She removed her sword, but was directed to the quintains. Let down, she marched forward and sheathed her sword. For she was terrible at using the bow and would verily be bested. That was something that irked her for she wanted to be the best at any and all weapons.

As she stood in line, awaiting her turn, she saw the dark-haired warrior walk by. Oh that she could test her skills against him. Her eyes took in his muscular form, his bared legs, and stealthy gait. He had the confidence of a true warrior. How she wished she had as much self-assurance.

The man in front her finished his round and left the quintain with his arrows in hand. He bumped into her on purpose and muttered something about a lad getting in his way. She turned back to the quintain and ignored him.

Emlyn pulled the five arrows she’d brought and held the bow in her hand. Fortunately everyone’s attention was caught by the Scotsmen who began to train with swords. She heard the shouts of the men, the cheers, and the crowd’s dejection when someone faltered. How she wanted to run off and watch too, but she’d been given her assignment.

She hastily shot her arrows, each missing their target. With a groan, she set off to pick them up and then made her way to the large field where teams of warriors took to their swords. The metal clashes rang in her ears. Excitement buzzed in her heart.

She stood next to her brother, awaiting his instruction.

“Emlyn, go on the field and find a partner. You’ll be going against a Scot. Be careful, lass, and for God’s sake, be alert.” Griffen grinned and watched her walk away.

For the next two hours, Emlyn fought against the men of their visitors. She’d bested two and was bested by one other. Her arms had gotten somewhat of a good workout. Still she had one more to thwart.

Late afternoon had come and soon, supper would be served. Her mother was going to lecture her on being gone all day, but it was worth it.

David stepped into the center of the field. He announced it was the last round and the winners would pick their opponents. Emlyn couldn’t contain her excitement, for she’d won two of her three rounds and was slated to be able to pick her next opponent. She knew exactly who she wanted to fight.

Emlyn walked the field and searched for him. As she strolled through the mass of giant warriors, she couldn’t help grinning. They were handsome, but akin to what Delyth and Branwyn had described … much like their soldiers, unkempt and uncaring of their appearance. Still, they were strong and muscular, and worthy opponents.

When she neared the end of the row of soldiers, she spotted her adversary. He stood watching her and when she stepped in front of him, she held out her sword, and pointed to him. His comrades, around him, laughed, and slapped his back.

The warrior grinned, stepped out of line, and followed her to the open field where four other groups were in the thorough of a good fight. No sooner had she turned, her sword met with his and rang with the effort. She continued to meet him, and even caused him to step back twice in her attack.

The battle became exhausting for her, because he continued his attack, and she had a little trouble meeting his sword in time. He didn’t appear the least bit winded from their exercise. His skill was much beyond hers, mayhap exceptional, and he easily kept her at bay. For several minutes, he kept her busy, attacking from the side, the front, and from above. Emlyn grew tired and her exertion came in harsh breaths. Then she got a burst of energy and swung her sword from side to side. She caught him unawares when he tripped on a rock that stuck up from the field. He fell backward, and she quickly settled her body over his, pinning him to the ground.

He rolled her over easily, now pinning her to the ground. The warrior’s hold tightened, and she couldn’t get out of his grip. Emlyn huffed, and considered there was only one way out of the predicament. She kneed him between his legs. The warrior groaned, and she quickly jumped atop him and held him down with her body.

His eyes narrowed.

Emlyn’s chest heaved from the exertion and with her breasts pressed against his chest, she watched his expression. His hands moved along her body and he caressed her arse. She drew in a gasp, knowing he suspected that she was female.

A slow grin came to him.

Emlyn tried to roll off him, but he held her in place with his burly hands. “Do you give?” she asked, hoping he would submit and release her.

But he didn’t. He shook his head. “I submit to no one.”

His voice was deep and utterly wonderful. How arrogant the warrior was. Emlyn wanted to tease him and mayhap laugh at his boast, but she would never.

They continued to try to overtake each other, and Emlyn held him firmly on the ground. Her hips moved in a way that caused her groin to press against his. She felt the effects of it too, and her suspicion that he suspected she was a woman came to fruition.

He knows.

A devilish grin came and his eyes crinkled in merriment. “Lass, if you wanted to roll around with me, we could’ve forgone our swords.” He reached up and fingered the lock of her hair that had fallen from beneath her helmet.

She gasped, punched his shoulder, and rose. “You’re a knave.”

“Only when it’s necessary. You bested me. I am humbled.”

“Aye? I shall meet you another day, warrior, and will best you again. Next time I will not let you get in as many strikes.” Damn him for being fair to look upon. His beautiful lips smirked. Were that they alone, she might have reached out to touch him to feel for herself if he was as hard as he appeared. If he were any other man, she might have made him beg for mercy.

She turned to leave the field, but he stopped her when he gained his feet. Emlyn liked that she didn’t have to look up at him as she stood as tall as his shoulders.

“Wait, what is your name?” His eyes watched her with an intent gaze.

She should’ve kept walking, but turned and said over her shoulder, “Emlyn.”

His face fell and a frown came to his brow. His sword dropped to the ground and he fisted his hands at his sides. “Nay, say another, speak any other name but that one.”

“I cannot for that is my name. Goodbye, handsome warrior.”

Chapter Seven

James felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest.

Emlyn.

He could’ve been struck down where he stood when he heard her say her name. She was Llywelyn’s daughter, the very one Marshall wanted as wife. His sweet, vixen faerie. James marched away from the field as anger rode him all the way back to his tent. He reached it and unsheathed his sword, tossed it near his cot, and then threw himself woefully upon it.

“Damnation.”

She was destined to be the wife of the enemy and yet James wanted her, wanted her with such intensity that it sickened him. He had to put her out of his mind at the very soonest, at this very minute. But he knew it would be impossible.

“James, why’d ye leave the field? We weren’t done. Had too much of that puny lad? I saw him take you down,” Colm said, and laughed. “Aye, we all wagered you’d win and damn ye, you lost us a few coins.”

He could give a shit at their loss of coin. “If you’d been in my place, you would have lost too.” James wasn’t about to elaborate for he was in no mood for their jests.

Kenneth joined them and heard his statement. “Why? Was he that hard to beat? You were at least a foot taller and much stronger. Was the lad that talented?”

James shook his head. “Nay, but …” He closed his mouth knowing if he’d told them that the lad was a she, and that she was the faerie they’d seen at the loch, they’d tease him to no end. “I am not in a fighting mood this day.”