Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Noah was agitated.
Having left his guest to rest and ensuring the maids had clear instructions to prepare her bath, he went down to the castle courtyard for some sparring practice to relieve some of the tension he was feeling.
He stripped off his léine as he walked through the long corridor and over the cobbled floor, circling his arms over his head to loosen them. He could feel the familiar prickling in his chest as he approached the dummy.
He had been practicing on the wooden dummy since he was a boy, and it was an old habit to return to.
His younger sister, who had lived away from him for much of his life, often teased him that he was more familiar with the dummy than he was with his own family. He usually told her that was because the dummy never answered back.
A guard approached with an array of weapons to choose from as his thoughts turned to Amelia. He hoped she was happy and thriving and that Laird Dougal was taking good care of her as his niece or nephew grew strong in her belly.
They seemed sickeningly happy, and he was pleased for her. She deserved some happiness after the ordeal she had been through.
He selected the broadsword and waved the guard off. The dummy had been placed in the center of the courtyard, and he did a few practice swings before he began hacking it to pieces.
When he was a lad, he had gone through a dummy a week, often slicing it in two with his enthusiasm, and he knew he was one of the best sword fighters in the Highlands.
The blade swings calmed him as he struck at the wood over and over again, hitting the same place with multiple strikes. He moved to the other side to give it the same treatment. Despite the physical activity, however, he still felt the same prickling unease in his chest.
“Watch yer left side, or he might lop off a limb,” came an amused voice from behind him.
Noah turned, a sheen of sweat already covering his torso. Callum, his man at arms, was standing behind him, leaning against the stone archway. His light brown hair was swept back from his face and soaking wet. He habitually dunked his head in the courtyard fountain before a fight.
Noah pointed at the spot beside the dummy as Callum approached with practiced ease. The guard returned holding the swords out for him. Callum took far less time to make his choice, selecting a slim dirk that instantly made Noah angry.
“I thought ye were goin’ to fight me,” he said.
“Aye. I dinnae need a sword to fight ye today; ye are swipin’ at this thing like a maiden.”
Noah, who was already in no mood for teasing, lunged at the man to take him by surprise. Callum stepped aside effortlessly, connecting their weapons in the air with a clash, wrong-footing him instantly.
Noah spun around as they sparred, striking and hitting the blades against one another repeatedly. Noah could tell Callum was getting the best of him because of his angry mood, and it only made things worse.
It took Callum disarming him and knocking him off his feet for good measure for Noah to see the error of his ways and calm down. He lay on the floor panting hot, steaming breath into the air and looking up at Callum with a scowl.
“What on earth has gotten into ye? I havenae won a fight that easily since we were eighteen.”
Callum offered his hand, and Noah pushed it aside, pulling himself to his feet.
“Nothin’,” he remarked flatly, “I’m goin’ into the forest.”
Callum put his hands on his hips as Noah gathered his léine and stalked off toward the vast woods on the horizon.
“Be sure to come back in a better temper!” Callum called after him.
Noah threw back a colorful curse at that and walked swiftly towards the dark trees and out of the castle gates.
He rubbed a hand over his chest, which was aching unpleasantly, and only began to breathe more easily as he went beneath the treeline and reached the calm sanctuary of the forest.
The sun was gleaming through the branches around him, birds tweeting overhead with a familiar melody. There was a silence and anonymity to the place which Noah welcomed.
The air beneath the branches was close, and he had experienced enough nettle stings in his life not to wish to have any more. He pulled on his léine, looking about, wary as ever that he might be set upon by his enemies.
He walked slowly through the trees quickly discovering that the location did not help rid his mind of the raven-haired woman in his castle. If anything, it made him think about her more. Every leaf, every twig underfoot reminded him of the panting, desperate breaths he had heard just before she had collided with him.
He felt off balance and uncertain, which was not like him. Noah was used to making decisions carefully and efficiently. He always made choices for the betterment of his people, but he hadn’t when it came to Keira. That he had done for himself.
“What have ye done with me sister?”
Noah spun around, astounded to see a young boy and girl only meters away from him. He had not even noticed them.
He had drawn his dirk on instinct and pointed it at the boy, who was watching it carefully. The defiance in his gaze reminded Noah of his new houseguest.
The boy advanced. He had a dirk of his own in his hands and raised it boldy into Noah’s face, the point hovering dangerously close to his chin.
Noah looked down at the lad. The knife was shaking slightly at the tip where he held it. His face was upturned, grim, and angry, but there was fear in his eyes, too.
Clever lad, Noah thought, I could kill him with me eyes closed.
Instead, Noah backed off a little, glancing behind the boy at the girl who was biting her nails, looking anxious. A donkey was grazing behind her, clearly having brought them here. The girl was staring about at the forest as though a bear might come out of the trees and eat her alive.
They were clearly twins, their faces markedly similar. Noah glanced between them briefly—the girl seemed far less confident than her brother.
“What have ye done with her?” the boy demanded again.
Noah sheathed his weapon, not wishing to risk injuring either of them but interested to see what the lad might do. He fixed him with a cold stare.
“Go on then,” he said evenly, watching the boy’s eyes widen a little as Noah remained perfectly still.
Instead of backing down, however, Noah was surprised—not to say astonished—when the boy lunged forward, nicking the tip of the knife against his shoulder and slicing a piece of flesh clean off. The little girl gasped in shock at the movement.
Noah smirked down at him, trying to hide how impressed he was at the boy’s bravery. But having drawn some blood, the lad appeared to be entirely ill-equipped to continue any kind of attack. Noah would wager his life that the lad had never held a dirk before.
“Yer grip is wrong,” he said, unsure why he was now choosing to educate someone who had just sliced a hole through his shirt. “Move yer palm.”
The boy stared at him in amazement as Noah moved his hand to correct the grip. He pushed his fingers closer together so he had more control and then stepped back. The boy’s eager gaze reminded him of his own enthusiasm when he was younger. He too had been desperate to learn to fight to protect those he loved.
“If ye want to inflict real damage, ye need to learn to hold a blade like a warrior, not a milkmaid,” Noah said carefully, hoping that with his newfound grip, the boy wouldn’t try to stab him again.
“Scott!”
They all turned at the voice from behind them, and Noah felt his heart beat a harsh rhythm in his chest as he saw Keira approaching them.
This was not the twig-ridden, mud-covered woman he had seen in the forest. Fresh from her bath, and in a borrowed burgundy dress that showed off her figure to perfection, she was a different woman from the one he had saved only hours before.
The bruise on her head was still a livid purple color, and her face was a little too pale, but she was the most stunning creature he had ever laid eyes on.
Noah shook himself ruefully. He was not seventeen anymore. He should not be reacting to a woman in such a way, and certainly not in front of her brother and sister.
“Is that any way to thank the Laird who saved me life?” Keira thundered, walking toward her brother and nudging him away so that there was space between his body and Noah’s.
Noah examined the wound in his shoulder—if it could be called as much. It was only a nick, but the knife had been plenty sharp. There was a persistent flow of blood running from it. He tried to stop it as he wadded up his léine and pushed it into the wound.
“Yer brother is here to take ye back, lass,” he said, “and I’ll be glad to see ye gone,” he lied.
She turned on him, about to reply when her eyes fell on the blooming stain on his shoulder. She hissed in a breath and put her hands on her hips, looking back at her brother with some irritation.
Noah could not blame her. Clearly, the lad got her into more trouble than he prevented.
“I’ll nae be leavin’ until I’ve tended to that,” she said, pointing a finger at the wound.
“Aye, lass, I’m sure I am at death’s door,” he replied sarcastically.
“Infection can set in from the smallest of wounds, Me laird; I thought ye would have kenned that from all the battles ye say ye have fought.”
Noah stared at her, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment as she reached forward, gripped his arm, and pulled his hand away from the wound with determination.
“Stop fussin’ with it, ye will only make it worse,” she muttered.
“Are ye always this demandin’?” he asked.
“Yes,” came the response from both her siblings, just as Keira said “Never!” rather emphatically.