The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(77)

MacSorley’s pronouncement was all the excuse they needed, and the men started to make their way back to the broch for the midday meal. Tor had noticed the Viking’s flirting, and though he knew Janet could take care of herself, he held him back. “Leave the lass be today,” he warned.

MacSorley frowned and then gave him an odd look. “I thought …” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you still had a claim on the lass. I meant no offense. A bit of harmless flirting, that is all.”

Tor frowned. MacSorley had jumped to the same conclusion as Christina. “I’ve no claim on the lass; Janet is free to do as she pleases.” Tor thought back to earlier in the day, when he and Janet had spoken in the Hall. He’d told her to take the day off, but she’d insisted on coming. “It will help me keep my mind off it,” she’d said. “Today is a difficult day,” he explained. “Janet’s husband was killed five years ago this day.”

“Ah,” MacSorley said. “I see.”

They had turned to head toward the broch when Tor noticed that Campbell had not moved. His senses seemed fixed on something. Watching him, Tor felt a chill sweep over him. Though useful, Campbell’s uncanny ability to sense things took a bit of getting used to.

“What is it?” he asked.

Campbell met his gaze. “We’re being watched.”

From her perch high in the tree, Christina moved a branch aside to try to get a better view over the wide stretch of brown moorland to the ancient broch a few hundred yards away. She wished she could get a little closer, but not wanting to risk discovery, she’d been forced to stay back in the copse of trees for cover.

When she’d made the spur-of-the-moment decision to follow Lady Janet, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. Rather than a secret love bower, she’d apparently stumbled on to some kind of training camp.

She should have been relieved. Her fears about her husband and Lady Janet appeared to be unfounded. And at first she was, but the longer she watched, the more certain she became that something odd was going on here.

Most of the warriors were armored for war in the Highland fashion—instead of mail, wearing simple leather war coats studded with metal, leines, and terrifying Norse-looking steel nasal helms that hid most of their face. One man, however, wore a habergeon of mail, a tabard, and a more typical steel helm with a visor. She frowned. The wyvern crest looked familiar.

Though she had grown accustomed to being surrounded by tall, well-muscled men, even for Islanders this group seemed … extreme. Yet despite the helms and the plethora of prime male specimens, she’d picked out her husband right away. It wasn’t just the noble bearing that gave him away, but the authority and command emanating from him.

As she watched the men go through various training exercises from archery practice, to spear throwing, to tossing boulders, to using ropes to climb to the top of the broch, Christina began to sense that something was odd. These were no ordinary warriors.

During the boulder toss, one of the men had lifted an enormous stone that must have weighed hundreds of pounds over his head as if it were hollow. Even Tor had strained to get it off the ground. When the other warrior laughed, her husband hadn’t seemed to mind and had laughed along with him.

Although Tor was clearly in charge, depending on the task a different man would take the lead. She’d first noticed it during the archery practice, when the man who was clearly better than the others moved to the forefront and started issuing instructions.

She’d been watching for an hour or so when the men broke off into smaller groups. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she probably should be getting back. It wasn’t that long a walk back to the village, but the terrain wasn’t easy, especially in the damp.

But then she saw Tor lift his sword from the scabbard at his back and decided to stay for a while longer.

The contest started out civilly enough—as civil as swinging heavy, razor-sharp steel blades at one another can be. It was brutal, and her heart still pounded, but without the deadly edge of the battle she’d witnessed with MacRuairi, she was able to watch it without feeling as if her knees were about to buckle.

It was almost like a dance, with each man taking turns attacking and evading the two-handed swings of the blade. She squinted into the distance, thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about his opponent. But with the steel helm on, she couldn’t make out his face.

After a few minutes, Christina’s heart started to beat a little faster. The exchange of blows grew more intense, the sound of steel crashing against steel louder. Suddenly, the practice didn’t look quite so friendly. She scooted forward and had to catch herself, forgetting that she was sitting on a branch.

She gasped and blinked when, in one smooth move, Tor wrapped his leg around the other man’s, grabbed the arm that had been moving forward in a strike, and flipped him over onto his back.

In the blink of an eye, Tor had his blade at the other man’s neck. For a horrifying moment she thought he meant to run him through. It was just like before. And just like before she made a small, involuntary sound. This time, thankfully, he didn’t hear her.

She sighed with relief when he reached down to help the other man to his feet.

Eyes glued to the drama unfolding on the practice yard, she hadn’t realized that a few of the other men had gathered around to watch as well.