Chapter 10

10

E rin stood before Hayden, clutching the sword he offered her.

"Ye came," he exclaimed. "I had thought ye asked in jest."

"Ye daenae think I would?"

"Well, I'll be honest, yer request is an odd one. No lass needs to fight. Yer well protected here."

Erin huffed, walking right up to him. She stared him in his eyes as she raised the sword, albeit with some difficulty. She had been ambushed twice now, and for a woman who was not well travelled, she did not like the frequency at which her life had been threatened. Magnus had saved her before, but he spent so little time in her company, she could hardly rely on him to be her protector.

"Well, lass, let's begin." He raised his sword, demonstrating how to correctly hold the blade. Erin mirrored his actions, but the sword drooped in her grip.

"Ye'll need to work on yer wrist strength. Ye'll nae be getting that from yer needlework." Hayden corrected her grip and her stance, guiding her to bend her legs in a way that drew on her thighs.

Erin's determined figure contrasted starkly against Hayden's relaxed stance. Hayden grinned with more amusement than she deserved. Her safety was no laughing matter, but he instructed her with an air of humor. She moved as he did, but her rhythm lacked the fluidity of his more practiced ease. Each time she glanced his way, Hayden wiped the smile from his face, but Erin knew it had been there.

"Hit me sword with the flat of yer own. Feel the weight in yer arms."

Hitting his sword was no easy feat when the weight of the blade pulled against her, but she gave it her best swing, finding some satisfaction in the twang that rang out. Hayden found it funny, and to make the moment worse, laughter rang out from behind her. She knew that laugh, turning to face Magnus like a bull in search of a red rag.

The nerve of the man to laugh at her sword fighting burned her after she had accepted and even enjoyed his company during their flower arranging session. After their kiss had broken the ice, their little touches had definitely warmed the air around them, or so she had thought. Now, he was openly mocking her, and his reaction embarrassed her far more than any other. This man was getting under her skin. With the taste of his kiss still on her lips, she had a good mind to stomp over to him and enjoy his proximity, but she would not let him distract her from her training.

"This is none of yer business," she cried out. She needed him to go or she would not be able to focus on the lesson.

"Continue yer work, lass; Caelan and I were just passin' through." Magnus gave a chuckle before he continued his walk around the edge of the green.

"Try again, Erin," Hayden encouraged.

She braced herself once again, both hands gripping the hilt of her weapon. She lifted it with all her strength before driving it around into Hayden's. The sword rebounded, flipping from her grip. It came nowhere near Hayden, but he jumped back all the same.

"Remember, Erin," Hayden jested, "ye need to dance with the sword, not wrestle it."

"Enough of yer teachin', Hayden," Erin snapped back. "I need no dancin' lessons."

"Ye say that now, but wait till the ceilidh at yer weddin'," Hayden teased, earning himself a glare that would have made a lesser man retreat.

"Ceilidh or no, I'll nae be made a fool of," Erin retorted, her gaze blazing with fire that rivalled the hearth back in the great hall.

"Careful, brother," Magnus called out as he approached, a half-smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of his thoughts. "Ye might find yerself bested by a lass."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Hayden quipped with a grin, undeterred by his brother's presence.

"Balance is key, lass," Hayden chided playfully, circling her like a hawk eyeing its prey. "Ye cannae let the sword control ye. Ye must master it."

"Easy for ye to say," Erin grumbled, her voice laced with determination as she hoisted the weapon again, its tip barely clearing the ground.

"This training was yer idea," Hayden reminded her.

"Perhaps if I were trainin' with somethin' less cumbersome," she said through gritted teeth, her suggestion veiled with a hint of defiance.

Hayden laughed, a carefree sound that echoed across the field. "And what would ye prefer? A needle and thread?"

"Enough," Magnus interjected, his deep voice cutting through the banter like the sharp edge of a dirk. "This is nae the way to teach swordplay."

Erin's attention snapped to him, her blue eyes meeting his with an intensity that belied her struggle. She lowered the sword, her arm muscles quivering from exertion. Damn this man and his presence; even with her back to him, she could feel he was there, watching. If she had a little skill to display, she could perform to her unwanted audience, but she hated being an embarrassment in his eyes. Practicing alone would give her more satisfaction when she finally displayed her learned skills, but in this instance, learning was more important for her safety than the unfathomable urge to impress the man before her.

"Show me then, Laird McCormack," she challenged, extending the hilt towards him, her tone a mix of weariness and provocation.

Magnus's gaze swept over Erin's form, taking note of her stance—feet planted firmly apart, yet her arms trembled under the weight of steel. She was no warrior, but her determination spoke volumes about her spirit. Despite her frustration, a fire in her refused to be quenched—a fire he found both infuriating and enthralling.

"Come now, lass, ye cannae expect to land a blow if ye swing like a wean with a stick," Hayden taunted, his voice carrying on the breeze.

Erin's arm tensed, and with a swift motion, she thrust forward, only to have Hayden sidestep with a laugh. The joy faded from her eyes, replaced by a spark of anger. She shot Hayden a glare so fierce it could curdle milk, and Magnus felt an involuntary chuckle rumble from deep within his chest.

Hayden caught his brother's eye and winked, but Erin, sensing the shared amusement, spun on Magnus, her blue eyes flashing in frustration. The sight tickled something within him—a feeling he couldn't quite name—and amused him with her fiery spirit.

"Enough," Magnus said, stepping forward. His voice, a commanding rumble, instantly silenced the pair. "Caelan, Hayden, leave us."

The two men exchanged glances, Caelan's ever-shrewd eyes flickering with curiosity before he bowed slightly and departed. Hayden followed, though not without shooting Erin a parting grin that promised their little duel was far from over.

Once alone, Magnus stepped closer, his presence like the ancient pines that dominated the landscape—solid, immovable. He watched Erin, whose chest rose and fell with exertion, her wavy brown hair coming loose from its braid.

Their fingers brushed as he took the sword from her, sending an unexpected surge of heat coursing through his veins. He fought to keep his expression impassive, aware of Hayden's watchful gaze.

"Firstly," Magnus began, his voice steady despite the turmoil, "ye need a weapon more suited to yer strength." He set aside the broadsword, retrieved a lighter blade from the nearby rack, and offered it to her. "Try this."

Erin grasped the new sword, testing its balance with a few tentative swings. A small smile tugged at her lips—an acknowledgement of the consideration he'd shown her, however begrudgingly.

"Better," she admitted, squaring her shoulders as she adjusted her grip.

"Watch closely," Magnus instructed, demonstrating a simple parrying technique. "It's nae about brute force. It's about agility... precision."

The air between them crackled as they moved together, the clink of metal punctuating each deliberate step. Erin mirrored his movements, her earlier impatience giving way to focused emulation. Her proximity was an annoying distraction, each brush of her hand against his sending his pulse racing.

"Ye're quick to learn," he conceded, unable to suppress a grudging note of respect.

"Perhaps there's more to me than ye thought," Erin retorted, her eyes locked on his.

"Perhaps," Magnus replied, the word hanging between them like a promise—or a threat.

Their sparring grew more intense, blades dancing as they tested each other's defenses. The air seemed to grow thicker with every contact, charged with an unspoken desire neither dared to acknowledge.

"Yer not holdin' back," Erin breathed out, a touch of surprise coloring her voice.

"Would ye want me to?" Magnus countered, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Never," she shot back, her blade flashing dangerously close to his.

They stood locked in a stalemate for a moment, their faces mere inches apart, breaths mingling in the cool Highland air. Magnus could feel the wild beat of her heart mirroring his own, and he knew he should step away, put distance between them—but he couldn't.

"Erin," he began, his voice rough with emotion he couldn't name, their lips so close that one false move could be fatal. With the setting sun casting long shadows across the grounds, Magnus began instructing Erin on the finer points of wielding a dirk, each stray touch igniting a charge threatening to consume them both. They were two souls caught in a dance as old as the Highlands, bound by a marriage of convenience yet drawn together by a force that was neither fully understood.

As dusk approached, the air grew charged, and for a fleeting instant, their bodies drew perilously close. A whisper of what might be lingered, palpable as the mist that rolled over the moors.

"Enough for now. We shall continue after the wedding," Magnus instructed.

"Perhaps we should postpone—" Erin's voice broke through the haze of their proximity.

Magnus stiffened, the warmth in his eyes retreating behind a glacier of defense. "The wedding will take place as planned," he stated coldly, distancing himself physically and emotionally with a swiftness that belied his inner turmoil. "Perhaps yer would tell me why ye asked Hayden to train ye."

"Ye always seem so busy."

"Nay, lass. I mean why ye want the training."

Erin hesitated, her sword lowering as she seemed to gather her thoughts. Her face turned away from his. Magnus watched as Erin's grip tightened around the hilt of her sword, her knuckles turning white with the effort. She stood silent for a moment longer than he liked, and he wondered if she'd dismiss his question with a flippant remark to hide her true feelings. But then, her voice, soft yet laced with an undercurrent of steel, broke the silence.

"Please, lass, I'll nae judge ye, why are ye training?" he asked, his laconic tone stripping the question to its barest form.

"I daenae want to be helpless," she finally said, her tone thick with emotion. "I've been a prisoner before and won't be one again."

"Ye are nae prisoner here. Ours is an arrangement of convenience, but nay lock nor key holds ye here."

"It was in the carriage, when the brigands attacked and the man came upon me. That is the captivity I fear. If I had protected myself, ye wouldnae have been hurt."

"Yer need not worry about me, lass."

"Ye ken…" Erin began, her gaze not leaving the blade she held—a poor substitute for control. "It reminded me of when he took us, I could do naught but watch. It was like being a wee bairn again, helpless in the hands of those who would harm." Her eyes met his, and he saw the flicker of remembered fear in them. "I was held captive by the Englishman for six years."

Her words hung between them, a confession that peeled back a layer of her usually calm demeanor. Magnus's gaze softened imperceptibly. He understood the need for control, the desire to fight one's own battles.

"Then train ye shall," he said, his voice low but firm. "But nae with jests and mockery. I'll show ye how."

Their eyes met, and Magnus felt a twinge of something—empathy, perhaps—pierce his hardened shell. He had known helplessness, too, when his father's cruelty cast a shadow over their home.

"Thank ye for understanding," Erin whispered, relief heavy on her flushed lips.

"Aye, I understand that feeling all too well," he admitted, stepping closer to guide her stance. "It is why I learned to fight, never to find myself at another's mercy. As far back as I can remember, there have been attempts on the laird's life. Me faither was constantly on alert against the threat from others towards himself and his family. I had hoped for different when I took his place, but I have faced coups and attempts on me life." Magnus dropped his head, then steadied himself, returning his focus to the moment.

"Ye were young when ye became laird," Erin observed, catching her breath as Magnus corrected her grip on the dirk.

"Aye. Fourteen winters," Magnus confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "The coups against me faither... they dinnae stop with his death. I had to be cunnin' and resourceful to keep me siblings safe."

"That is why ye keep yerself distanced from yer family?" Erin paused, absorbing his words and the weapon's weight in her hand. "And now ye train me," she mused, a hint of wonder edging into her voice.

"Because I willnae have ye feel that way again," he declared, his gaze locked onto hers. "Not while ye are under me protection."

Their training continued, the clashing of steel punctuating the air, each strike and parry a testament to the intensity growing between them. Erin moved with a determination that impressed him, her earlier hesitation giving way to a fierce resolve. And Magnus, the man who had built walls around his heart, found himself admiring the woman's independent spirit before him.

"Ye're a quick learner," he said, offering rare praise as twilight approached.

"Perhaps there's a warrior in me yet," Erin replied a playful glint in her eye despite the exhaustion that painted her features.

"Perhaps," Magnus echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile, a silent acknowledgement of her potential.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, cloaking them in the cool embrace of dusk, they knew the day's end was near. The wedding loomed over them, a binding contract neither had sought, but both were honor-bound to fulfil.

"Tomorrow, we marry," Erin murmured, the finality of the statement hanging heavy between them.

"Aye, tomorrow," Magnus replied, his voice betraying none of the emotion that churned within him.

They stood there, two warriors caught in the twilight, their future uncertain but their paths irrevocably intertwined. As shadows crept across the training grounds, the promise of what lay ahead hung suspended like the last ray of light before the darkness of night.

Magnus extended the hilt of a minor, intricately carved dirk toward Erin. She reached out, her fingers brushing his as she took hold of the weapon. A jolt shivered up her arm at the contact, but she focused on the tremendous weight of the dirk in her hand.

"Ye need to grip it firmly, like this," Magnus instructed, his fingers wrapping over hers, guiding her into a proper hold. Each touch ignited sparks that danced along Erin's skin, and she swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on his words rather than his proximity. His breath was warm against her cheek, and the scent of pine and leather enveloped her senses.

"Ye see, lass, with a dirk, precision is key," he continued, shifting closer to demonstrate a thrust. "Ye want to be swift and decisive."

Erin nodded, taking in every detail as he moved her hand through the air, mimicking the action of striking an unseen foe. The seriousness in his deep blue eyes held her captive, and she felt a strange mix of safety and exhilaration under his tutelage.

"Good, now try it yerself," Magnus said, stepping back to give her space.

Erin executed the movement, her arm extending with newfound confidence. She turned to him for approval, only to find him closer than expected, their bodies almost touching. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there, and Erin's breath hitched.

"Ye're doin' well," he murmured, his voice low and rough.

"Thank ye," she whispered back, her heart pounding so loudly she feared he could hear it. They were lost in a moment outside of time, where the impending wedding and their roles meant nothing.

"Here, let me show ye the sgian dubh now," Magnus said after a charged silence, retrieving the miniature dagger from his boot. He carefully moved it in her palm, closing her slender fingers around the handle. "This one can be concealed easily, used for close combat."

As he spoke, his hand brushed along her forearm and pricked her skin with awareness. Erin looked up at him, meeting his intense gaze, and for an instant, they hovered on the edge of something more profound than their shared lessons in weaponry. They gazed into each other's eyes, both wanting more, both wanting the other to make the move and reunite their lips.

"Ye'll have to be close to yer enemy for this one," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in, simulating an attack.

Their faces were mere inches apart, and Erin could count the flecks of green in his stormy eyes. Her lips parted slightly, his gaze flickering down once more. It would be so easy to bridge the distance between them, to taste the promise of what might be...

But the spell was broken as Magnus straightened abruptly, a trace of confusion marring his features. He cleared his throat, stepping away as if the nearness was a sudden threat. Erin jolted as the moment ended, not just their closeness but their training too. Magnus raised the barriers around himself that she had worked so hard to break through.

"Let's speak of the morrow," he said gruffly, turning to hide whatever emotions battled within. "Are all yer preparations in place?"

Still reeling from the intensity of their encounter, Erin managed a nod. "Aye, everything is ready for the wedding."

"Good," Magnus replied, though his voice lacked the conviction of his earlier teachings.