The pair greeted each other, then Ian glanced from Seonaid to Aeldra expectantly. "Were ye comin' to practice? I could use a good workout."
Seonaid hesitated, but when she glanced back to see both Blake and Little George scowling to high heaven and hurrying toward them, she nodded firmly. They weren't likely to get a moment to talk anyway. She should have taken the women back up to her room to plan their next move and she would, after she'd had a little workout. Other than the skirmish in the abbey and then the one in the clearing, they hadn't had a proper chance to practice since leaving for St. Simmian's.
"Is that the English yer suppose to marry?" Ian asked as they walked to where several men were practicing their battle skills.
"Aye." Seonaid didn't bother to glance toward them. She knew Blake and Little George were still following, closing the distance between them.
"He looks put out, but then, I hear ye've been leadin' him a merry chase."
"Everyone appears to have heard," Seonaid said with disgust.
"Gavin told Duncan, Duncan told me," Ian said with amusement. He slapped her lower back and added, "Come on, Seonaid. Let's show him the fine lass he's amarryin'."
Moving in front of her, he drew his sword out as he turned to face her and immediately went on the attack. Seonaid was ready for him. She'd known Ian McInnes since she was a bairn and was used to his surprise tactics. In fact, she knew all his tricks, so found it easy to hold her own with him.
*
"She's good."
Blake scowled at Little George's comment as they watched his betrothed fend off the dark-haired Scot's attack. Ian, he thought he'd heard her greet him. She'd seemed rather happy to see him too. And he hadn't liked the way the man had embraced her and swung her around, anymore than he had cared for the way the man's hand had come perilously close to hitting her bottom when he'd slapped her back before squaring off against her.
But she was good, he conceded. He supposed he had initially noted that in the clearing when she had been doing battle with the men she had later claimed were Camerons. Unfortunately, he'd been a little too preoccupied with her state of undress to pay much attention to her skill with the sword. But she was more than just good, he realized now. Angus Dunbar had not wasted money on having the special sword made for her. She wielded it with expertise, using skill to counter the greater strength of her opponent.
A soft growl and the way Little George tensed beside him drew Blake's attention to the other two women. Aeldra and Sister Helen had been standing off to the side, watching the couple do battle. Now a burly redheaded Scot had approached them and, even as he watched, Seonaid's small cousin was moving out onto the field a little away from Seonaid and squaring off against this new man.
Blake wasn't surprised to see that the smaller woman was just as skilled. He was interested to note that Little George wasn't happy about it and wondered if romance was in bloom for the pair. They would certainly be an odd twosome, he so large and she so tiny. But love came in many shapes and forms.
His gaze slid back to Seonaid, and he noted the way she was smiling and laughing, the flush of color that had come to her cheeks as she fought off the dark-haired man's attack. She was obviously enjoying herself, as was her opponent, and suddenly the battle almost seemed to take on the look of a courting dance. He had never thought of it as such while in battle himself, but the ritual was there in the way they moved in toward each other, swords meeting with the clang of metal against metal, in the way Seonaid whirled and spun away, and then back to meet his sword again. Of course, he supposed the fact that the image of her battling naked was imposing itself on his mind didn't help. He could picture the way her muscles would be stretching and moving beneath her clothes, the way her breasts would look in the afternoon sun.
Hell! Was there anything this woman could do that wouldn't excite him and make him think of bedding her? Wrestling with her on the forest floor had had the same effect, as had awaking to find himself curled around her like a blanket in the barn. Having her ride before him on his horse had put him in a terrible state, especially when she'd relaxed enough to fall asleep the last bit of the way and curled up against him like a sleepy cat. Now, watching her practice with swords put him in mind of wanting to tumble her to the ground right there and--
"Hell," he muttered with disgust. He had to get her wedded and bedded soon. In the meantime, he had some excess energy to work out himself. Drawing his sword, he walked out onto the field.
Seonaid raised her sword to deflect Ian's next blow and found it stopped by another's sword thrust higher than hers. Glancing to the side with irritation, she stared at Blake in amazement.
"May I?" he said politely.
Ian lowered his sword with a wide grin and moved to stand out of the way with Helen.
Seonaid glanced back to Blake, then abruptly lifted her sword to fend off the first blow from her betrothed. After that, Seonaid concentrated on what she was doing and found herself quickly winded by the ferocity of his assault. She knew Ian, knew what to expect, and found fending him off a relaxing pastime. She didn't know Blake, or the way he moved in battle. The man wasn't holding back either, and he kept her so busy deflecting his blows, at first she had no real chance to go on the attack.
It occurred to her that she had daydreamed about this very situation several times in the past, but when--after several moments of fighting him--she found her sword knocked from her hands and herself defenseless to his next blow, Seonaid merely gaped at him in shock as the sword came down, then stopped a breath away from her head. In her daydreams they had been equal in battle, or she had beaten him, but he had never beaten her. But in reality ...
Bloody hell, he'd beaten her, she realized with dismay. She decided she preferred the daydream.
"You are very good with the sword, Seonaid." Blake bent to retrieve the weapon he'd knocked from her hand. "But you are not aggressive enough. You allow your opponent to take the lead and simply fend him off, waiting for an opening to make a killing blow. You should make an opening, else you are in danger of allowing your opponent to wear you out and win."
"I have told her that many times o'er the years. The lass jest willna listen," Angus Dunbar announced, drawing their attention to the fact that he, along with many others, had come to watch the battle. They had quite a little audience now, she noted with irritation.
Grimacing, she took her sword from Blake and moved toward where Helen and Aeldra stood.
"Ye'd best take yerself up to the keep, Seonaid." Her father's voice sounded behind her.
"That's where I was goin'," Seonaid muttered.
"Lady Wildwood is awaitin' fer ye in yer room. Go straight there."
"Why?" Seonaid asked warily, pausing to turn back.
"News has come from Sherwell. He's ailin' and canna come. The weddin' is in an hour."
Chapter Eleven
"There. You look lovely, dear."
Seonaid stared down at herself and cringed. It was her wedding night. That thought kept running through her head, over and over and over. Her wedding night. After all her running and fighting to avoid the wedding, she had gone to the slaughter without a whimper of protest. That fact was rather startling. But then, she hadn't had much of a chance to protest.
"News has come from Sherwell. He's ailin' and canna come. The weddin' is in an hour," her father had said. Then he had moved to stand before her and added, "I ken I have no behaved verra well over this marriage through the years. I was angry at Blake's father. But he is a good man, as is the son. Blake'll make ye a good husband, and I'm doin' this for yer own good."
"Doin' what?" Seonaid had asked.
For answer he had glanced over his shoulder and said, "Gavin, take four men and escort the women to Seonaid's room."
And that had been that. Gavin was one of her father's best men and he knew Seonaid very well. There had been no escaping his presence. He and the other men had escorted them to her room and into the care of Lady Wildwood, then had stood outside the do
or while she was bathed and dressed for the wedding. Then he had escorted her below, where the wedding had taken place.
Everyone had been terribly subdued. Aeldra and Helen had constantly looked as if they wanted to say something but had remained silent, as had Seonaid, leaving Lady Wildwood and Iliana to fill the silence with meaningless chatter and reassurances.
Then Seonaid had found herself standing before the bishop, Blake at her side and her father and everyone else there to witness. Seonaid didn't recall much about the ceremony--it was all rather a blur to her--but she must have said what she was supposed to. Then she had found herself seated at the trestle table with platter after platter of food passing under her nose until Lady Wildwood had tapped her shoulder and escorted her abovestairs, with Iliana, Aeldra, and Helen on their heels. The women had bathed her again, perfumed her, and dressed her in this confection of lace and almost sheer linen.
"Are you all right?" Lady Wildwood asked suddenly, eyeing her with concern.
Seonaid shifted from one foot to the other and shook her head.
"Oh." The woman looked taken aback for a minute, then released a little sigh. "I know it is frightening, dear. But it will not hurt for long, as I told you, and--"
"It's no that," Seonaid said quickly, not wanting Helen and Aeldra to think she was afraid of a little pain. She'd been to battle; a little pain wasn't that awful. At least, so she told herself. But in truth, it was quite odd, really. She wasn't a coward. Seonaid rode off to battle without a bit of fear. On the other hand, she didn't ride off into battle thinking she could be injured, or possibly killed. But tonight she knew she was going to be hurt. No matter what.
Lady Wildwood had said for some it hurt just a bit, for others a lot, and that one couldn't say how it would go for her. But as far as the woman knew, no one had ever had a painless first time. Or, she'd added a tad wryly, at least no woman she knew had admitted to not suffering the first time.