Kaelyn gulped frozen air and studied the clansman’s chosen warrior. Slapping his naked chest, he grimaced at her. He wore heavy breeches and nothing else that would hamper his movement, like a tunic or a cloak. She suddenly became aware of her heavy skirts pressing against her legs.
The shaman held out a massive sword and, in a loud voice, said something to the crowd. The trial by combat was about to begin.
She wrapped both hands around the hilt and hefted it into a ready position. It was too heavy. Even if she hadn’t been living off of bread alone it would have been too heavy for her. She let the point fall into the well-packed snow. Its very weight pushed it into the snow and when she let go it remained vertical.
There was no way she could stand a chance with the thing.
“Pick up the sword,” said the shaman, his voice low so the crowd couldn’t hear him.
“I don’t think so.” She searched the clansmen for the smallest warrior. Men, women, and children all watched and all seemed as grim as her opponent. Jillyn, Gerid, and Aric stood, surrounded by guards, still huddling together for warmth. And there, on the edge of the crowd, stood Talar, his face pale. Or at least she thought he looked pale, but his expression was blank. He didn’t look nearly as upset as the rest of the clansmen.
Her heart contracted, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he was here or if she was disappointed that he didn’t looked distressed about her imminent death.
And she’d be damned it she let that happen. Her body knew what to do. It had to. She’d done it before with the bandits and there had been three of them. This was just one man. Admittedly a very large man, but one nonetheless.
At the edge of the circle she noticed a youth about her size, and a sword on his hip that would suit her better than the monstrosity the shaman had given her.
“What are you waiting for?” asked the shaman.
“A better weapon.”
“That’s a ceremonial blade.” He huffed and puffed out his narrow chest.
“And it’s too big, thank you very much.”
The shaman snorted and yelled something in his native tongue. Her opponent leapt toward her. She dove for the youth and disarmed him before he could react. A roar swept through the crowd and she spun around.
Her opponent shifted his stance and narrowed his eyes, as if seeing something new in her. She ground her teeth and hefted her weapon. It was still a little heavy, but much more manageable.
She sucked in a breath, her world sharpening as the icy air hit her lungs, making her aware of tiny details: the bumps on her arms and legs from the cold, the moisture thickening the air, the uneven wrapping of the sword hilt, and the bite of the copper wire wound around it digging into her palm. The clansmen’s voices rumbled then hushed as her opponent eased deeper into his stance.
She sucked in another breath and matched him. This was it. If her body was going to take over, now was the time.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Right foot. Left foot.
His movements slowed. The muscles on his chest rippled, foretelling his first swing.
She eased out of the way, knowing she couldn’t block any of his swings. Her sword would likely snap and she couldn’t match him in strength.
He stepped in again.
She sidestepped.
His eyes narrowed and he started circling her. She could feel his scrutiny as sharply as the cold air. He was judging her strength, her agility, her ability.
If they kept at this much longer she’d die from nerves.
Matching his movements, she concentrated on the fog in her mind. She needed to let her thoughts go so her body could take over. She needed to step back.
The fog billowed around her and with a jerk, she leapt forward, swinging the blade in a pattern not intended to score but to gauge the ability of an opponent. She had no idea how she knew this, only that she did. She wove a serpentine pattern of steel around the clansman. In a heartbeat, she realized she was better than him, that she was giving him time to catch the strokes.
She swept into another pattern.
He stumbled out of her web and grabbed her sword arm with his free hand. She twisted and his blade raced along her left side, drawing blood but no pain. Not yet at least.
She swiveled in his grip and kicked his knee, knocking him to the ground.
He tried to catch his balance with his sword. It slid into the snow. Before she realized what she was doing her blade was poised against his throat. She yanked back before drawing the killing stroke.
Blood beaded along his neck.
Kaelyn staggered back, shaking. Her side was on fire, but it wasn’t a fatal wound.
She’d almost killed a man, again.
Her opponent dropped back on his rear, his expression stunned. He pressed his hand to his throat, drew it back, and stared at the blood on his palm.
Someone in the crowd yelled and she dropped into a defensive position. There was no way she could battle an entire clan, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
The shaman stared are her, his gaze hard. Another yell erupted and the crowd took up the call. The shaman raised his hands and said something but the crowd didn’t heed his words. Men drew their weapons, raising them in the air.
Kaelyn shrunk back. She was surrounded, there was nowhere to run.
Then every man, woman, and child dropped to their knees. Suddenly quiet. The last word of their cry echoed across the plateau. Kaelyn clenched her sword, struggling to keep her hands from shaking. A shaft of sunlight broke through the thick clouds and in its glow a great hawk circled.
It was her imagination, she knew that, but in the silence, she could hear the slow pulse of the bird’s wings, beating against the pull of the earth below.
The bird gave one crisp cry and the brilliant light dissolved back into winter’s dismal grey.
The shaman barked a few quick words and Kaelyn was suddenly surrounded by women and ushered across the inner ward to the keep.
“Are you finished?” asked Talar, falling into step beside her.
“Finished with what?”
“Your antics.”
She snorted. “Not in the least. You should stick around. You might get an interesting story or two.”
“Minstrel’s don’t compose, besides, where do you think it will get you?”
Kaelyn shrugged. She had no idea what had just happened but she wasn’t going to ask Talar about it. She was still furious at him for not helping in the first place. Besides, he didn’t seem happy that she still lived. “I’m free, and so are my friends.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She tried to sidestep around him but he caught her arm and yanked her close.
“That’s not what I meant.”
She glared at him. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. Not now.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Seems easier on everyone. You, Mac, and any prospective husbands you had in mind.”
His jaw dropped and he snapped his mouth shut. His eyes filled with hurt and her heart contracted. She hadn’t meant to remind him of the horrible things he’d said about her. She just meant there were things about herself that she couldn’t seem to hide and sword fighting was one of them.
“It just seems that no matter what I remember it keeps coming back to the fact that I’m not what I’m supposed to be.” She shoved past him, unable to face all his hurt.
“So what are you going to do now?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I wish I knew.”
He pulled open a door and let her pass into the keep. “I think your first decision is getting a new dress.”
She glanced at herself and a laugh bubbled over her lips. She looked terrible, covered in filth, with a bloodied and torn bodice. Anger and fear and frustration sparked within her and her laughter turned to small, suppressed sobs.
Talar pulled her down a side hall and into a small closet, out of sight from the passing clansmen.
What was wrong with her? Tears squeezed free from beneath her lashes.
“Hey.” Talar wrapped his arms around her.
She should be happy. She was alive. Free. And she had a gorgeous man hugging her. Wasn’t this what she wanted?
And yet she still had no idea who she was. Well, she supposed she did. She was an abomination. Unwanted. Surely there was more to her that just that. She must have a family, siblings. At the very least a favorite color or food or dress. But there wasn’t anything there, just a fog. A heavy, black nothing. She didn’t even know how old she was.
More tears trickled down her cheeks. She squeezed her hands into fists. If only she could scream at the injustice. She should. But something stopped her, something told her she needed to be strong and brave. But here, with Talar murmuring nonsense into her ear and stroking her hair, perhaps she didn’t have to be so strong.
She pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart thumped strong and certain. A reassurance. Heat grew low in her gut. She traced the hard plane of his chest with her fingers, inching it over his heart. Beneath his shirt and doublet and heavy coat, dark, intricate ink swirled over his flesh. The heat within her increased and her lips tingled. Did she have someone special waiting for her, someone she couldn’t remember? No, she’d probably been even more unwanted when she knew who she was. Did that mean she hadn’t had a first kiss?
All she could think of was what it would feel like to press her lips to a man’s, to Talar’s.
She glanced up at him. His murmuring stopped and she couldn’t look past his lips, couldn’t stop from wondering what they would feel like. But it didn’t matter, since he didn’t want her, no one would. And in that case, what was the harm in finding out?
She couldn’t focus on anything but him, his body pressed against hers, and his lips, ever so slightly parted. She inched up on her toes, drawing closer to him. Closer, closer. His eyes were closed. She could feel the heat from his breath, moist, against her cheeks.
The door swung open.
She threw herself from his embrace to the wall behind her, turning away, certain her face had gone crimson. It certainly felt like it had. She didn’t look at who had opened the door, or Talar, and prayed for both of them to just go away.
The door closed.
The clansman was gone, but Talar remained.
“I should . . . ah. . . . I should get changed,” she said.
Talar nodded.
She pushed past him, heat coursing through her as she brushed by. Her heart pounding. Then she was out the door, into the cool hall. She forced herself into a brisk walk.
Don’t look back. Just don’t look back.
