The Huntress by Susan Carroll Read Free Book Online

or any other man.”
    As she struck a fighting stance, the man had the effrontery to heave a long-suffering sigh.
    “God knows I have tried to deal with you reasonably.” He shrugged. “Have at it then.”
    Their swords came together in a clash of steel, their initial feints and parries slow and deliberate. Cat realized he was doing the same thing she was, proceeding cautiously until she took her opponent’s measure.
    Her movements were hampered by both her skirts and the narrow corridor. She backed away, taking care not to trip over the hem of her gown, moving out into the open arena of the pit.
    Between parries, she managed to undo her cloak and toss it aside. The bodice of her gown was tight, lacing up the front for ease in attiring herself. She wished she could have loosened it, but that was impossible. Not with him maneuvering around her like a wolf stalking its prey.
    He was lithe and graceful, quick on his feet, she had to grudgingly admit. As they fought, circled, and clashed, it was like some glorious dance. Cat realized she was enjoying this far too much; it had been such a long time since she’d been involved in a good scrape. And she could tell that he was enjoying it as well, his green eyes glittering, his lips crooked in a languid smile, his movements almost playful.
    Cat experienced a twinge of guilt when she thought of her chieftain. She knew that this would have been the last thing Ariane would have wanted, Cat clashing with le Loup straight off, actually dueling with him.
    But blast the man. He had been the first to draw steel, and there was never any reasoning with any man once he got a sword in his hand. Perhaps after she had disarmed him, they could finally have a sensible discussion.
    Cat saw an opening and lunged, but he swiftly blocked her and sprang back with a low laugh.
    “
Bon.
You have some skill, mademoiselle,” he said, his accent slipping as he swept her a mocking bow. “For an Irishwoman.”
    “You don’t do so badly yourself,” she crowed. “For a
Frenchman.
”
    He grimaced when he realized how he had betrayed himself. He leapt back into the fray, pressing her hard, driving her back.
    Cat countered his blows, swearing as her skirts tangled about her legs.
    “I could do a damned sight better if it wasn’t for this cursed gown,” she muttered.
    “Allow me to help you out of it then.” With a lightning stroke, he broke through her guard, his blade slicing open the top lacings of her gown.
    Cat glanced down at her bodice with dismay. “You idiot. This was my best gown. My
only
gown.”
    Furiously, she struck back at him, slipping past his defense, her rapier tearing a large rent in his sleeve. He twisted, deflecting her sword and swearing.
    “Rot your hide, woman. Do you know how much I paid for this doublet? Several crowns.”
    “Then you wasted your—damn!” Cat cried when he retaliated, severing two more lacings and the top of her shift besides, revealing the soft swell of her décolletage.
    Her cheeks fired when he attempted to stare down the front of her gown.
    “And just what the devil would you be looking for?”
    “I don’t know.” Again the tantalizing lift of that eyebrow. “The carving of a rose, perhaps?”
    “That shows how much you know. The roses are always carved on the right arm…” Cat’s voice faltered at the sudden and swift change that came over his expression. His smile fled, his eyes going hard and cold.
    “Ah. So my first impression was right. You
are
one of them.”
    “Them?”
    “The coven. You’re a God-cursed witch.”
    “No, you bloody fool, of course not. I—” Cat’s words choked off as he came at her with renewed vigor. It was all she could do to fend off several brutal strokes.
    His face was suffused with anger, his eyes full of deadly intent. “What does it take? How many of you lunatics do I have to kill to convince you to stay away from my daughter?”
    “But I’m not—if you would but listen—” Cat panted from the