Chapter 5
The single word rang out over the training yard like the first distant roll of thunder before a storm.
Merith felt distress twisting in her stomach as the guards straightened with sudden interest. Men drifted nearer from the stables and battlements while servants slowed their work along the courtyard edges, clearly eager to witness their laird test himself against the charming stranger who had arrived only yesterday.
Murdoch’s expression remained pleasant, though there was something more observant beneath the calmness he was showing. He removed the dark green riding gloves from his hands one finger at a time before passing them to a waiting guard.
“Well then,” he said smoothly, “let us see whether yer observations are as skilled as yer tongue.”
Shona shifted her weight from one leg to the other beside Merith and muttered under her breath, “Och, this feels like a poor idea.”
“I do not think they truly mean to hurt one another,” Merith whispered, though she was no longer entirely certain of it.
Murdoch crossed toward a weapons rack standing beside the fence. Several practice swords rested there beside wooden shields and dulled axes. He lifted a training blade and tested its weight before turning toward Locke.
“Choose yer weapon,” he told him.
Locke approached at an unhurried pace, hands tucked loosely behind his back. Morning light caught the copper tones in his dark auburn curls while his blue eyes remained fixed upon Murdoch with amusement.
“My thanks, my laird,” he said, “but my hands arenae dainty enough fer such elegant weapons.”
A few nearby guards laughed openly, making Murdoch’s mouth curve slightly.
“Ye prefer fists, then?” he asked, spreading out his arms.
“I find them more honest,” Locke replied with a nod.
“That hardly sounds like a merchant.”
Locke spread his hands mildly. “I never claimed tae be a good merchant.”
Another ripple of laughter moved through the yard, though Merith noticed several guards glance nervously toward Locke afterward as though unsure whether they had laughed too freely.
Murdoch handed the sword back to the weapons master without taking his eyes off Locke.
“Very well,” he said calmly. “First blood?”
Locke tilted his head to the side as if he was trying to decide on his answer. Then, he nodded. “As ye wish.”
Merith stepped forward before she could stop herself. “Surely there is no need fer this.”
At once both men looked at her. Murdoch’s expression softened immediately. “Dinnae fret, Lady Merith. ’Tis only a friendly sport.”
“Aye,” Locke agreed lightly. “I promise tae cry prettily if he breaks my nose.”
Shona leaned close beside Merith and murmured quietly, “Best not interfere, my lady, or it might offend the laird.”
Reluctantly, Merith nodded.
She hated the feeling settling over the courtyard. The guards looked eager rather than relaxed, as though they sensed something beneath the surface neither man intended to speak aloud. Even the older weapons master had narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
Murdoch stepped into the center of the yard first, removing his outer coat and handing it aside.
Beneath it he wore a dark linen shirt stretched across broad shoulders and powerful arms. He looked every inch the Highland laird people admired.
He was strong, commanding, and entirely assured of himself.
Then Locke pulled off his own coat carelessly and tossed it onto the fence rail. At that, Merith’s breath caught unexpectedly.
She had noticed before that he moved gracefully, but she had not realized how lean strength rested beneath his effortless charm. His white shirt clung faintly at the chest from the morning mist while the sleeves rolled back along his forearms revealed old faded scars across sun-bronzed skin.
Not a merchant’s hands. Not a merchant’s body either.
Murdoch noticed where her gaze flickered and darkness flickered through his eyes.
“Ready?” he asked, focusing his attention back on Locke.
“Whenever yer pride requires it,” Locke replied, grinning at the man.
Several guards barked startled laughter before quickly falling silent again. The two men began circling one another slowly across the ground.
Merith clasped her hands tightly together before her waist as tension coiled through her chest. They moved differently from the guards she had watched earlier.
Murdoch stood solid and balanced, every motion controlled with discipline learned through years of command.
Locke, meanwhile, seemed almost relaxed, shifting lightly upon his feet.
Neither man struck first. Wind brushed across the yard while ravens cried from the battlements above them.
Suddenly, Murdoch lunged.
His fist drove toward Locke’s jaw with startling speed, but Locke twisted aside neatly and caught Murdoch’s wrist before shoving him backwards a step.
“A good attempt,” Locke said pleasantly.
Murdoch answered by striking again. This time, Locke blocked hard enough that the crack of flesh against flesh echoed across the yard. Merith flinched at the sound.
The fight intensified quickly after that.
Murdoch fought like a trained warrior. He was efficient, direct, and relentless once he pressed an advantage.
Locke fought differently. There was an unpredictability to him.
He ducked beneath strikes by inches, twisted free from holds before they fully formed, and countered with sudden bursts of force that drew startled murmurs from the watching guards.
“God’s teeth,” one muttered nearby. “The bastard moves quick.”
Murdoch heard it too, and his jaw clenched in frustration.
He surged forward harder, driving Locke back several paces before landing a blow against his ribs. Merith winced as the impact sounded through the yard, but Locke grinned as usual.
“Is that all?” he asked.
Murdoch struck again, the ruby pendant around his neck flashing in the sun as it jumped out beneath his shirt. Locke caught the next blow with his forearm before driving his shoulder suddenly into Murdoch’s chest. The laird staggered back a pace.
At that, the guards fell silent. Even Murdoch looked surprised. And then Locke advanced.
Merith’s pulse stumbled as she watched him.
The lazy humor vanished from his face entirely as he moved forward with sudden dangerous focus. He struck once toward Murdoch’s jaw, forcing him aside, then again toward his ribs before sweeping lower and driving him backward hard enough that Murdoch lost footing.
The laird crashed onto one knee in the dirt.
A gasp escaped Merith before she could stop it and silence swept the yard again.
Murdoch remained still only a second, one hand braced against the ground while fury flashed openly across his face for the first time since she had met him.
Then he rose slowly. When he looked at Locke again, all amusement had vanished.
“My Laird,” Merith said softly, taking a step forward, “perhaps enough—”
“Nay,” he interrupted without looking at her.
The look on Locke’s face changed slightly at his words. He didn’t look afraid… he was just cautious.
In the blink of an eye, Murdoch attacked with frightening force.
He struck fast, abandoning restraint entirely as blow after blow drove toward Locke with brutal precision. Locke blocked the first two, dodged the third, but the fourth caught him hard across the mouth.
Blood appeared instantly along his lower lip and several guards cheered.
Murdoch pushed harder. He drove Locke backward through the dirt while strikes landed against his ribs and jaw in rapid succession. Merith felt herself tense helplessly as Locke staggered beneath the assault.
“Enough!” she called again.
Neither man listened. Murdoch swung once more. This time Locke failed to fully avoid it. His head snapped sharply sideways as blood streaked briefly from his nose.
The guards roared in approval for their laird. Yet even through her alarm, Merith noticed something strange.
Locke was yielding ground too easily. He was acting weak… acting. It was intentional.
She saw it in the way he moved and in the way his strikes no longer fully connected despite the speed she had witnessed moments earlier. Twice he could have countered cleanly. Twice he chose not to.
Why?
Murdoch landed another hard strike before finally stepping back, chest rising with exertion. Locke remained standing, though blood marked his mouth and nose.
The weapons master raised one brow thoughtfully.
“Well fought,” Murdoch declared loudly for all the guards to hear.
The guards cheered at once. Murdoch removed the dark leather cord from around his neck briefly, wiping sweat from his throat with the cloth. The ruby pendant hanging from it flashed crimson in the morning light before he settled it back beneath his shirt.
Murdoch stepped forward and clapped a firm hand against Locke’s shoulder with public warmth. “Ye nearly had me there.”
Quickly, Locke wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand before flashing that infuriatingly charming smile again. “Your victory, my Laird.”
Something about the words bothered Merith deeply. It sounded too smooth. It was as though Locke had handed Murdoch the triumph rather than lost it.
Murdoch seemed satisfied nonetheless. He accepted a cloth from one of the guards and pressed it briefly against his split knuckles while laughter and conversation slowly returned across the yard.
“A fine match,” one soldier declared.
“Aye,” another agreed. “Though I’d wager Reid’s fought more than merchants usually dae.”
Locke overheard and grinned at the guards. “Bad business deals.”
The men laughed again. Murdoch turned back toward Merith, confidence restored easily now that the crowd once more admired him openly.
“Did I alarm ye, my lady?” he asked gently.
“A little,” she admitted as she avoided his eyes.
“There was no danger.” He smiled reassuringly. “Master Reid is sturdier than he appears.”
Locke touched dramatically at his wounded mouth. “A touching compliment.”
Murdoch chuckled and Merith tried to smile politely, even though uncertainty remained beneath her composure.
Why would Locke deliberately lose? Unless he had realized embarrassing Murdoch before his own men would be foolish. That seemed exactly the sort of calculation he would make.
As the guards dispersed, Murdoch turned toward one of his captains, and Merith’s eyes caught upon the empty space at Murdoch’s throat.
The pendant she’d seen moments ago was gone.
Her pulse skipped as she stared harder.
Nothing remained except the dark cord disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. The ruby had vanished entirely.
Slowly, almost against her will, her gaze drifted toward Locke.
He stood nearby while one of the guards offered him a wineskin. Blood still marked his mouth, though he looked entirely unbothered by it. At that exact moment, he glanced toward her and smiled.
It was a bloody smile that made Merith’s stomach flip.
No… surely not.
Even for Locke, stealing directly from the laird during a public fight seemed impossible. It was reckless and absurd.
Murdoch must have removed it himself… or perhaps the pendant had broken loose during the fight and fallen unnoticed into the dirt.
That had to be it.
Yet, doubt lingered as Merith dropped her eyes to the ground. There was no sign of the pendant there.
Murdoch approached her again, still flushed slightly from exertion. “I fear I’ve scandalized ye before breakfast.”
“You are both impossible men,” she replied before thinking.
Locke barked a laugh behind them and Murdoch smirked faintly. “A fair judgment.”
Merith forced herself to glance calmly toward his throat again. There was still no ruby. Surely, he would notice soon.
“Ye should see the healer fer those scrapes, my Laird,” she suggested carefully. “Yer hands are bleeding.”
Murdoch glanced toward his knuckles as though only now remembering them. “A minor injury, I assure ye.”
“Still,” she pressed gently, “the healer would insist.”
He studied her face for a moment before smiling warmly. “Concern already, Lady Merith? I shall grow spoiled.”
Heat touched her cheeks faintly and Murdoch extended his hand toward her.
“Come then,” he said.
After only the briefest hesitation, Merith placed her fingers in his. His grip was warm and steady as he guided her across the courtyard stones. Shona followed a few paces behind them.
Before leaving the yard entirely, Merith looked back once more.
Locke remained standing where they had left him, one hand tucked casually behind his back while the other wiped lingering blood from his lip.
All the while, those impossible blue eyes remained fixed upon her.