When Isobel arose the following morning, it was late and she felt ill again. She attributed it once more to being in this foul house of miserable memories. She dressed in her fencing attire and skipping breakfast, went outside. Frang explained to some of the younger men the rapier and its use. She stood beside Cyrus McTeague, watching.
He took note of her attire with some surprise, and asked, "I've not seen you dressed in pants before, my Lady. Do you think it's proper for men to see your limbs?"
She smiled up at him and replied, "It may not be proper, but it's much easier to dance around with blade in hand attired in pants than a dress, Mr. McTeague."
"You're going to be learning this wee sword then?"
"I've been learning it for a month," she replied.
"I suppose it's weapon enough for a woman," he said. "It doesn't seem right he should be teaching it to young men. I would not think they could raise a proper defense against a man armed with a claymore."
"I was not present when it happened, Mr. McTeague," Isobel said, "but I've heard from others who were, that Frang struck Thorburn with the point of his rapier three times in the space of five minutes without Thorburn laying steel upon him. It's why so many of our own have taken up the blade."
"Is Thorburn any good?" McTeague asked. "Maybe the skill levels were unequal?"
"Thorburn is the best swordsman with a claymore I've ever seen, though I can't say I've watched many," Isobel replied. "You see Bjarkë over there?"
Bjarkë was working with two dozen men with the claymore. He demonstrated how to defend yourself from two or more attackers at once.
"Aye."
"What do you think of his skills?"
Cyrus watched for a couple minutes.
"He's very good."
"When they fight each other, Thorburn defeats him seven or eight times out of ten. Really, Bjarkë's the only one I've seen stand against him with any success. I've seen him fighting three, four, even five men and beating them all."
"And Frang struck him three times without being struck?" Cyrus asked.
"That's the tale. I don't know if anyone has mentioned this to you, but Ailene killed three of our attackers herself, and she's only been working with Frang a few months."
"Three you say!" McTeague exclaimed.
"Aye. I admit they weren't prepared for trouble with two women; they had a knife and club out to subdue us, rather than swords, and two of them were dead before they realized they were in a fight, but three nonetheless."
"It would seem the weight of the weapons themselves would put the claymore at the advantage?" McTeague added.
"The weight of the weapon may be a disadvantage," Isobel replied. "You're no longer trying to crush armor. In the time you can swing a claymore and bring it back for a return strike, Frang can stab you three or four times. Thorburn's good with the claymore because he's so strong and he waves it around like a wee stick. You never attempt to actually block the claymore, where the heavier weapon would be an advantage, merely parry it to the side. The weight works against it as it's deflected because it's difficult to get it back to offensive or defensive position. The rapier point remains aimed at you, ready to attack or parry immediately. That's not to say strength isn't a benefit. Frang has Ailene and I working to strengthen our wrists and hands all the time. I'm squeezing a ball of seeds constantly when my hands aren't engaged in something else."
Cyrus watched Frang with more interest.
"My joints bother me and it's difficult to swing the claymore now. I've about given up hope of being effective in a fight anymore. Do you think Frang would teach me the lighter blade?"
"He prefers teaching younger lads and women because he says they don't have to break bad habits learned with other weapons. He said the older ones like you want to swing the rapier like a heavier sword, but you're welcome to ask."
Frang saw Isobel standing beside McTeague and waved her over. He went into a prolonged set of engagements with her, showing the group various movements and the footwork he expected them to learn. Cyrus was pleased to see Lady McTavish appeared to be doing well, despite the disparity in their skill levels. Frang broke them into two groups with Frang taking the older ones and Isobel taking the younger ones to demonstrate the various maneuvers more slowly. Apparently, the younger lads were disappointed a woman was assigned to teach them, and weren't bothering to pay much attention to her.
One young lad, the oldest of the lot, was particularly obnoxious. Cyrus went over and cuffed the young man in the head.
"You'll not speak to the Lady of the House that way, ever!" He growled.
The boy picked himself off the ground and said, "Apologies, My Lady."
Cyrus picked up the wooden stick the lad dropped when cuffed, saying, "Perhaps Lady McTavish would give this old man a lesson. I'm not too old to learn something new."
Isobel nodded to him. "Attack me, Mr. McTeague."
"Are you sure, Lady?"
"I'll try not to hurt you, McTeague, since you are a gentleman, unlike these louts."
McTeague swung the stick at her and received a poke in the ribs for his trouble. More carefully, he attacked again, with the same result, though it took longer this time. He tried beating her stick aside with his superior strength, but hers evaded the heavy swing and his ribs paid the price again.
"I think I've had enough lessons for today," McTeague said. "I think I'll wear heavier clothing tomorrow."
"And tomorrow, I shall show you how to avoid the mistakes you made today, Mr. McTeague," Isobel replied. "You may go to the kitchen for some willow bark tea and ointment that Lady Cameron made. The cook will give you some. It should help with your bruises."
"Aye. That I will."
The young boys, afraid of McTeague and his heavy hand and quick temper for years, began their lessons with a new appreciation for the teacher. She turned towards McTeague with a quick smile and mouthed, 'Thank you.'
He went away rubbing his ribs. Aye, he thought, I'm not too old to learn this new method of fighting at all.
For the next couple days, every day was the same. Cyrus would show up in a leather jerkin and learn with the youngest from Isobel. When she finished their lessons, Frang worked with her to improve her skills beyond what she was teaching for another hour. The sweat was pouring down her face before they were finished.
McTeague had more difficulty with the footwork than the youngsters. He was used to standing a certain way for swinging a sword and this new fangled blade was so different. He could see what Frang meant by breaking old habits. He knew the youngsters sniggered behind their hands when he was particularly clumsy, as they seemed to be picking it up without problem, but he ignored their titters as long as they were polite to Lady McTavish. The Laird even thanked him the first evening after supper.
"How are your ribs?" Frang asked.
"I'll get by."
"I thank you for your support of Lady Isobel," he said.
