Her proposition was a bad bargain that he had no hope of winning.
He had more to lose than she did.
Knowing these truths, a kernel of hope still unfurled in his chest.What if his touch was the thing that convinced her to remain at his side?The thing that tamed her as his beast longed for her tame him?The chance to demonstrate how much she haunted his dreams was impossible to ignore.
His wife was holding an ax with a long, curved blade she and her fellow warriors called a skeggox.The blade was so long, it extended below the handle, and looked like a beard.
Toran was wielding a Franciscan axe because it was lighter than the one she held, and designed to spin in flight as it sped toward its target.That morning, he'd asked the gods to ensure his throws would be more precise than hers.That they'd reward him with the chance to taste the pert mouth that had been plaguing his dreams.
Glamorgan and several other warriors had set up a series of targets designed to test their skill and accuracy.The very last one, at the far edge of the field nearly a thousand lengths away, was a monstrosity with tentacles, and clearly meant to be a representation of the Kraken enemy.
“I should be grateful there are no targets that resemble berserkers.”
“It would be a sign of disrespect - and they wouldn’t dare,” Toran informed his wife.
A cloud passed over his wife’s face as she shrugged her shoulders.“I am accustomed to disrespect.”
That slip of her mask, and telling confession, made Toran angry on her behalf.Despite her wishes to remain in the berserker court, perhaps it was better that she was here instead.The more he learned of her family, the more confident he became in his ability to persuade her to remain at his side.“No warrior as fierce as you should ever be forced to tolerate disrespect.You have proven yourself a hundred times over.”
She gave him a rare, pleased smile.“I should like to believe that my prowess with my weapons, and my dedication to training, speaks for itself.Thank you for the compliment.”
He gave her a curt nod in return and surveyed the targets.“I shall allow you the first throw,” he conceded.
Her pleased smile disappeared as she watched him with narrowed eyes.“What is your motive, husband?Are you making allowances for my gender?Or do you have some other nefarious purpose?”
“Neither, Fireheart.By allowing you to make the first throw, I am signaling to our audience that I respect your skill and will be forced to match it.”
His explanation clearly didn’t allay her suspicions, because she huffed when he’d finished.
“I think you’re lying, but I cannot prove it.So I will go first.”
She took a step backward and squinted toward the first target.The sunlight gleamed off her blade, nearly blinding him, as it tumbled through the air.It landed with a solid thunk in the middle of the bullseye.
When she turned around, she had a smug look on her face.Toran motioned for one of his soldiers to retrieve her blade.“Your aim is to be envied, wife.”
“There are few more accurate.And no Keltoi, or any other man, has been able to match me thus far.”She didn’t bother hiding her glee or her pride at the declaration.
“I am heralded as one with some skill at this sport as well,” he told her as he grinned.
When she’d challenged him to this contest, Toran had immediately sought out the targets he’d stored in one of the barns because he was determined to brush up on his rusty skills.He’d been relieved to discover very little improvement was needed, and that he still had the knack for accuracy he’d perfected as a soldier.Once upon a time, he’d used that proficiency to ascend the ranks of his father’s army.When he’d become a general, he’d focused on swordplay instead.
He mimicked her pose and sent his own shorter ax spiraling through the air.
When it pinned the bullseye, he turned to her with a raised brow.
“You’ve been hiding things, my husband.”
“You assumed too much, when you challenged me, wife.It is not only you and your kin who wield axes in battle.”
“That may be so, husband,” she said with a sly smile.“But we are the ones who consistently wield them in battle.And familiarity breeds competency.”
“So sure of yourself,” he chided.“We shall soon see the accuracy of your assumptions.”
“You will learn that I am seldom wrong,” she quipped as she let her weapon fly through the air again.
It once again landed in the center of the target, and he watched in amusement as she hopped in delight.
“Match that, husband.”