4. Kenneth Would Never #2
Abruptly, Kenneth’s staff thunked against his staff, sending the weapon juddering out of Niall’s hands. It dropped heavily into the grass, and Kenneth pointed the tip of the staff at his cousin’s throat.
“Do ye yield?” he managed.
Niall grunted, shrugging. “Ye have bested me again, cousin. Forgive me, I am parched. I’ll wash then we can discuss whatever ye came here to speak of.”
“I did not come to speak of anything,” Kenneth responded, leaning on his staff. “Just to get a wee bit of practice in.”
Niall flashed a tight smile. “So I see.”
He didn’t wait for permission or any other word, turning on his heel and striding away across the fields. He could feel Peter’s stare and Kenneth’s boring into his back.
The water barrel was kept around the side of an outbuilding, sheltering him from prying eyes. He bent over the barrel, splashing water on his face. Cool and refreshing, it trickled down his shoulders and the front of his chest.
Cupping up water, he eyed his own reflection for a moment, a blurry image held tight in his palms. Abruptly, he wanted the image gone and splashed the water over his face.
“Why did ye let him win?”
He flinched, blinking water out of his eyes.
Leaning against the corner of the wall, Catriona watched him.
She had her arms folded tight and watched him with a sort of distant curiosity.
At some point, somebody must have given her a plain gray gown and an apron to go over it.
He preferred the ugly green thing she’d worn in the marketplace, a dress that matched her eyes so perfectly it must have been chosen for her.
Not that it mattered here, of course. All servants wore the same clothes in the Keep.
“Win?” he echoed. “Can I assume that ye were watching me spar with my cousin? He won, fair and squarely.”
She shook her head. “No. He did not. Ye let him win. Ye could have disarmed him three moves sooner. Even that last blow, ye could have avoided it. Ye had the upper hand. So, I ask again, why did ye let him win? Ye were holding back.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And how does a wee market girl know so much about sparring to know that I was holding back?”
“So ye admit it? Ye admit that ye were holding back?”
He scoffed. “I admit nothing. I’m no politician, but I know that much.”
“Hm. So, ye will not tell me why ye let yer cousin win? I’d wager that isn’t the first time ye have sparred, or the first time ye have let him win, either.”
Niall narrowed his eyes. “Ye go too far, lassie.”
“Do I? Here I was thinking that ye enjoyed a wee bit of banter.”
She took a step towards him, arms still folded, and glowered up into his face. He stared right back, letting his gaze play over her face. What was she doing? Why come to seek him out when she fled from him in the garden? Why did she care if he let Kenneth win?
He ignored her comment about bantering. Instead, he turned his gaze down to his shirt, now drenched with water. It would cool quickly out in the chill air and practically freeze itself to his skin.
Clicking his tongue, he tugged at the hem.
“Perhaps my wee cousin has a tendency to whine,” he observed. “Perhaps he’s a sore loser and complains constantly if I best him. I know that I can beat him, so why bother to prove it?”
“Ye don’t care about perception?” she pressed.
He met her eye and grinned slowly. “I certainly do not. Folks think what they like, and there isn’t much one can do about it. So, let them think what they please, and I’ll do what I like.”
She narrowed her eyes, lips parting. She was going to say more, to demand to answer. He supposed that from her point of view, it was inconceivable that he’d let his cousin win.
Peter probably thought the same.
Turning away, Niall whipped the hem of his shirt up and over his head. Goosebumps broke over his exposed skin, cool air chilling the mingled sweat and water. Crumpling the shirt in his hand, he let his arm fall.
When he glanced at Catriona, he found that she was staring, wide-eyed at his bare chest. A flush of red crept over her cheeks.
“I hope ye don’t mind,” he said coolly. “Sparring is hard work. Not that ye would know much of that.”
“More than ye think,” she responded at once.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
Drawing her lip between her teeth, she looked away. Almost absentmindedly, she slipped her hand into her apron pocket. She seemed to be turning something over and over in her fingers. A trinket, perhaps? A brooch or a ring?
Whatever it was, her movement to touch it was something she had not consciously thought out in her mind. Subconscious, something ingrained into her from long ago.
The moment she realized his eyes were lingering on her pocket, however, she whisked her hand free, turning redder than before.
She doesn’t want me to know what she has in her pocket. Whatever it is, it’s private.
“No,” she said briskly. “No, I won’t elaborate.”
Clearing his throat, Niall glanced away.
“So, then, why are ye here? I cannot imagine that Sukie let ye have the luxury of a free hour. And neither can I imagine ye being the sort of woman to watch men spar. Unless, of course, it was me ye came to see? In which case, I fully understand.”
She was still red-faced but managed a snort of annoyance at this comment.
“Nay. I’m here to summon ye back to the Keep. Laird MacLeod wishes to see ye and sent out a handful of us to find ye. I was just lucky enough to find ye first.”
“Aye,” he responded softly. “Lucky.”