Chapter 22 #2
Finn’s grin widened. “Ah, there it is. That twitch. I’ve seen it before, cousin.”
“She’s just… a guest,” Rhys said, deadpan. Making sure to train his emotions where Amara was concerned. There was no reason for him to be possessive of her or anticipate her decision.
“Oh aye, I kiss all me guests.”
Rhys stalked forward, planting himself in the center of the ring. “If yer jaw ends up sorer than yer ribs, it’ll be from yer own doin’.”
Finn lifted his practice blade. “Ye’ll have to catch me first.”
They faced off in the center of the yard, staffs in hand.
The lads had gathered around the ring’s edge, eager for a spectacle. William leaned lazily against a post, arms folded, grinning like a man who had placed a hefty bet and was certain of his winnings.
The first pass was playful. Finn danced back from Rhys’s strikes, testing his footing, shoulders still a bit stiff but clearly improved. They circled each other like hounds, faint smiles on both faces, the watching recruits forming a quiet semicircle around the ring.
“You sure ye daenae want a cushion or a priest?” Rhys asked, circling slowly.
Finn spun the staff once and dropped into as low of a crouch that he could get into, given his injuries. “Save yer concern, cousin. And do try nae to open the rest of me stitches or Mabel will have yer arse.”
Rhys lunged first. A quick jab, testing.
Finn parried easily. “Still predictable.”
“And ye still talk too much.”
They fell into rhythm fast. Rhys struck high. Finn ducked and swept low. Their staffs cracked against each other like drumbeats, the air between them sharp with movement.
Rhys had to admit that for someone who had nearly died a week ago, Finn held his own.
They moved through the ring like they'd done a hundred times in their youth. Finn was quick and clever, always more agile than strong. Rhys had the power, the leverage, and more than a little stubbornness in his bones.
Their staffs locked together mid-swing, wood grinding wood.
Then Finn sidestepped out of the lock and lunged.
Finn grinned, panting slightly. His voice steeping lower. Quiet, but still biting. “So… when do ye plan to tell me how long exactly ye’ve been warmin’ the Murdoch girl’s bed?”
Rhys shoved him back with a grunt. “I havenae.”
“Och, come now, Rhys. Why lie to me?”
“Careful.”
Finn’s laugh was breathless and bright. “It’s nearly plain as day. Ye walk around like a man possessed. If I’d kent takin’ a hostage could soften yer face like that, I’d have gifted ye one years ago.”
Rhys swung harder. Finn blocked, barely, and the impact rattled his stance.
“She’s nae a hostage,” Rhys growled.
Finn’s brows shot up. “Nay? Then what exactly is she? A guest ye keep locked up and flushed pink?”
Rhys struck low, then turned the staff and caught Finn in the ribs.
The crowd let out a collective “oof.”
Finn stumbled but caught himself, smirking even through the grimace. “Touched a nerve, did I?”
With a pivot and a sharp jab of the foot, he swept Finn’s legs out from under him and caught his cousin’s collar mid-fall to soften the blow. Still, Finn landed on his back with a winded groan.
Cheers broke out. William laughed outright.
Finn lay there for a beat, chest heaving. Then he let his head fall back with a groan. “God above, cousin. Was all that truly necessary? I mean… I’m still injured and ye made it seem like ye tried.”
Rhys shrugged, still standing over him. “Had to make it look like a challenge. Wouldnae want the lads thinkin’ ye’ve never beat me before.”
Finn sighed dramatically. “That’s rich. I’ve come close.”
“Aye. Close only counts with arrows and bad poetry.”
He winced as Rhys offered him a hand to help him back up to standing.
His cousin didn’t take it right away.
Rhys frowned. “What is it?”
Finn shook his head, jaw clenched. “Just feelin’ it. That’s all.”
Rhys crouched, brows drawn. “Did I catch ye wrong?”
Finn looked up, face caught between pride and pain. “Ye caught me fine. I’m just nae all the way back yet.”
Rhys hesitated, then held out his hand again.
Finn took it.
As Rhys hauled him upright, the grin returned to his cousin’s face. “Still smug, though.”
“Always,” Rhys muttered.
As he turned away, Rhys caught a flicker of something across Finn’s face.
Tension. And not the playful sort.
Concern flickered through him, and Rhys took a step back toward the ring. “Finn? Are ye alright? Truly? Did I hurt ye?”
Finn blinked, then gave a lopsided grin. “I’m fine, Rhys. Nae made of glass. Just nae fully mended.”
Rhys frowned. “If I overdid it…”
“Ye dinnae.” Finn patted his chest, then coughed. “Well, ye did. But only a wee bit. I’ll survive. Again.”
Rhys’s grip on his staff tightened slightly and stepped back. He hated that flicker. Hated that Finn had been close to death again and somehow kept joking through it.
“Ye’re daft,” Rhys muttered, walking toward the edge of the ring.
Finn followed, slower now. “And ye care more than ye let on. But daenae fash yerself. I’ll keep yer secret.”
Rhys didn’t respond.
He didn’t have to.
As they split off toward separate corners of the yard, he watched as Finn limped off toward the water barrel.
Not just for the bruises, but for whatever he wasn’t telling him.
There was more to his cousin’s escape.
And Rhys would get it out of him.
Eventually.
Sweat clung to his back and his knuckles were bruised from a dozen strikes that hadn’t needed to land as hard as they did.
He hadn’t meant to go at Finn so fiercely, but the truth was, he’d needed to hit something.
The crowd had started to thin, lads returning to drills and chores. William leaned against the gate, idly twirling a staff between his fingers like he hadn’t just watched Rhys put his own cousin into the dirt.
“Feel better?” he asked dryly.
Rhys gave him a look. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
“He’s also half-healed and still walked out of there smirkin’.”
Rhys grunted, wiping his brow. “Reckon I’ll find out what he’s hiding eventually, Billy.”
William shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe he just wants to let it lie.”
“Then he’s the only Adams who ever did.”
William pushed off the gate. “The lass is waitin’. And the wee one’s already tryin’ to saddle her own damn pony.”
Rhys glanced toward the courtyard, where the horses were being brought around. He saw a flash of Daisy’s auburn braid first, then the soft green of Amara’s cloak, and his mouth curled in the smallest smile.
Something tightened in his chest.
William caught the look but said nothing. He just clapped Rhys on the shoulder and walked off.
“Try nae to terrify her off, aye?” he called over his shoulder.
Rhys shook his head and crossed the yard, every step dragging him closer to the very thing he couldn’t stop wanting.
Be on me best behavior.