braid and regarding Eilidh.
“Oh, I wouldnae put too much credence in the Gunns’ prowess,” she said archly.
“Most of the clan was cut down in skirmishes years ago, and fewer still made it through the rebellion. Their Keep is near a ruin and they’ve no income to replenish it.
” She stopped speaking and realized that both Davina and Eilidh were staring at her. “What?”
“How do ye ken all that?” Davina asked, sounding impressed.
“Oh.” Mairi giggled, looking faintly bashful. “I’ve always had a fancy for the history of the clans.”
She said it as though having all this knowledge at her fingertips wasn’t impressive in the least.
“Mairi Buchanan,” Eilidh said, shaking her head. “Ye are a constant marvel.”
Mairi grinned and acted as though this was merely a small thing, but Eilidh could see that she was pleased at the praise.
As the trio returned to their practice, Eilidh found her mind drifting to Ciaran so frequently that, when he appeared in the yard moments later, his gait far more natural and unburdened than it had been even a day before, she truly believed that she had summoned him with her thoughts.
His arrival cost her, however; while Davina’s aim was true on the next throw, Mairi’s was passable at best and Eilidh’s was downright hopeless. She ducked her head to hide her blush at the thought that such a formidable warrior had seen her fumble so badly.
But how could she help but be distracted by him?
The grin set of his mouth and the shadows in his gaze made more sense now that she knew of the troubles plaguing his clan.
How did he stand it? Eilidh worried about her people enough, and they were safely under Graham’s leadership once more.
She couldn’t imagine going years without knowing if her clan would survive the next year or the next decade.
“What do ye think, Gunn?” Arran’s voice rang out across the space, startling Eilidh from her reverie. “Any advice for our trainees here?”
Ciaran shrugged, but only with the shoulder that had suffered no injury.
“Who am I to lecture?” he asked. “I was recently defeated so soundly that it nearly cost me my life.”
Eilidh wanted to leap to Ciaran’s defense, but she forced herself to keep her tongue.
Arran, however, had no such qualms. He openly scoffed at Ciaran.
“That’s nae what your reputation suggests,” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eilidh saw Davina roll her eyes affectionately. Men really were so terribly susceptible to challenges to their pride.
“Ye are a legend, and ye dinnae become such without knowing your trade. False humility doesnae become ye.”
A muscle worked in Ciaran’s jaw, but he did ultimately succumb.
“Ye,” he said, stepping forward and pointing at Davina, “are doing just as ye should. No matter what taunts your husband may throw at me, I’ve no advice for ye but to continue practicing. Ye will get better and better with each hour ye put in.”
Davina smiled, clearly startled but still pleased by this praise.
Ciaran turned to Mairi next.
“Ye,” he said, “should give up on throwing blades altogether.”
Mairi’s face fell, and she stared at her target, clearly confused, given that she hit the target far more frequently than she missed it.
“Ye are fine at throwing blades,” Ciaran clarified.
“But ye could be far better than merely fine if ye took to the bow. Ye have the height for it—and few lasses do. It will give ye an even greater advantage than throwing a blade will do, especially if ye learn how to shoot well from atop your horse. A bow will let ye use what ye have—your strength, your steady core, your clear ability to follow a line of sight far. Find the best archer ye can and ask him to train ye.”
Mairi’s expression faded into something thoughtful, and she nodded absently. Eilidh could practically see her weighing which of the clan warriors should be considered the best archer to teach her.
“And ye.” Eilidh wasn’t sure whether she wanted to preen under Ciaran’s assessing gaze or wilt away from it. “Ye have agility, but ye don’t use it to your advantage. Ye throw from the shoulder, but ye need to twist your hips as well.”
He held his hands out in front of them and then twisted them as though he was guiding her hips through the motion. He was yards away from her, but she somehow managed to feel the ghost of his touch on her body anyway.
It was that ghost that made her snappish.
“I dinnae ken what ye are talking about,” she insisted, weighing a blade in her hand like her attention had already moved away from him. “Ye cannae have a sense of any such thing from a mere glance.”
“Och, aye.” Ciaran’s eyes were narrow, and irritation came off him in waves.
“I’m sure that my years surviving battles, assessing enemies at a glance, with my life at stake, gives me far less experience than…
” He made a production of glancing around.
“An afternoon with some knife tossing thrown in?”
“All right, there,” Arran said, though the censure in his tone was mild. “They’ve been trying.”
Ciaran’s eyes were locked on Eilidh’s. “Aye. And if she would use her talents to her advantage, that effort might actually amount to something.”
“This attitude must be why ye are known as a warrior but nae as a leader,” Eilidh said with poisonous sweetness.
Behind Eilidh, Mairi let out a low whistle that might have been impressed but also very well might have been alarmed at Eilidh’s attitude.
Ciaran’s jaw clenched in a way that, by now, Eilidh had seen enough to know meant that he was trying to hold back a much stronger reaction than what he displayed.
Something inside her thrummed in excitement over whatever he was going to say next.
She might not be an expert in weapons or battles, but she was rapidly becoming an expert in this particular fight.
Except, just before he released the retort that she could practically see flying to his lips, his eyes darted over her shoulder, and the words evaporated before they could take form.
“Just move your hips,” he said absently. “It will help.”
And then he brushed past her without another word, leaving her with a strange, unfulfilled sense that she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried.