Adrienne Basso by How to Be a Scottish Mistress

solemnly. Gavin appreciated the man’s understanding of how serious a position they were in—being prepared for war was most assuredly the only way to win it.
    “I’ll also need a smaller-sized sword made,” Gavin said. “Duncan will give you the details once we measure the lad.”
    The smith leaned in, dropping his voice to a respectful whisper. “Fer the English lad?”
    Gavin nearly smiled. ’Twas a good thing their survival didn’t depend on secrecy, for it seemed that no one within his castle walls could keep their mouth shut.
    “Aye, the sword is fer the lad. He’ll start his training with a wooden one, but I expect him to progress quickly.”
    The smith’s brow quirked with interest at the remark, as Gavin had hoped. He wanted his faith in the boy’s abilities to be part of the gossip about the lad. He just prayed that it wasn’t misplaced.
    With his errand completed, Gavin progressed to the practice field. The shattering clash of metal reverberating through the air could be heard well before he arrived. Pairs of guardsmen and soldiers engaged in sword training were scattered through the castle yard, trampling down the few hearty blades of grass that refused to die under their stomping assault.
    A sweaty Aidan trotted over. “Will ye be joining us?”
    The question was meant for Duncan, but Gavin seized the opportunity. A spirited training session was as good a way as any to clear his mind. “Hand me a newly forged arming sword.”
    “I’ll be yer sparring partner,” Duncan said, pulling his own sword free.
    “’Tis my turn,” Aidan insisted.
    “What about me? I outrank ye both.” Connor stepped forward to stand beside his brothers.
    Gavin nearly grimaced. He didn’t want to dwell on the reason the trio was so eager to draw steel on him, remembering well how he had called these men to task earlier in the day.
    “I’ll start with Connor,” Gavin said. “Duncan’s next and I’ll finish with Aidan.”
    A ripple of murmurs went through those men close enough to witness the exchange. By the time Gavin had stripped off his tunic and stood bare-chested in the sunlight, a sizable crowd had formed.
    Duncan tossed Gavin a sword. He tested the balance of the weapon, liking the feel of it in his hand. Lately, he had cut back on his training, concerning himself with political matters. Yet it was unwise to stay too long without practice and conditioning, especially with war looming.
    Without warning, Connor suddenly charged.
    The clash of swords could be heard throughout the courtyard. A shout went up and the men pressed forward to see the exchange. Wagers were placed, but Gavin ignored the chatter, knowing he would be vulnerable if he allowed himself to be distracted.
    It took every ounce of Gavin’s concentration to fend off Connor’s blows. It hurt, the pain radiating up his arm, through his shoulder each time Connor’s sword struck his own. Damn, just a few weeks of inactivity and I’m as weak as a lass. Gritting his teeth, Gavin dug deep to find his strength. Pushing forward, he managed to pivot away from the next blow, but lost his balance and nearly fell on his arse.
    Connor charged. Gavin thrust out his leg, curling his foot around the younger man’s ankle. He regained his footing just as Connor lost his. Seizing the advantage, Gavin flew toward him, the tip of his sword notched against the visibly beating pulse at Connor’s throat.
    Connor slowly released the grip on his sword, then raised his empty hands in surrender.
    “Yer turn, Duncan,” Gavin shouted harshly, pulling away.
    The warm-up gave Gavin a clear advantage in the next match. Before Duncan had a chance to get his bearings, Gavin attacked. Wielding his sword with agility and power, he alternated his striking blows from left to right, forcing his opponent to move swiftly in every direction to fend off the attack.
    As Gavin intended, there was no opportunity for the younger man to take the offensive. Knowing he was outmatched