“He’ll stay here all night. Don’t think he won’t, lass. He’ll either get the result he wants or he’ll completely wear you down. Whichever comes first. My suggestion is to give him the result he wants so we can all go indoors where it’s warmer.”

“You’re turning into an old woman.”

“You best hope he never allows me to spar with you. I’ll show you old woman. And I won’t be as merciful as he’s being.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Who says he’s being merciful? My arse would disagree that he’s shown any mercy.”

“You’re not bleeding. That’s merciful.”

Rionna shrugged and turned back to face Caelen who stood waiting, no sign of fatigue or annoyance in his eyes. He looked as though he were on a casual outing. Nothing ruffled him. She wondered if he’d ever been caught off guard in his life.

Remembering Gannon’s advice, she began to circle, just as she’d done every time before. There was truth in Gannon’s words. She was predictable by the sheer fact that she performed the same ritual every time and waited for Caelen to strike.

Digging deep to find the last of her flagging strength, she raised her sword, let out a yell to rival any warrior, and charged.

Caelen grinned then let out a whoop of his own as their swords met. The clash could be heard all over the courtyard. Invigorated, Rionna thrust, parried, and kept driving him back, using her quickness and the fact that she swung a much lighter sword keep him from launching a counterattack.

Aye, he was on the defensive now. Just where she wanted him until he provided an opening.

Despite the frigid air, sweat poured from her brow. Her jaw ached from her clenched teeth and her eyes were narrowed in intense concentration.

Caelen swung his sword but she turned and thrust out her blade to block. The force drove her to one knee and before she could recover, with a flick of his wrist, he knocked the sword from her hand.

“Better, wife. But not good enough.”

Deciding she’d had enough of that smug superiority, she ducked low and launched herself at him. She lined up her shoulder and hit him right below the waist.

He let out a string of curses that blistered her ears. Then he slipped to his knees, his hand cupping his cods. His sword fell from his other hand and landed in the snow.

Rionna stumbled back, retrieved her sword, and then put the tip to his neck. “Do you yield?”

“Hell yes, I yield or you’ll likely slice off what’s left of my cods.”

The strain in his voice and the pain creasing his forehead might have ordinarily concerned her, but then she remembered the hours of hell he’d just put her through and all sympathy disappeared.