Page 26 of A Wolf's Bargain
She’d asked Cillian about the sullen man she’d met the day after their wedding. He’d rolled his eyes and said to “pay the surly bastard no mind.” She’d asked Seamus after that. He’d shrugged, claiming that he didn’t know much except that Eoin was a fine warrior who kept to himself. All Cora knew for certain was that any time she passed Eoin, he scowled as though she’d spit on his shoes.
Cathall, the large blonde who’d held her when she’d tried to run from Cillian’s wolf, appeared in front of her. His greeting drew her thoughts away from Eoin’s frosty demeanor.
“Hello, Lady! Off somewhere important, are you?”
Cora smiled warmly and replied, “I’m sure my patients would think so. Some of the younger lads made themselves sick on a bad batch of ale. I’m bringing them some rosemary to help, but it can wait if you need me. A little extra time might drive the lesson home, don’t you think?”
Cathall returned her smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Cillian’s second-in-command always treated her with respect, but Cora felt he hadn’t yet passed judgment on her. He spoke to her—smiled, even—but it always felt stiff and forced.
“You’re a harsh mistress, Madam Fane,” he said, “But you’re right. A little more suffering will encourage them to be more careful next time. Would you care to watch today’s training?”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” she said, offering an apologetic shrug. “I’d hate to be a distraction.”
For the first time, Cathall’s smile was genuine. “In that case, you must come! Your husband is in the ring today, and a distraction will be just what his opponent prays for!”
A large group of men surrounded the makeshift sparring ring. Her father’s guards sparred in a wide ring bordered by a short wooden fence. The ring in the luchthonn camp was smaller and only marked by a thin rope at its edges. The guards had always treated sparring like military drills. Éogan was a harsh taskmaster, and he drove his men until they perfected whatever skill they needed. The two men currently in the ring were far less rigid. They danced around each other like there was a maypole between them.
Cathall gestured toward the crowd just as the two men crashed together like a pair of quarreling dogs. “Would you care for a closer look, Lady?”
Cora nearly declined. Her patients were waiting, and she was sure that Cillian would say that a sparring ring was no place for a lady. She hadn’t told him about Éogan’s lessons. Hadn’t told himabout the afternoons she’d spent watching the men run their drills while she mimicked them with a stick or wooden sword. Suddenly, she missed the crash of shields and the heavy cracks of the half-staffs.
“Yes, I think I would.”
If her answer surprised him, Cathall didn’t show it. He nodded, leading her closer to the ring. They nudged men out of the way, pushing forward until they broke through to the inner circle.
Two men faced off in the ring. One held an arming sword in one hand and a buckler in the other. The second, a much larger man, hefted a heavy claymore like it was a twig. They circled each other carefully, each looking for a weakness in their opponent’s guard.
Someone from the crowd yelled, “Get on with it, you lazy bastards!”
The rest of the men roared in agreement, and suddenly, the two men collided. The harsh scrape of the claymore against the buckler hurt Cora’s ears. She leaned closer to Cathall and shouted to be heard over the din of the crowd. “Why do they use their real weapons? Isn’t this training?”
“Of course!” he answered. “Why would they use anything else? These are the weapons they’ll use in battle. To train with anything else would be foolish!”
Cora stared at the two fighters, awestruck by their ferocity. The man with the claymore clearly had brute strength and size on his side, but his opponent didn’t seem worried. A one-handed sword and buckler were far easier to maneuver. The smaller man dodged the heavy swings of the claymore with ease, skirting around the edge of the ring.
The round went on for ages. As one man landed a hit, the other found a weakness or dodged a strike. It wasn’t until the smaller man took a blow to the head from the claymore’spommel that the match was called. Blood dripped into the dirt below, and the loser held one hand to his head as he shook the winner’s hand with the other.
Cora asked Cathall if the men would need her help with their injuries, but he waved her question away. “They’re luchthonn; they will heal quickly. Now, if amadraígets in the ring, they might need you afterward.”
Either he didn’t know about the many luchthonn she’d healed in the past weeks, or he thought it impossible for a human, amadraí, to come out the victor. Something inside rankled at his words, some vain pride. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard one of the luchthonn dismiss their human ‘brothers.’ Even the name they’d given them—madraí, dogs—was the lesser form of their own wolves. Not all agreed, but it was enough. The fact that they’d had no healing resources for them before she’d come was telling. Many of the luchthonn seemed to treat themadraílike her father treated his hunting dogs—valuable if needed for a task, but not nearly as important as a man.
Cora wondered why the human men put up with it. Even thinking about it heated her blood. Frustration built under her skin until her hands shook. She stuffed them into her apron pocket and hoped Cathall wouldn’t notice.
Cillian appeared in the middle of the ring, all swagger and confidence. “All right, lads, who’s in the mood to bleed?”
“I’ll fight you!”
The crowd went silent as all eyes fell on her. All around her, the men stared and gawked, but she ignored them. The only person who mattered was the man in the middle of the ring.
He looked her up and down, shaking his head as though she were a riddle he couldn’t solve. A moment of silence passed, and Cora waited patiently for him to respond. The air crackled with tension, waiting for someone to break it. Finally, he grinned andswung his sword up to rest on his shoulder. “A brave challenge, wife, but this isn’t a knitting circle.”
Heat flooded Cora’s cheeks as the men laughed around her. Cathall took her arm as though to lead her away, but she shook him off. “I didn’t ask for a needle, husband. Give me a sword. Or are you frightened of a little woman like me?”
Sounds of surprise rippled through the crowd. Some men looked concerned, while others leaned closer, drawn in by the growing spectacle. Across the circle, two men slid coins between them.
Cillian scoffed. “Enough, lass. You’ll only hurt yourself trying to pick up the blade.”
Cora smiled sweetly. “Then it’ll be a short match, yes?”