Highland Escape Read Online Free Page A

her daft? She rose without acknowledging the question.
    “The rules are simple. The challenger chooses the type of weapon. Ye will have yer pick from several. The winner can allow quarter if he chooses or not. Any grievances are considered fulfilled by the match.”
    Anna snapped her head around in response. “Is that not convenient for clan MacGregor? No such right to my kinsmen if someone were to wish to avenge my death,” she spat, no longer trying to contain the anger she’d held back all afternoon. Every muscle in her body tensed as she struggled against the urge to knock the man next to her on his arse.
    “And what clan should I expect to come calling if ye were to lose this eve?”
    His tone sounded calm and even, infuriating her more. Stiff with anger, Anna faced the men gathered without answering and strode toward the ring of expectant faces. She could play the game of ignoring questions as well as he.
    “Good luck.”
    “Go to the devil, sir ,” she shot back with enough force to injure.
    Laird MacGregor entered the circle and commanded attention. “Shamus has claimed his right to challenge. It should be said that Alasdair was injured disobeying my order. But he is a kinsman. Under the laws of our clan, ’tis his right and I grant it. I demand quarter be offered because the challenged is a woman, and because she killed the MacNairn filth who stole my Nessa.” He turned to Anna, nodded slightly and left the circle.
    A square of plaide sat between them on the ground, blades scattered on its surface. The knives were of various lengths, none longer than her forearm plus handle. Shamus walked to the cloth, promptly selected a dagger and snarled at her. Looking at the pile, she noticed wooden batons as long as the longest dirks.
    She claimed one in each hand and peered at Duncan. “Am I allowed two?”
    He turned to Shamus for the answer. His laughter joined that of the rest of the men as he replied, “Only a Sassenach would bring a stick to a knife fight.”
    Allowing the insult to pass, Anna quickly slipped into the mental space her mentor had taught her. Give no thought to killing or being killed. Give no thought to your enemy. Clear your mind. Take only what is given .
    Zhang’s lesson had been drilled into her for longer than she could remember—flowing through her like the air she breathed.
    Shamus spat on the ground at her feet, his face contorting with hatred. “English bitch.”
    He seemed to need no provocation to work himself up to kill a woman. Any blood spilled would be on his hands.
    “Barbarians,” Anna growled. She brought the batons up and swung them around in circular patterns. Shifting her feet along with the sticks, she fell into a steady rhythm. The rods moved rapidly in a blur of motion, singing low as they cut through the air. Shamus watched with surprised fascination, seemingly uncertain what to make of the unfamiliar movements. She needed to take care. By the way he moved, this man had survived a number of fights.
    He moved warily, probing the perimeter of her swings. Where the batons made contact with his blade a distinct clack echoed. Cautious not to hit the dagger on the edge, she struck only the flat of his weapon. This pattern went on for a while, his probing, her defending. He sought a weakness. She strove not to show one.
    Shamus stepped in for a slash. Anna deflected most of his blow, but the tip grazed her left arm between the elbow and shoulder, causing a familiar sting and warmth as blood flowed.
    He tossed her a wicked grin and a taunt. No time to think, only focus on the here , the now . Another slash and she swung both sticks in response. Each made contact with the wrist holding his blade, creating the distinctive smack-smack sound of wood on meat. Shamus dropped his blade. From the force of contact, she hoped for a broken bone.
    Allowing the batons to continue to circle after the strike, she brought them both down to crash into the outside of his knee, spinning as