Chapter 3
It was another day.
Logan had spent the night watching the Keep carefully.
He noted the movements of the servants, the guards, and even the rats. Now that he was so close it was hard to resist the temptation of storming into Knox’s chambers and plunging a sword through his heart. Abigail deserved more than that.
Logan strode across the training field. He was the first person to set his feet upon the grass and began by practicing his movements. As he did so, he thought about the Knox lass.
The first moment he laid his eyes on her he had been struck by her wild beauty. Thick curls rolled around her face. Freckles dotted her nose. Her blue eyes were bright and fierce, her skin pale, but she was a Knox and her name alone made her ugly to him.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Other guards arrived and stared at him. He beckoned to them, but they all looked away, none of them daring to begin their days with a drill from Logan. Brody appeared shortly afterwards and spent some time with the other guards before sauntering to Logan.
“We are nae here tae make friends,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps that’s true for ye, but friends are better tae hae than enemies. Friends offer help, after all, but since ye seem determined tae intimidate everyone I suppose I’ll hae tae duel with ye,” Brody said, bringing his sword to bear.
Logan mirrored the movement and the two men began training.
“Ye ken, I think ye made a mistake with the Knox lass,” Brody said.
Logan furrowed his brow. Irritation flashed through his mind.
“What dae ye mean?”
“Ye should try tae befriend her. Get in with her and ye will hae a clear path tae her Da,” Brody replied.
It was the kind of plan that Logan wouldn’t have considered. His strength had never been in seeing the ways people could act as stepping stones. It was one of the reasons why Brody had been such a valuable friend. However, the thought was unpalatable to him.
“Befriend her? She is a fool. She thinks she kens war and pain, but how can she?”
He glanced up at the Keep, thinking about how Beitris must have spent her life in safety, in luxury, with a huge family around her. He just about caught Brody’s darting sword out of the corner of his vision before he swept it away.
Brody laughed. “Almost hae ye there,” he taunted.
Logan snarled.
“Perhaps ye are distracted. Hae yer attention been swayed by the daughter of yer enemy?” Brody asked, the two men far enough away from the others that their voices would not carry.
“She is nae merely the daughter of my enemy. Every Knox is my enemy. There is naething about her that could sway me.”
Their swords met and a loud clang rang out. Brody sucked in his breath.
“I dinnae ken about that. She is as curvy as her bow, and the way she fought… Aye, she’s a wild one,” he arched an eyebrow.
Logan shook his head. “We need tae be focused. She is naething but a lass who thinks she can play at war. We live it.”
“Ye dinnae need tae remind me. Ah! Speak of the lass,” Brody said, jerking his head to the far side of the training field.
They both stopped moving for a moment. Logan’s sword rested by his side as he stared at Beitris’s approach.
Her hair came past her shoulders, while her dress was caught by the morning breeze.
When she walked her hips swayed in a hypnotic manner, and Logan had to shake himself to prevent himself from staring.
Her bow was in one hand, and she caught the attention of all the other guards.
“I bet everyone on this training field wants tae bed her. I wonder who she’ll marry. Probably some Laird who hae never polished his own sword. A lass like that is nae made for the likes of us, more’s the pity,” Brody said.
“Soon enough marriage will be the last thing on her mind. She will be grieving her father,” Logan said.
They resumed their duel.
Logan tried to put Beitris out of his mind, but for some reason his attention kept drifting towards her. Despite wanting to purge it all from his mind, he kept thinking about the way her body felt when he’d pinned her down. It was soft and small, yet there was a presence about her as well.
She was no delicate flower, and even though he had taken her to the ground he knew he had not defeated her. There had been no yielding look in her eyes, nor any fear. There had been something else instead, something that he did not understand.
Beitris approached the archery range. There was a young recruit who struggled to nock his arrow already there. Beitris patiently walked him through it, showing him how to position it correctly and where to place his fingers.
Logan’s anger faded for just a moment because she reminded him of Abigail. Even in these dark times there was room for temperance and the sharing of knowledge.
The recruit fired an arrow, but it went wide. He hung his head and looked despondent. Beitris put a hand on his shoulder and the recruit was visibly calmer. It reminded Logan of the way Abigail had always calmed his temper.
Then, Beitris looked around and caught Logan staring at her. She did not look away, did not surrender. Logan saw it as a challenge.
“Perhaps ye are right, Brody. I might be able tae use her,” Logan said, moving away from his friend.
“Are ye sure ye would nae prefer me tae talk tae her?” Brody called after him, but his words were lost on the wind.
Beitris was stretching her arms and her bow when Logan approached. The other guard had left the range for the moment. She tilted her head back and looked down her nose at him. There was no hint of a friendly welcome.
When Donal had ushered Logan away from the duel the previous day, he’d given Logan some advice. He said that his prowess in battle would only carry him so far, and he should watch himself when dueling with the Laird’s daughter.
Logan had ignored that advice.
“Come tae insult me again?” she asked.
“It was nae an insult. It was the truth.”
“Then how about ye gae and stand near the targets? I’ll wipe the smirk off yer face with an arrow.”
“Ye would never hit me,” Logan replied, although deep inside there was a flicker of doubt.
He had of course heard the stories of Nessa Gilmour, and if Beitris was half the archer her aunt was… well, she just might be able to back her words up.
“Ye seem awfully sure of yerself. Gae on.” She jerked her head towards the targets and pulled out an arrow.
“I would nae want tae see ye humiliated. Again.”
Beitris smirked. “If ye think that was the first time I hae been pushed tae my rump then ye are mistaken. I grew up with two brothers. I think it’s ye who are afraid of humiliation.”
“I fear naething.”
“Only a fool fears naething,” Beitris retorted.
“If ye are nae willing tae be a target, then how about ye prove yer superiority? If archery is sae easy then I’m sure ye will hae nae difficulty in beating me in a contest. Three arrows.
And I’ll make it interesting. Whoever wins gets a favor, and ye get the better of that deal.
After all, a favor from Beitris Knox is worth more than one from… Grimhand.”
Logan bristled at the name. He hated how Brody always tried to give him a nickname.
He pressed his lips together. A favor was a powerful thing. Perhaps she could grant him an audience with her father. He would finally be face-to-face with the man who led Abigail to her death.
He grabbed a bow.
“Fine. Ye will soon realize that ye are nae as good as ye think. But I would add one thing… combat. Hand tae hand. This time we fight until first blood.”
“Done,” Beitris agreed without hesitation, which surprised him. Now it was she who acted without fear.
Beitris stepped back and offered him the first shot.
Logan picked up the bow and held it aloft.
He took a moment to get used to the weight of it in his hands.
Although he preferred melee combat, Logan was no stranger to a bow.
He felt the wind and adjusted his aim before releasing his arrow.
It surged through the air and thudded into the target, hitting the outer edge of the inner circle.
“That was better than I expected,” Beitris said.
She drew her bow up and took a breath. Logan watched intently, looking at the way the bow string was pulled to caress her cheek, how her chest was pushed out, accentuating her feminine curves. A hazy feeling came into his mind and his throat tightened.
He tried to dismiss these feelings like unruly soldiers.
Beitris fired her arrow and it hit the gold center—a perfect strike. Her form was flawless, and then she gave him a cocky look. Logan furrowed his brow and this time took a little longer to aim. This arrow landed near his previous one. Beitris’ second arrow nestled close to her first one as well.
“If ye like, I can give ye some lessons,” she said.
Logan grunted, intending to silence her with a perfect shot. He hoped to splinter her previous arrows, but it was not to be. Because he was so tense, this arrow went even wider than the first two. He still hit the target, but the arrow landed harmlessly in the outer ring.
“Ye should nae feel bad,” Beitris said airily as she lifted her bow. “The bow is a weapon of precision and grace. Ye cannae just swing it about wildly and hope for the best. There’s a reason why the sword is the most common weapon.”
As she finished speaking she fired her third arrow, and it formed a cluster with the other two. Her aim was unerring and the arrows looked as though they became one. It was impossible to deny her skill, although Logan certainly wasn’t going to voice that.
“The wind was with ye taeday,” he muttered.
Beitris laughed dryly and shook her head. “Will ye yield now, or dae ye still want tae bleed for me?”
“I never yield,” Logan replied.
They faced each other with swords.
This time, Beitris was more measured in her approach. She arched her eyebrow and took a defensive posture, blocking his strikes. She wasn’t as useless as he previously thought. She had a mind for strategy, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
He wasn’t going to give her one, though. But he could use this knowledge to lull her into a false sense of security. He just needed to pick the right moment to feint then he would strike. The only question was, where did he want to draw blood?
He thought about her face. It might send a message to Knox. His children weren’t safe, not even in his own Keep.
As they fought their bodies came close together. He watched her shift left and right, the curves of her body captivating him, the wild locks of hair falling across her face tempting him, and her eyes looking as big and as mysterious as the heavens above.
How could a Knox be so beautiful?
A knot of irritation grew taut within him because he was annoyed that he did not find her repulsive—like he should in his sister’s memory.
Just as this thought ran through his mind, a loud cry interrupted them.
“Stop, what is this madness?” one man cried out.
Two of them approached. Logan turned around, knowing them to be her older brothers, Allan and Elliot. His hand tightened on his sword. It took everything he had to restrain his aggression.
“What dae ye think ye are daeing fighting our sister?” Allan asked.
Beitris didn’t give Logan a chance to reply.
“Leave off, Allan. It’s just a friendly contest. Grimhand here dinnae seem tae believe I can hold my own. We are almost finished, I just need tae nick him,” Beitris said.
Allan’s eyes bugged wide then he shook his head. “Aye, Donal speaks highly of him. But, sister, what are ye thinking? Actually, ye are nae thinking. Ye never dae. It’s been the same since ye were a lass.”
“And ye are still too serious for yer own good. Dinnae ye believe I can fight?” Beitris challenged.
Elliot stepped in. “I think Allan means that ye dinnae need tae prove anything.”
“This duel is over,” Allan said, grabbing Beitris’ arm.
Beitris glared at him and wrenched her arm away, but her head dropped and it was clear that her brothers were going to get their way. Allan turned to Logan and sneered at him.
“Ken yer place, Grimhand,” he spat.
Logan watched them walk away. Three children who had the luxury of knowing their mother, of having a father who cared for them, at least so the stories said.
They lived in a Keep that was filled with life rather than one that was cast in shadow.
Although none of them had any idea of the darkness that was so close.
Soon enough they would all know some semblance of the pain that Logan felt. Ryan Knox would bleed, and his children would weep, and justice would be served.
A petty contest would be the least of Beitris’ concerns.