clothes, covered in dirt as though he’d spent his day rolling in the pen with the pigs.
Jenny frowned at him, jutting her chin forward a notch. “A lesson. And I could have run ye through just now. Have ye never learned not to jump into the middle of a sword fight?”
He ignored her rebuke. “What kind of lesson?”
Jenny cocked her head to the side. The man was refusing to see what was actually going on here, and once more he was underestimating her. “Have ye never trained afore, Fraser?”
Toran’s mouth dropped open a little in surprise, his widened eyes ridding him of some of the angry wrinkles at their corners. “Ye canna mean to fight my brother.”
Inside she bristled; on the outside, she remained befuddled. “Is he not trained with a sword?”
“He is,” Toran scoffed.
“Ah,” Jenny said, stabbing the point of her wooden training sword into the dirt. “Ye’re no’ worried over your brother. Ye think me feeble.” She glanced around at the men and started to move in a wide arcing circle, dragging the tip of her sword behind her. “Ye only just missed me kicking Archie’s arse.”
“What?”
“Did we not meet at the point of my pistol? Why is this news to ye?” She pursed her lips as she moved, causing Toran to turn in a circle as she walked around him. “I have an idea. How about ye take Camdyn’s place?”
“Me? Fight ye?”
“Aye,” she answered as she finished drawing a circle enclosing the two of them.
A grunt and scuffle behind her revealed Dirk pushing forward. He too was covered in dirt, and she wanted desperately to ask what or whom they’d found. The hunt often yielded a prize or two, and clearly, they’d unearthed something.
“Come on, Cousin, what’s a wee spar with a lass?” Simon goaded, and Jenny ignored him, with half a mind to call him into the ring next.
Toran sized her up, his gaze raking her from head to toe. She felt suddenly self-conscious, more than she ever had before. In fact, he was the only one she’d ever met who had the ability to make her feel this way.
A rush of heat filled her that had nothing to do with the exertion of fighting. She became aware of the sweat beneath her arms, the way her hair was damp and sticking to her forehead, temples, and neck. Her cheeks must be ruddy from exertion, not to mention that the exercise and sweat had likely taken away any bit of floral scent she had from her perfume. But that was reality, wasn’t it? A reality for her, a soldier. Not a lady.
“Well?” she asked, letting her irritation slip into her words. “What are ye waiting for?”
A training sword was tossed in Toran’s direction, and he caught it without looking, the wood hilt slapping against his palm, and causing a few appreciative murmurs from the men standing around them. Toran flipped his sword on his fingers, letting it twirl in a full circle before taking the hilt in a firm grasp.
This man was much more skilled with a sword than his cousin. Archie had been easy to best, but she knew by the glittering look of challenge in his gaze that Toran was about to take her to task. A shiver of excitement ran through her limbs. As many years as she’d been practicing, not one man had ever looked at her that way—as though he wanted to kiss her and spar with her all at once. Men always held back at first, something she could use to advantage, but from the look of it, Toran wasn’t going to spare her a thing.
The notion thrilled her as much as it gave her pause. What was going through his mind? That he wanted to beat her? Or that he wanted to have some fun? To see what she was made of? The thrill of it made her limbs buzz, her fingers tingle.
Neither of them spoke, concentrating as they moved in a slow circle inside her makeshift sparring ring. Jenny blew out a long, slow breath, centering herself. With sword in hand and targe on her left arm, she studied the man in front of her, the way his muscles moved as he stepped, fluid and exact, the way he held his weapon, as though he’d been born with the sword in his hands.
He wouldn’t be the one to make the first move, she could tell. Just like in their game of chess. Jenny never liked to go first.