Page 9 of A Rogue and a Noble Lass

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.”