Adrienne Basso by How to Be a Scottish Mistress Page A

in brute strength, the only possible way to win against Duncan was to stay in control of the match. With cold purpose and precision, Gavin continued to advance. Tension and excitement surged among the men, followed by shouts of encouragement.
    “Stay strong, Duncan,” Aidan cried. “He’ll tire soon.”
    “Not soon enough,” another man shouted.
    “I’ll grant he’s swift fer an old man,” Duncan taunted. “But I’ll have my fun before I lay him low.”
    “Aye, I’m fast,” Gavin replied with a sneering grin. “And cunning.”
    Ducking low, he launched himself forward, driving his shoulder into Duncan’s stomach. Unprepared for the attack, Duncan let out a loud grunt, then landed on his back in the dirt. Gavin immediately stepped on Duncan’s wrist and his sword fell from his hand, resting harmlessly beside him.
    “Next!” Gavin cried out.
    Aidan began to circle just as Gavin raised his sword. Needing a moment to catch his breath, Gavin stayed beyond striking distance. Of the three, Aidan was the most methodical fighter, his movements sharp and crisp. And predictable.
    So Gavin waited. For the war cry and charge he knew would be coming. It didn’t take long. Aidan let out a chilling cry and swung his sword, nearly taking off Gavin’s head. Gavin turned at the final moment and thrust his blade to block the blow, pressing back with all his strength. Aidan groaned as the force knocked him down to one knee.
    Sweat poured from Gavin’s brow as he pressed down with all his might, then with a sudden flick of the wrist he sent Aidan’s sword flying across the courtyard.
    Releasing a war whoop of his own, Gavin plunged his sword deep in the ground near Aidan’s leg. “Anyone else?”
    The men shuffled their feet and gazed at the dirt. None met his gaze or his challenge. Connor spat blood on the dirt, Duncan rubbed his midsection, Aidan struggled to his feet. Coins were exchanged as the wagers were settled, accompanied by wild gestures as the matches were reviewed and discussed.
    It took two squires to pull Gavin’s sword from the dirt. The admiration in their eyes as they reverently handed it to him was impossible to miss. It made Gavin feel old. Was he ever that young and impressionable?
    Seeing the lads brought to mind the young man he had just agreed to take into his household—the rightful heir to an English barony. Dammit, what madness have I taken upon myself?
    “Did ye see Lady Fiona’s lad when ye were at their camp?” Gavin asked Duncan.
    “I caught a glimpse. There was nothing remarkable about him.” Duncan paused, then answered Gavin’s unasked question. “I dinnae see the weakness Lady Fiona alluded to when she spoke of the lad in the great hall.”
    “If we’re lucky, it willnae be so bad.”
    Duncan nodded. “Even if ’tis, we can prepare him mentally, teach him fighting skills and strategy, build his endurance, make him tough in mind, body, and spirit.”
    For a moment Gavin kept silent, the doubts and discomfort crowding his thoughts. “Will it be enough?”
    “Only God can provide miracles.”
    “Aye,” Gavin agreed, yet a part of him longed for that miracle. Not for himself, or even the boy, but for his mother. Remembering the hope in her lovely green eyes as she pleaded for his help had touched a chord inside Gavin. He wanted to succeed beyond Lady Fiona’s expectations or at the very least, not disappoint her.
    Duncan’s stance relaxed. “I’ve been thinking. If the infirmary is in the lad’s leg, it willnae hurt to train him to throw a dirk. A man who can throw a blade with skill and accuracy can be a real danger.”
    “A dirk? ’Tis not a very knightly weapon.”
    Duncan snickered. “I’d smack a man on the head with an iron cooking pot if that’s all I could get my hands on to fight fer my life.”
    Gavin shook his head. “I always said ye lacked the proper respect to become a true knight, Duncan.”
    “Thank God. We’ve enough nobility in the clan having an