THOUGH KINLEY DID not try to run, Lachlan rarely found her in her room. At first she wandered the stronghold from roof to cellar.

“She questions everything,” Tormod complained to him. “And no’ like any wench I’ve ken. Naught about fripperies or sewing or cooking. She wants to ken how many in a warband, and the manner of weapons we carry, and even how the undead might get into the stronghold. I had to walk her through every tower. She’d shame a siege master the night before a battle.”

Lachlan allowed Kinley to have her “look around” as she put it, but once she had inspected the whole of Dun Aran she went about finding ways to be useful.

“Yesterday the stable master had her mucking out stalls,” Raen reported before he relieved Tormod from escort duty. “I watched her. I’ll reckon she’s never used a pitchfork in her life, but the lass kept at it until she learnt. Then she had him show her how to groom the nags before she put them back.”

“She’s no’ afraid to work,” Lachlan said. He had heard similar reports from his dairy manager, the shepherds and his cook. “Where does she go today?”

“She asked if she could watch the men sparring in the lists.” His bodyguard grimaced. “I tried to explain that females are a distraction, but you ken how she is when you remind her she’s a lass. Like a pine marten in a rabbit snare.”

“Take her to the armory,” he suggested. “She can watch from the crosswalk outside Neac’s work room.”

As laird Lachlan had many daily responsibilities, ranging from meeting with his chieftains to sorting out plans and grievances to seeing that the stronghold remained well-supplied and secure. He also liked to ride out every week to inspect their herds, and every month to the village to check on the welfare of their mortal neighbors and his servants’ families.

Lachlan had intended to visit the village today, and stop by the old lodge he had built for himself to check how the roof had fared through the winter. His claymores wanted honing, however, and he felt curious about Kinley’s interest in his clan’s battle practice. Once he finished his meeting with the chieftains he made his way to the crosswalk above the lists, where he found Raen and Neac flanking Kinley as they watched a bout.

“See, that’s what I mean,” she said, pointing to the clansmen who had locked blades and were grappling for the upper hand. “They’re wasting time and energy that way.”

“Aye, but they’re enjoying it,” Neac told her. “Especially Fadar there. Naught he loves more than a hard wrestle.”

“Do you spar?” Lachlan asked, startling her.

“Ah, not like that.” Kinley glanced down at the fighters. “I’ve never used a sword. But hand-to-hand combat, fighting with just your body, sure.”

“You are a woman, Kinley,” Raen chided. “You couldnae match a man bare-handed. And if you could prevail, well, I’d eat my horse.”

Lachlan expected her to take offense, but instead she chuckled and shook her head. “Come down to the lists,” he told her. “Neac will spar with you, so you can show us your ways.”

“I will?” the bald chieftain said, and then caught the look Raen gave him. “Och, of course, lass. I’d be honored. Your bones dinnae snap easily, do they?”

Lachlan escorted her down, and called on the men to step back as he led Kinley to the center of the hard-packed dirt training yard. He noted that most of the clansmen looked at her with visible unease, and wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then Kinley took off her boots and stockings, drawing a few lecherous whistles before she planted her bare feet and faced Neac.

“We fight until only one is left standing,” the chieftain said and gave her an uncertain smile. “Or you say to stop. I’ll try no’ to hurt you, lass.”

“Same here.”

She bent her knees slightly, and shook her arms before nodding to him.

Neac circled around her, not attempting to strike but moving in close enough to grab her by the waist and drop her to the ground. Kinley turned as he did, never permitting him to get behind her, and then moved around him. With an exasperated sound Neac snatched at her.

Lachlan blinked, and his chieftain was on the ground with Kinley’s foot pressed against his wide neck. None of the clan moved or spoke. Neac looked up at her and made a choking sound, while Raen’s jaw became unhinged.

“Sorry,” Kinley said and reached down to help the sword master to his feet. “Do you want to go again?”

“Aye, once more,” Neac said. He backed away from her, and all the indulgent humor left his expression. “Attack me this time, you wily wench.”

Kinley grinned, and when he nodded she ran straight at the chieftain. This time Lachlan saw how at the very last moment she spun out of reach of his hands, hooked his leg from behind, and drove her elbow into the bend of his spine.

A heartbeat later Neac was on his back again, staring up at her. Low, shocked murmurs spread through the watching men as Kinley moved back from the chieftain.

Lachlan clapped his gaping bodyguard on the shoulder. “You never liked that horse anyway, lad.”

After seeing their chieftain taken down twice by a female, a dozen of the Uthars stepped forward to challenge her. One by one Kinley sparred with them, using techniques to defeat them that Lachlan had never seen. What amazed him even more was how she showed her moves again to her opponents after they’d lost, in a slower fashion so they could see what she’d done.

When the clan called on Raen, he stepped in front of Kinley. The zig-zag lines of his gray facial tattoo caught the light.

“You cannae defeat me, lass,” he said as he moved to flank her. “So now we’ll see how well you lose.”

“You never know,” she told him as she mirrored his movements, and then ducked to avoid the sweep of one of his massive arms. “I might be faster.”

“Likely no’,” he assured her, and watched as she came around to drive her bare foot into the side of his knee. “That also willnae work on me.”

She limped backward. “Ow. No kidding.”

“Dinnae hurt yourself now.” The bodyguard moved like lightning as he grabbed her, hoisted her off her feet, and tucked her against his side. While she struggled and pummeled him he sighed and looked at Lachlan. “She’s quick, and uses leverage like a weapon.” He knelt on the ground and gently placed her on her back, holding her down with one hand as she tried to get back up. “Lass, you’re clever, and nimble as a dormouse, but there’s a reason I guard the laird. No one has ever prevailed over me, here or in battle.”

“Fine, I concede,” she grumbled, and when he released her she smacked his arm. Instantly she made a face and shook her hand. “It’s like you’re made out of solid iron. How do you move that fast?”

“’Tis what Tharaen is,” a harsh voice said. “A Pritani warrior, like us all. You’ll no’ see any helpless wenches on our battlefields.”

Lachlan looked over as Evander pushed his way through the men. “I think we’re done now. Raen, help Kinley up.”

She was already on her feet by the time the seneschal reached her. “I’m fine, and FYI, not all wenches are helpless. Some of us are actually good fighters.”

Evander’s upper lip curled. “You’ve no place here, you brazen trollop. Go back and warm the laird’s bed.” He bent down to look in her face. “It’s the only worth you have at Dun Aran.”

“I don’t think so,” Kinley said, as much to the seneschal as to Raen and Lachlan when they would have stepped in. “You’re the one who hit me from behind, right? Evander Talorc.” After he glowered at her she cocked her head. “Yeah, you seem like the type to jump a girl from behind. Think you can knock me out while I’m looking at you?”

The men hooted as they shuffled back to give them more room.

When Lachlan would have snatched her away from the seneschal Neac put a big hand on his arm. “No’ yet, Laird,” the chieftain warned. “Respect cannae be ordered. It comes by earning. Let the lass have her go at him.”

He wanted to clout Neac, but he knew he was right. “No weapons or injuring,” he told the seneschal. “Sparring moves only.”

Evander unbelted his tartan and took off his tunic, revealing the hard-muscled grace of his long-limbed body, as well as his tattoo. Two large, tattooed discs with scrollwork were connected by a wide bar across his chest. But through the bar ran a diagonal line that was part of a giant backward ‘Z’ that overlay the whole design. One end of the Z was tipped with a point.

Once Kinley had moved into position, the big man barreled directly at her. Lachlan’s hands balled into fists but Kinley landed a kick to the seneschals’ side that sent him staggering.

“Evander was no’ watching her before this,” Raen muttered.

It took all of Lachlan’s self-control to resist the urge to jump in and beat the seneschal into the ground. The Talorc tribe had always been the most devious and unrelenting of fighters, and Evander a legendary champion even during his mortal life. Kinley quickly learned this, taking several hard punches in the process, and had to rely on her more elusive moves to remain standing.

“Do we fight, or do we dance?” Evander taunted as he struck a glancing blow to her shoulder.

“Personally, I don’t dance with jerks,” Kinley assured him, dropping to avoid another punch and spinning around the seneschal. “Even when they’re pretty damn good-looking. You should walk around without a shirt all the time. All that eye candy makes up for your crappy personality.”

He turned and grunted as he took a kick to the knee. “You sluts are good for only one thing.”

Tormod huffed out a rude sound. “You’re thinking with your cock again, Talorc. Try employing the bigger head.”

As the seneschal glared at the Norseman, Kinley took advantage of the distraction. She skittered around him, jumped on his back and locked her legs around his torso and her arms around his neck.

“Why don’t you take a nap now?” she said through gritted teeth as she cut off his air. “You might be nicer when you wake up.”

Evander choked and shook like a wet dog, but Kinley held on, and Lachlan saw how the match would end. If Kinley prevailed over the proud seneschal, he would never forgive her for humiliating him in front of the clan. That could lead to a much more lethal bout.

“Choke holds are no ‘sparring moves,” Lachlan said as he wrenched Kinley off the seneschal’s back and handed her to Raen. As Evander bent over and gasped for air, he grabbed the front of his tunic and jerked him upright. “’Tis the last time you put hands on her, Talorc. Do you understand me, man?”

The seneschal coughed before he replied. “I’d rather fack a diseased cow than touch that–”

His head snapped back as Lachlan’s fist plowed into his jaw, and his body followed as he dropped like a stone.

All of the men fell silent as they looked from Kinley to Evander to their laird.

“Kinley is a warrior in her homeland,” Lachlan told his clan. “She has methods of fighting that we dinnae ken, but she is mortal, so she will spar only with Raen. Learn from her, show her our ways, but remember this.” He bent and hefted Evander over his shoulder. “She is under my protection.”

As he carried the seneschal into the castle, Lachlan heard Kinley ask, “What does that mean, ‘under his protection?’”

Neac was the one to answer her. “Any insult or harm to you will be answered directly by the laird. He’s declaring that you’re his woman now, lass.”