Keeley fought her urge to laugh. There was something about this Amichai that entertained her; she just wasn’t sure what it could be. “Yes. Exactly. You probably terrified him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did he leave?”
“He saw your sister and—”
“My sister?”
“The current expression on your face,” he said, “makes me feel like your sister may be currently unsafe. Like I should warn her to run away.”
“Too late!” Keeley spun away from Caid, marched through her shop, and stormed over to her sister, who was sitting and sipping tea.
Calmly, Keeley leaned down and said, “What did you do to that boy?”
* * *
Keeley’s bellow startled Caid and everyone else in his unit; his sister quickly sidestepped away from the two women. Not that he blamed her. The blacksmith was frightening when angry. Especially since he was guessing that Keeley wasn’t angry very often. Even after she’d fought for her life and the life of the boy against those soldiers, she had nothing but a smile and a laugh for them all.
But when she screamed into her sister’s face . . .
Caid would never do that to his sister. Not because he was above that sort of behavior but because Laila was a puncher. Despite being the youngest of them all, she’d been a fighter since birth.
But sister fighting sister was a different and decidedly more dangerous thing.
Then again . . . one of the sisters in this current dispute was a nun.
Still holding her mouthful of tea, Gemma gazed up at her sister, eyes narrowed. Caid briefly thought she was going to spit her tea directly at Keeley, but instead, after a moment, she swallowed. With dainty precision, she placed her cup of tea down on the wood table beside her.
Lowering her gaze, she seemed to center herself, letting out a small breath before she abruptly slammed both her hands against her sister, sending her big-shouldered sibling sliding back several feet.
Shocked, Caid quickly moved between the two women just as Keeley came charging back.
Caid had to use both hands to keep her from attacking her sister, and he could sense the nun now standing behind him. Once the pair couldn’t get to each other, the screaming began. Caid hated screaming. Not the words. He could not care less what the sisters were saying to each other. For him it was just the sound. If one was not in danger, one should not be screaming. But it seemed the Smythe sisters had never heard that before. Because they were yelling now and he was not happy about it.
While Caid and Farlan did their best to keep the two females from killing each other, the workers stood around, gawking, and his sister and Cadell stood back, waiting for the fighting to stop because they didn’t like screaming either.
There was one who did seem to be enjoying herself . . . Keran the cousin. She sat on a windowsill, a leg hanging down and swinging while she ate an apple and laughed but did not help. She was not helping.
Caid continued to push back against Keeley, whose intense strength was really beginning to impress him. He glanced over at his sister, about to ask for her help, when he noticed one of the older workers standing behind her . . . and staring at the long bare legs stretching from underneath her leather kilt. The man leered and, after making sure his boss was truly busy with the nun, he stretched out his arm and began to snake his hand under Laila’s kilt.
Despite all that was going on, Caid couldn’t help but smirk when his sister’s gaze moved from the fighting siblings to a spot across the room. Before the worker could even touch her, she had sensed him. With a slight tilt of her head, her eyes spotted him behind her.
Laila folded her arms over her chest and did what Caid had known she would.
* * *
Keran adored her family.
Well . . . not all of it. Her own mother and siblings she had no patience for because they didn’t understand her and had never tried. It was her choices that bothered them. But what did they expect? For her to go into a forge every day, pick up a hammer, and work with steel? Just the thought . . .
In her early years, the boredom would have destroyed her.
It wasn’t her fault either. That she had not only the love of a good fight, but the skill to win. Her own mother had said