The Warrior Bride Read Free Page B

lessons that should have been learned long ago.”
    Lachlan flexed his hands. “It has been some years since I have been called a lad.”
    “Has it?” “Aye.”
    Hunter laughed quietly, as if he shared some private jest with himself. “And therefore you assume you are a man?”
    “Would you like to test the theory in battle, mayhap?”
    “And here I thought you came to save me.”
    “Aye, well,” said Lachlan and tilted his head at the strange twist of fate. “That was before you spoke.”
    The warrior grinned, as if savoring his amusement. “I will allow you the choice of weapons.”
    Firelight danced across Hunter’s teeth. They looked tremendously white in the darkness. “Will you now?”
    “Aye. What will it be? Claymores? Broadswords? Fists?”
    “Did you not hear me rule, MacGowan?”
    “Aye. I did. You vowed not to kill any man you once saved. But I assure you… You need not worry on me own account.”
    “Such an impressive combatant, are you?”
    “My opponents have said as much.”
    “Any that were not your maidservants?”
    “It surprises me that someone has not taught you better manners long ago.”
    “Aye. At times it surprises me as well.”
    Lachlan nodded. “What do you choose then?”
    ”Choose?” he asked, and poked leisurely at a burning faggot. “I choose for you to leave off and find another to amuse you.”
    “The warrior,” Lachlan said, as if musing to himself.
    “I have heard a good many rumors about you. Me brother Gilmour has a host of interesting theories, but none mentioned your cowardice.”
    “Go away, lad, before I lose me good humor.”
    “It would not be a fight to the death.” Lachlan assured him. “I would not wound you unduly.”
    “Truly? How noble of you.”
    “But if you will not choose a weapon I fear I shall have to do so for you.”
    Hunter turned toward him, his face barely illuminated by the crackling fire. “And if I choose a weapon as you wish, will you vow to leave me be?”
    “Aye. If you do me the favor of a battle it will be me own pleasure to refrain from speaking with you ever again.”
    “Very well then.” Hunter rose languidly to his feet.
    Lachlan tensed and placed one hand on the· hilt of his sword. “I choose wits.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Me weapon.” said Hunter, “is wits.”
    Perhaps it wasn’t too late to strangle him and be done with. “Wits,” Lachlan said, “is not a weapon.”
    Hunter shrugged. “Maybe not for a MacGowan.” Anger cranked up a notch in Lachlan ’s gut. “Wits it is, then.”
    “And you vow to leave at the contest’s end” “Happily.”
    “Very well then, MacGowan, if you answer this riddle correctly, you may tell all your wee friends that you have bested the great warrior called Hunter.” He said the words strangely, almost as if he were mocking himself. “But if you answer wrongly, you shall act as if you were not bested upon the battlefield. You were not at death’s very door, and I did not save your life.”
    Lachlan gritted his teeth, but he managed to nod. After all, if the truth be told, he had already tried to do just that. But the memory kept eating him like a canker, though he was not sure why.
    “Then here is your riddle.” said Hunter. “What has neither tooth nor horn nor weapon of any sort and yet has caused more deaths than the most fearsome of brigands?”
    Lachlan scowled at him as he ran the riddle around in his mind. What creature was he referring to? The Lord God had given them all defenses of some sort, so perhaps he was referring to a person. Was this some manner of religious debate? Perhaps he had best look deeper. Aye, that was it. The answer was something that could not be seen even with the keenest eye.
    Something like… the wind or the cold of winter.
    Cruelty, perhaps.
    But nay, they were not quite right. Lachlan glanced at Hunter, but the other was prodding a log into the fire with distant unconcern, as if he had entirely forgotten the contest, as if