Page 2 of To Win a Highlander’s Heart

“Pair off,” Alaric called out. All around her the men paired up, avoiding eye contact with her until only she and Watt were left. He groaned his displeasure as he drew his sword. “Are you ready?” Impatience flashed in his eyes.

Isolde drew her sword. She offered her opponent a brief salute with her weapon as she tucked the length of her dress behind her. She’d barely finished the movement when Watt’s lip curled up in an arrogant smile as he lifted his weapon high over his head and swung with the full force of his strength at her.

Isolde did nothing to counter the move except to step back, allowing her partner to swing at the air. He stumbled forward, then sideways with the force of his movements. He growled in outrage.

These men were always so impatient to begin. Watt would be better served to hesitate, to think about and anticipate his foe, but he never did. Instead, he rushed forward, cutting and slashing this time as he advanced.

Isolde parried his blade, then with a jab of her weapon, sent him to the ground.

He hit the dirt with a soft thud, quickly rolled to his feet, and lashed out again.

Watt fought well, but not well enough to best her. Isolde leapt sideways then sent her blade whistling between his neck and his shoulders, avoiding harming him, but taking several inches off his beard as her weapon sailed by.

Watt’s eyes went wide. “Are you trying to kill me?” His tone was filled with both surprise and irritation. Then his hand moved to his beard and a dark frown came to his face.

Their blades clashed again and again, and as they did, a pulse entered Isolde’s blood, filling her with a sense of rightness. This was what she was meant to do. This was who she was. A warrior for Scorrybreac.

Isolde allowed Watt one last pass then, permitting her new-found invigoration to fill her, she pursued him with an intensity that caused his face to pale. With a swipe of her sword and a twist, she knocked his sword from his hand. Then with a sweep of her foot, she knocked his legs out from under him until he lay at her feet, conquered.

Watt stared up at the blade against his chest with awe, which slipped to anger a heartbeat later. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” he grumbled as he got to his feet. He always had an excuse. She never argued with him. It would only make matters worse if she pointed out that warriors often had to go into battle with little or no sleep.

He glared at Isolde as he prepared to battle once more, but a sound in the distance stalled not only him but all the others as well. “The gates are opening,” Watt said, lowering his weapon.

“We have visitors,” Alaric called out. “You may go to greet them, then I want you back here for more training. Agreed?”

A chorus of ayes sounded as the men streamed towards the front courtyard. Instead of joining them, Isolde sheathed her sword and picked up her bow and quiver before entering the castle and climbing to the north tower. It was her favourite place to watch the comings to and goings from her home.

High above the commotion, Isolde drew in a breath of fresh air. From this vantage point, she could easily view Portree Harbour and the surrounding countryside. Her gaze swept along the approach to the castle, watching a small company of men as they crossed the drawbridge then headed for the keep. Her brother had obviously invited these men here. Who were they?

She studied each man as he came forward, until she recognised one man amongst them all. Ewen MacPhee was thick and squat, and his constant furrowed brow and piercing eyes made him look like the scoundrel she knew him to be. This was the third time he and his men had visited the castle this week. And with a sinking feeling at her core, Isolde suspected she knew why. Her brother was planning to marry her off to the one man she detested above all others.

Ewen had attended a dinner with the Nicolson clan two days ago where her brother had hinted at a match between the two of them. All through the meal she’d thwarted most of Ewen’s clumsy advances. And when he’d caught her alone, he’d groped her with his meaty paws and had tried to kiss her until she’d kneed him in the bollocks.

Still angered by those events, Isolde reached for an arrow from her quiver and set it against the string of her bow, with one finger above the arrow and two below. She located Ewen after he’d dismounted and, pulling the string until it touched her lips and chin, she aimed not at the man’s heart but at the narrow-brimmed cap on his head.

She kept her arm straight but not stiff as she weighed her options. If she relaxed her string hand, the arrow would fly directly towards Ewen. If her brother thought she would willingly accept that weasel as her bridegroom, then he was mistaken. The squatty oaf might want to marry her, but perhaps he would feel differently if she embarrassed him to the point where he refused to take her.

Marriage was what was expected of any female by the age of twenty. But Isolde had always had other plans and her brother knew that as he pursued a marriage partner for her. Most likely it was because John had always been jealous of her abilities as a warrior, which far exceeded his own. Or, a more frightening thought was that John had no intention of allowing her to fight alongside his men, or in any Scottish army, no matter what their father had wanted.

Isolde frowned as she lessened the tension on her bowstring. Perhaps it was time for her to stop fighting the inevitable. She would never change her brother’s mind. She’d been trying since her parents had died last year. If she wanted a different future than the one he had planned for her, it was time for her to strike out on her own and find another clan who would value her skills. With tension between the Scots and the English intensifying, perhaps even another branch of the Nicolson clan on the mainland might overlook her gender.

She’d considered pretending to be a man instead of a woman, but that could become problematic quickly if she were discovered. Nay, it was better to find a clan who would accept her for who she was. She was proud of her skills and abilities; there had to be someone else in Scotland who would be as well.

“John thought you might be hiding up here.”

Isolde did not turn to look at her pregnant sister-in-law. “What do you want, Sarah?”

“I come bearing good news,” Sarah said in a cheerful voice as she cupped her very round abdomen with her hands. “Your bridegroom has arrived.”

Why had her brother allowed his wife to climb the tower steps when she was so heavy with child? The woman had only a few more days of her confinement until their first child would arrive. “He is not my bridegroom,” Isolde said.

“If you loose that arrow, he will not be. But then again you won’t be a bride either,” Sarah said in an annoyingly sweet tone. “Your wedding will become a hanging instead.”

Isolde lowered her bow and swivelled towards Sarah. “I was not going to kill him.”

“It looked like you were going to do just that.”

Isolde frowned. “I was only going to give Ewen MacPhee a reason to regret appearing here this day as I divested him of his hat.”