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“Well, we shall see,” she said, rising from the table and excusing herself.
The thought of fleeing the castle now seemed ever more appealing. She could take a horse and ride north or to the east. If she left now, no one would know until morning, by which time she would be long gone. But that would leave Kin at the mercy of her father, and she was surprised by the force of feeling which now prevented her from making good on her plans immediately. Instead, she informed the servants she was going to bed and took a circuitous route to the gallery above the great hall, pausing to collect her sword from her chambers, approaching the library doors with her heart beating fast.
“I thought you were not coming,” Kin whispered, emerging from the shadows.
He had been waiting by the door, and Murdina was startled by the sight of him, catching her breath as he smiled.
“I was… I was preoccupied with my thoughts. But quickly, come inside,” she said, taking out a key and unlocking the door.
The library was dark, but she had brought a candle with her from the great hall, and now she proceeded to light those in the sconces around the walls, the flickering flames casting an orange glow over the rows of books. Kin closed the door behind them and pulled across the bolt.
“Cillian thinks I am asleep,” Kin said as she turned to face him.
“And the servants think I am, too,” she replied, raising her eyebrows.
“You did not tell your father you are sparring with his prisoner, then?” Kin asked, laughing as he drew his sword.
“He would have locked me away, too, if he knew,” she replied.
The thought of her father’s words–of the planned feast–was weighing heavily on her mind. She felt so angry that he could treat her in such a way. If Aoife had still been alive, they would have stood up to him together, and Murdina had no doubt her sister would have won. It was marriage that had driven her sister to the grave, and Murdina found it extraordinary to think that her father would be so insistent on an act that was bound to bring the deepest unhappiness. Ella and Freya would agree to anything if it meant finding a husband, but Murdina was not about to give in to her father’s demands, even if it meant defying him by running away.
“Well then, shall we fight?” he asked, stepping back from her, and adopting the position of en-garde.
“Are ye certain ye can remember how to fight?” she asked, drawing her sword, and he smiled and raised an eyebrow at her.
“I know I have the skill, but will it be matched by you? It surprises me to hear you make such claims as your sword mastery,” he said, but Murdina was not perturbed.
She knew all the tricks of the swordman’s art, and she had trained long and hard, able to match any opponent who had ever presented themselves to her.
“Ye shall see,” she said, and with a cry, she lunged forward and brought her sword to bear on his.
The clash of steel on steel echoed around the library, and Murdina drew back before lunging again and forcing Kin to adopt a defensive stance.
“You spar well,” he said, breathless, as Murdina challenged him again.
“Then defend yerself,” she said, and again she moved in to attack.
This time, he caught her sword with his, and he had the upper hand for a brief moment. He brought his sword around, raising it up as if to strike before lowering it with a deft swipe so that Murdina was forced to leap high into the air to avoid being knocked off her feet by the flat of his weapon.
“As must you,” he said, smiling at her, as again he lunged forward.
But now, Murdina could tell his plan of attack. She had a way of sizing up her opponents, observing their moves and discerning the patterns in their attack. It was a strategy her sword master, Arron, had taught her.
“Waste nay time in attack, Murdina, until ye know yer opponent’s worth,” he would always tell her.
Swordsmanship was as much about strategy as the attack, and knowing Kin’s movements, Murdina could now anticipate his next move. As she suspected, he now lunged forward, striking out for the attack, while in turn, she dodged his sword, whirling round to catch his blade, which fell from his hand and clattered onto the flagstone floor. She had him now, and he fell back, raising his hands, as the tip of her sword pointed at his chest.
“Well now, who is the winner?” she asked, and Kin gazed up at her with eyed admiration.
“You fought well for…” he began, but she interrupted him.
“For a woman? Aye, I did, but any woman can fight like this–tis’ a matter of trainin’ and wantin’ to win,” she replied.
She took up her sword and sheathed it, holding out her hand and helping him to his feet.
“Will you not fight again?” he asked, and she smiled at him.
“If ye think ye can win, aye, I will,” she replied, and he stooped down to pick up his sword from the floor.
