Page 18 of Darach

Darach murmured an apology to Charlotte as he rose from the table and went to speak to three men who had just entered the hall.

“I reckoned all the females from the future must do naught but ask questions and chatter on and on as my Mery shall,” Luthias said to Charlotte, earning a scowl from his wife. “’Twould seem ’tis but her way.”

“I’m a scientist. Questioning everything is the job description.” Emery stole one of the laird’s jam-covered oat cakes. “Anyway, while you’re here you’ll find out about the downsides of medieval life. No central heating, wool gowns, soap made from wood ash, toothpaste made from burnt herbs, and having to use a privy–” A big hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the rest of her complaints.

A tall man who smelled of smoke and metal loomed over the laird’s wife. He had bizarre-looking orange streaks in his black hair, and looked like he wanted to hurt someone.

“No more whining over the privy,” he said.

His brutally muscular arms told Charlotte that he could easily snap Emery’s neck with one jerk. Just another thug who thinks he can do whatever he wants to a woman. Something dark and huge rose inside her as she grabbed the knife from the bread plate. Her chair suddenly fell over as she got up and held the tip of the blade to his neck.

“Take your hands off her,” Charlotte told him. “Now.”

The man uttered a low laugh and released Emery before he looked down at the knife. “You’re quick to make threats, wench.” He grabbed hold of her wrist. “Only you cannae cut my throat with such a dull blade.”

“Want to see me try?” she countered, moving closer and tightening her grip on the handle.

Suddenly Darach got in front of her and shoved the man away from the table. “Dinnae touch her.”

“I like the wench. She fights when she’s cornered.” The man staggered back as if he’d been punched, and his mouth started bleeding. “’Twas but a jest, Chieftain.”

Charlotte hadn’t seen Darach hit him, but when she glanced down at his hand she saw blood on his knuckles. How could he have moved that fast?

“Enough.” Luthias got up and stepped between the two men. “Camdyn, go and dine with the guards. Chieftain, attend to your patrollers.”

For a moment it looked as if both men would ignore him, and then with one final, ugly glare at each other they went their separate ways.

“It’s okay, Charlotte,” Emery said, touching her rigid arm. “That’s Camdyn, our armorer, and he really was just joking with me. He and I are good friends.” She glanced over at the chieftain. “He and Darach, not so much.”

“My thanks, Mistress Walsh,” Luthias said, new respect in his eyes as he regarded her. “The threat, ’twasnae real, but ’tis good you’d choose to fight than run.”

Charlotte stared at the knife in her fist, really seeing it for the first time. She hadn’t even consciously decided to pick up the blade; she simply grabbed it like a reflex. The thought that she could have stabbed Camdyn didn’t dismay her as much as it should have, either. She made herself put the knife back on the platter and reached down to right her chair before sitting in it.

“Do you have some fighting experience?” Emery asked.

“None at all.” She wasn’t embarrassed by what she’d done, only angry. She forced herself to smile. “I suppose it was a delayed reaction from being attacked. I don’t plan to be in that position ever again.”

“Me, I always kick first,” Emery assured her. “They never expect that, and it really hurts if you hit their shin bones––or certain parts north of there. Then I either talk my way out, or run away fast and hide. When you’re my size those are pretty much the only follow-up options.”

“You’re lucky.” Charlotte glanced down at her food, but her stomach had tied itself into a knot. “I never knew I could be a violent person.”

“Well, don’t kick yourself for it, okay?” Emery put her small hand over Charlotte’s. “From what Luthias told me you’ve already been through hell. Also, Camdyn shouldn’t have done that. He only acts like a big jerk because, well…think of him as being twelve years old and hating girls. That helps explain most of what he does.”

Charlotte glanced over at the armorer, who sat eating a bowl of stew. His mouth looked swollen on one side where Darach had punched him. He did look like a sulky boy, but that didn’t make her any happier about what she had done. “Excuse me for a moment.”

She got up and went over to Camdyn, who rose and looked at her hands as if making sure she didn’t carry a knife.

“Truly I didnae mean any harm to our lady, Mistress,” he said, sounding a little ashamed of himself now. “’Tis but a long standing jest between us.”

“Yes, Emery told me. I’m sorry that I assumed otherwise. My name is Charlotte Walsh.” She held out her hand. “I understand that you’re the clan’s armorer.”

“Aye.” He clasped her fingers firmly but gently as his gaze shifted over her face. “If you’re in need of a weapon or armor, I’m the man to see.”

She recalled how good it had been to hold the bread knife in her fist. “I would like something I can carry with me while I’m here. I don’t think I can manage a sword, but can you spare a dagger?”

Camdyn smiled, turning his sullen face into a stunning work of art. “Come to the forge when you’ve time, Mistress, and we’ll find one that suits you.”

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