Page 38 of Anice’s Bargain

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James could not take his eyes from the women who parried and feinted with padded armor over their kirtles. These were not mere noblewomen whose talents were related to needlework and running households. Nay, these women were warriors.

All around him, the Earl of Werrick’s bonny daughters fought like men, each with their own specialty. Cat landed every arrow she launched into the middle of the target. Even wee Leila wielded her dual daggers with dexterous hands that moved with a nimbleness his eyes could scarce track.

Ella spun around and brought the axe with her, but Anice arced her blade in time to obstruct its path toward her head.

Forgotten where he stood on the outskirts of their melee with Piquette sitting at his side, James observed the woman who would be his wife with a fresh perspective. Battle enhanced the usual grace of her movements, in the same manner as when she danced. Only far more lethally.

Her words came back to him then from when they’d danced, when she’d instructed him the moves were like those in battle. He’d been too heady with drink then to wonder at what she’d meant. He felt almost foolish now for having offered to train her on her sword.

She wasno novice to the art of war.

Her well-timed thrusts and blocks were the result of countless hours of concentrated practice. While Anice was bonny in daily life with her careful eye for fine clothing and the lovely sensuality of her face and lush body, she was stunning in battle.

Her eyes glittered with determination, locked on her target with confidence. It was no wonder she did not want a meek man who would treat her like something delicate. She was no fragile woman at all, but a pleasant surprise.

Ella’s axe whirled through the air toward Anice’s face. Too fast. Too hard. James’s heart lurched in his chest, but before he could get to his feet, Anice stopped the weapon with only one inch between her nose and the heavy block of iron.

Without hesitation, Anice circled her wrist and forced the axe to the ground, then lifted her blade to Ella’s throat. A cocky half-grin announced Anice’s victory.

The battle was done. James approached the ladies and lowered his head respectfully in Anice’s direction. “I was wrong about yer level of skill. I’ve no’ ever seen a woman fight like ye. Ye handle a sword better than most men.”

Anice beamed at him and ducked her head, as if to hide how much his praise had pleased her. The action was both humble and endearing.

“You should see Marin with a sword.” Ella set the heavy head of her axe to the ground. “She moves so fast that you would swear her sword was enchanted.”

“It’s true,” Cat called out from the side of her bow and released another arrow. The lad at her side darted off to reclaim the lot of arrows bristling at the center of the target.

“Aye, it is.” Anice lifted her head. Her smile was now absent its proud sheen. “Marin possesses far greater skill than me.”

There was a hurt there, tucked in the back of Anice’s happy expression, and in this exchange, James realized he was glimpsing that internal pain for the first time. Nay, mayhap there had been other times and he had not recognized it. James folded his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out to her. “I havena seen Marin fight, but I’ve seen ye and am in awe of yer skill.”

“Thank you.” Anice lowered her head again and hid her expression from him.

“In fact, I’d like to test yer skill.”

That got her attention. She snapped her head up. “You want to fight me?”

He grinned. “Aye.”

The moonlight played off her features and highlighted the sharpness of her gaze at the anticipation of such a challenge. “Ella, get the man a practice sword.”

“And I can spar with Peter.” Ella dropped her axe and ran off to comply with Anice’s request.

It was obvious the sister held affection for the handsome Master of the Horse. Better Ella than Anice.

Within moments, Ella was happily sparring with the Master of the Horse, and James had a practice sword in his hands as he stood opposite Anice in the small fighting ring. The weapon was awkward in his hands, short and off-weight, much different from the longer claymore he typically used in battle.

He didn’t have a chance to adjust to the foreign heft of the weapon, though. No sooner had he braced himself in front of Anice than she set on him. Her blade swung at him, smooth and swift. He feinted and jabbed his weapon toward her.

A sudden note of fear nipped at the back of his mind. What if he hurt her?

The tip of his blade dipped with the flash of indecision.

Anice flicked her sword against his and knocked it easily out of her path. She lunged, her attack going first left, then right, then left again. He blocked each blow but did not strike out at her.

She renewed her efforts with such vigor, James’s full attention was required to ensure he didn’t become her next fallen opponent. On her following attack, she ducked as she lunged, nearly catching him in the gut. While he evaded being struck, he hadn’t anticipated her foot sweeping toward his legs. He flew backward and hit the ground with a hard crash.