I asked as I reached for the protective padding that Duncan insisted I wear under the leather gear. When I got it all on, I was more insulated than that kid in A Christmas Story.
“Sparring. And don’t bother with that,” he said, waving at the padding. “We’re fighting just like ye would in a battle—leather plating only, no extra gear. And be careful with the weapons, they’re extremely sharp.”
Great. Battling experienced soldiers with razor-sharp swords and no protective padding. That was like Christine Daaé being ripped from the chorus and thrust into the starring role at the Opéra Populaire. Did that make Duncan my Angel of Combat? I had to trust that he wouldn’t put me in this position if he didn’t think I was ready for it. He wouldn’t endanger me unnecessarily. At least I hoped he wouldn’t . . .
Rabbie and Eòran strode into the barn. While the former blushed at the prospect of interrupting something, the latter, whom I affectionately thought of as Mutton Chops, scowled as if he were here under duress.
“Thank ye for coming, lads.” Duncan picked up two swords, handed them to the guards, and then retrieved the remaining two for himself and me. As he handed me the weapon, he explained, “Rabbie and Eòran are familiar with this exercise. We will spar side by side. I’ll partner with you first and then we’ll switch until ye’ve fought all of us. All right?”
I nodded. That didn’t seem too hard. I’d sparred individually with each of them a dozen times or more.
Successfully blocking out the other two soldiers, I focused on blocking Duncan’s moves. Although he didn’t go easy on me, he did hold back—at least at the start. When I finally gained the offensive, he went into Celtic warrior mode, but I growled and snarled right back at him as I swung my blade repeatedly to drive him back.
“Time!” Rabbie called as he lowered his weapon.
Duncan nodded toward the young soldier. “Partner with Mackenna and I’ll take Eòran.”
Expecting a brief intermission, I tried not to let my disappointment show as I moved to my next opponent. As I faced off against Rabbie, Duncan fought to my right. Suddenly my concentration split in two, and no matter how hard I tried to block him out, Duncan dominated my awareness. So much so that I failed to block Rabbie’s sword as it swung toward the leather plate strapped to my thigh. The adrenaline rush caused by the prospect of being amputated like the Black Knight allowed me to twist away, saving my leg, but earning a long gash in my favorite yoga pants.
Struggling to regain my mental focus, I gave myself a little pep talk. Duncan will be fine. He’s the Michael Crawford of battle. Focus on Rabbie. What’s his weakness? Find it and use it!
As I blocked my opponent, I focused on Rabbie’s movements. Tall and broad in the shoulders like Duncan, but without the same fighting mastery, Rabbie would be most vulnerable from a quick, agile attack toward his lower body. Since most of his strokes were high and wide, it would take him more time to respond.
When Rabbie’s body language announced his next move would be a sweeping down stroke, I hastily blocked a set of counter moves—fake parry, roll, turn, calf strike. As his weapon dropped, I feigned a block. Then at the last possible second, I dropped and rolled under his arm. Still in a crouch, I turned to strike.
That’s when I saw the blood. Duncan’s blood—running down his limp left arm, soaking the shirt under his leather breastplate and spattering the ground as he continued to fight Eòran.
Shouting his name, I dropped my weapon and ran toward him—right into Rabbie’s sword. With a “hey,” Rabbie checked his swing so that it stopped just short of cutting me in half. Undeterred, I pushed the flat of the sword out of the way and continued forward.
As I approached, Duncan leveled his blade at me. “Halt!”
Feeling like I was trapped in a nightmare, I stared down the pointy tip of the blade at my bleeding boyfriend. “What are you doing?”
Now that he was no longer fighting, a crimson pool began to form around his left boot. Face flushed, his body shaking, he growled, “Pick up your weapon and finish the exercise!”
“No. You’re injured.” I pointed to his left arm. “We need to stop.”
“There’s no stopping in battle. Now go get your sword.” He swayed on his feet, eyes rolling back in his head