Gayle Eden by Illara's Champion

crossed his arms, which made his elbow brush her shoulder. “What your father taught you is a combination of dance and stealth. It is good for one light and quick. The ducking and steps are escape moves, and the forward are attack. It is not skill that wins in war, so much as it is strength, how long you can fight because battles last for days, and having eyes all around your head. A broad sword, wielded two handed, is the better weapon. Although I’ve a Celt here, who can wield the axe so fast that you can scarcely see his hands.”
    “I can use both bow and sling. I have more skill with the bow, however.”
    He nodded. “Your hand movements are for dagger and hook. The hook is to pull your opponent to you In order to thrust. Your strengths are your dexterity, speed, and from what I observe, your skill at using your body and making a small target.”
    “That is what my father said.” She grinned up at him.
    Pagan seemed arrested by that for some seconds, before his gaze met hers, and he murmured, “You’d make a good thief.”
    She chuckled.
    Pagan grinned slightly. “I would put you on any list of spy or scout. Camouflaged, you’d silently take down any guard.”
    “That is good to know.”
    His gaze went to her mouth. Illara saw it as much as felt it. It suddenly became warmer under her clothing.
    “Pagan.”
    They both turned as Randulf strode into the yard. He was dressed like his brother save he wore a cape and wool covered most of his face. Illara caught the merest glimpse of smoke gray eyes as they touched upon her before he bowed.
    “Randulf,” she greeted him, sliding off the wagon bed.
    “Elli has lost two of the hawks.” He reported to his brother. “Young ones. It appears to be normal sickness and nothing virulent.”
    “Breeders?”
    “Aye.” Randulf watched as Illara sheathed her weapon and looped the strap over her head. “Doesn’t look as if we will enjoy the sport anytime soon, does it? This is the third pair we’ve lost in a year.”
    “Have him clean everything, the whole area. Have you seen Ivo?”
    “Aye. He says your mastiffs are begging for a run. I think the bitch is recovered...”
    “What happened?” Illara asked, thinking they had awfully ill luck with animals.
    “Bear. We were hunting bear,” Pagan supplied. “Tell him to loose her, and the male.”
    Randulf nodded, then eyed the two back and forth a moment.
    Illara offered, “Relax in my presence, Randulf. I know you are brothers.”
    The look he gave Pagan was both surprise and anger.
    “She should know. Must, because she is your sister through marriage.”
    “Our sisters died.”
    “Randulf,” Pagan snapped. Then sighed. “You remain here. I will fetch the hounds.”
    Left standing there, facing each other, Illara was again the one to speak first. She arched her brow. “Would you like to see the sword my father gave me?” She reached over her shoulder and pulled it from the sheath, handing it out to him.
    He appeared as if he was going to remain stubborn, before he took it in his hand, and like his brother studied the scrollwork, before he balanced it. He was nearly as large as his brother, certainly as strong, and Illara saw that his hair was just as rich black and twisted in a long rope down his back. He handed the sword back to her, meeting her gaze after she sheathed it.
    “If you never love him, at least give him neither pity nor pain.” He bowed again and strode away.
    Illara felt her eyes sting. Two men, deeper bonded than brothers, suffering untold torture, witnessing the death and complete devastation of their family. Aye, He had a right to his anger, and his words. She would work on gaining his trust.
    She began to trek back inside, and before reaching the main hall saw Pagan walking amid the swirling snow with two mastiffs as big as bears themselves. She could detect his deep voice calling as they ran off, whirled, and came back. Finally, he lifted his hand and they flew, racing past her and