There was immediate and vocal protest from the women who were eager to watch the last match.
“Blood-thirsty.” Blair nodded approval. “I like that, too. All right, ladies, give them room. Who’s your money on?” she murmured to Glenna as the two women squared off.
“Moira’s hot, and motivated. She’s just plowed through the field today. I’d have to put my money on her.”
“I’ll take Ceara. She’s tricky, and she’s not afraid to take a hit. See,” she added when Ceara went sprawling facedown in the mud, and sprang up again to charge.
She feinted, pivoting at the last minute, then swept up a foot to catch Moira mid-body. The queen shot back from the hit, managed to catch her balance and duck the next blow. She came up hard, flipped Ceara over her shoulder. But when she spun around, Ceara wasn’t flat on her back, but had pumped off her own hands, and striking out with her feet, kicked Moira into the mud.
Moira was up quickly, and with a light in her eyes. “Well now, your reputation hasn’t been exaggerated, I see.”
“I’m after the prize.” Ceara crouched, circled. “Be warned.”
“Come get it then.”
“Good fight,” Blair commented as fists and feet and bodies flew. “Ceara, keep your elbows up!”
Glenna jabbed Blair with her own. “No coaching from the peanut gallery.” But she was smiling, not just because it was a good, strong fight, but because the rest of the women were shouting and calling out advice.
They’d made themselves a unit.
Moira fell back, scissored out her legs and swept Ceara’s from under her. But when she rolled up again to pin her opponent, Ceara thrust up and flipped Moira over her head.
There were several sounds of sympathy as Moira landed with a bone-rattling thud. Before she could shove up again, Ceara was straddling her, an elbow to Moira’s throat, and a fist to her heart.
“You’re staked.”
“Damn me, I am. Get off me, gods’ pity, you’re crushing my lungs.”
She sucked in breath as she struggled to push her still vibrating body into a sitting position. Ceara simply dropped down to sit in the mud beside her, and the two of them panted and eyed each other.
“You’re a great bitch in battle,” Moira said at length.
“The same to you, with all respect, my lady. I’ve bruises on top of my bruises now, and knots on top of those.”
Moira swiped some of the mud from her face with her forearm. “I wasn’t fresh.”
“That’s true, but I could take you fresh as well.”
“I think you’re right. You won the prize, Ceara, and won it fair. I’m proud to have been bested by you.”
She offered her hand, and after shaking it, raised it high. “Here’s the champion of the hand-to-hand.”
There were cheers, and in the way of women, hugs. But when Ceara offered a hand to help Moira to her feet, Moira waved her off. “I’m just going to sit here another minute, catch my breath. Go on, get your bow. And with that you nor any will best me.”
“It couldn’t be done if we had a thousand years. Your Majesty?”
“Aye? Oh God, I won’t sit easy for a week,” she added, rubbing her sore hip.
“I’ve never been prouder of my queen.”
Moira smiled to herself, then simply sat quiet, taking stock of her aches and pains. Then her gaze was drawn up to the spot where she’d stood with Cian the night before.
And there he was, standing in the gloom and the rain, looking down at her. She could feel the force of him through the distance, the allure he exuded, she thought, as other men never could.
“So what are you looking at?” she said to herself. “Is it amusing to you to see me on my arse in the mud?”
Probably, she decided, and who could blame him? She imagined she made quite the picture.