Page 25 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

The words resounded in Isolde’s mind. Orrick seemed to hear them as well if his sudden frown were any indication.

“There is no need for concern, Mother. Izzy is a friend.”

Isolde froze, her heart racing. She lowered her sword and studied the apparition. The woman’s eyes had a familiarity about them. It was as if she were looking into Orrick’s eyes. A multitude of questions filled her thoughts. How could his mother still be here if she had died? Did she die a violent death that somehow kept her suspended between this world and the next? Was this ghost the being she’d felt watching her over the past week?

As though sensing her thoughts, the ghost turned to Isolde. I am only guilty of watching you with my son this morning. Anything else could not have been me, for I am tethered to the castle grounds. Even so, I can see much that others do not.

Orrick moved to Isolde’s side. His presence calmed her racing heart. “There is nothing to fear, Mother. We are all safe behind the thick walls of Dunvegan.”

The apparition’s brows knit. I can sense danger, my son. It is closer than you think. Perhaps not from her, but because of her.

“We know about the English troops’ return to the isle. Alastair and Tormod are no doubt coming up with a plan for how to contain that threat.”

Your brothers cannot fight this enemy alone. They will need your help.

Orrick made a soft sound of impatience. “I can no longer fight beside them, Mother. I lost that ability a few years ago. When I hold a sword in battle, I freeze. What happens if I go with them and cannot protect them as I should?”

You are resourceful, my son. You of all people know there are other ways to battle that do not include weapons. She looked down at the sword in his hands. You seem able to hold a sword with no issue today.

Orrick’s lips thinned. “Only because I am training with Izzy.”

Then train her more until you can fight with no fear. You’ll need to do that again very soon, I sense.

With those words, the ghost disappeared, leaving an irritated Orrick behind. “My mother knows not of what she speaks.”

“Has she come to you with such predictions before? You seemed very at ease in her presence, or at least more so than I was.”

“She’s predicted events that have happened in the past few months,” he grumbled.

“And that makes you angry?”

“I don’t know what it makes me.” Orrick shoved his hand through his hair. “Though now I feel as though I need to run the length of the loch or ride hard and fast through the moors.”

Isolde lifted her unsheathed sword in challenge. “A good sword fight always helps me to centre myself. Care to battle through your emotions with me?”

His gaze was uncertain. “Are you well enough to fight hard?”

She put her left arm behind her and her right foot forward. “I’m battling you with my uninjured arm. As long as you do not strike my left, then I’ll be well.” Isolde hid the pleasure she felt creeping up inside her. She’d longed to battle Orrick MacLeod again since she’d beaten him in armed combat six summers ago. “Do not go easy on me because I am a female. I can take anything you care to unleash upon me.”

Challenge flashed in his eyes as he leapt forward, cutting and slashing as he advanced. He was angry. She could feel it with each blow she parried. She did not attack. Instead she allowed him to burn through his pent-up emotions. Only when his movements became more controlled did she press forward with a thrust and a twist of her arm. She caught his blade and sent it flying to the ground.

Orrick’s eyes went wide. “I’d forgotten how good you were with a sword.”

“Again?” she asked, handing him back his fallen sword.

He accepted it, and with a salute came at her once more. Their blades clashed again and again, the clink of steel creating a rhythmic sound that reverberated through the morning air. As Isolde fought, a renewed sense of purpose flowed through her. For the past year she had only been a hunter. Today, she proved she was a warrior once more.

Orrick was strong. His strikes might have taken her down had she not been light on her feet. That was an asset some men never seemed to understand. They had the advantage physically, but she could move in ways they could not. She tossed her plaited hair over her shoulder, allowing Orrick one last pass before she pressed her attack with renewed vigour. She swiped her sword. He countered. She stepped closer and, with a twist of her arm and a nudge from her knee, she brought him to the ground at her feet.

He lay against the grass looking up at her with no anger, only a smile. “I would say your right arm is as steady as it ever was.”

She offered him her hand. He grasped it and allowed her to haul him to his feet. “Next time,” she said, “try balancing more on the balls of your feet and keep your shoulders centred over your hips. That will help you use your strength against me.”

“Giving me tips on how to defeat you?” He laughed. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”

She recoiled as if he had slapped her as his words echoed those she’d heard all her life from some men. You’re an abomination. Why can’t you be a normal female? You should learn your true place in this world. Isolde stepped back, putting some much-needed distance between them.

Orrick was just like everyone else. She had hoped that perhaps something else would develop between them—a camaraderie, a friendship. They were two injured warriors who needed to be whole once more. His words proved he was just like the other men in her life. He was not her friend and he never would be.