“I’m not with the MacDougalls. I’m not with anyone. Just my buddy Andy.”
She sighed. “I may regret this, but ye have my permission to leave yer room. Every man in the castle has been warned about ye. One wrong move, and they are allowed to render ye harmless by whatever means necessary.” She looked at his ankle. “Ye canna get far on one leg anyway.”
If they’d met in another time and place, he would’ve asked her out on a date. Banter with her and enjoy a little playful flirtation. And if the chemistry between them was there, which he was sure it was, he might even get to take her on a very long and delicious climb towards a mind-blowing orgasm. He’d like to show her that not all men caused women pain. That if she would let him, he would only ever bring her pleasure.
The thought surprised him. He didn’t date. He didn’t want a woman in his life.
Maybe just for one night.
But he couldn’t sleep with and then abandon someone like Marjorie. It was best he didn’t think about her that away.
“Deal,” he said and cleared his throat, trying to chase the images of her naked body out of his head.
“Ah, yer strange words again.” She turned and went to the door, leaving the scent of wild flowers and leather in the air. “I must continue training the warriors. Forgive me if I dinna give ye a tour.”
She left, and Konnor stood there for a moment, inhaling her scent again. Why was he so attracted to her? She was exquisite, strong and fragile at the same time, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested.
He shook his head. Best just stop thinking of her.
Using the crutch, he slowly made his way towards the door. The crutch was a little short for him, but it was better than nothing. It would just take some getting used to. The way down the round stairs was challenging, that was for sure. The crutch slipped several times on the smooth stone, but by some miracle, and after several close calls, he made his way down. He stepped out of the tower and into the dirt-packed courtyard.
The chaotic sound of metal against metal rang out through the yard. Thirty or so people fought with swords against each other in pairs. They were all dressed like Medieval warriors with long, belted tunics or quilted coats, breeches or trousers, pointy leather shoes. All were men, save one.
Marjorie.
Konnor’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was graceful and strong. She cut and stabbed with precision and elegance. When her partner thrust his sword at her, his giant muscles bulging, she twisted out of his reach like a spinning top and slashed her sword at him, stopping right before it reached the man’s side.
She stole Konnor’s ability to breathe. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was strong, and kind, and brave. She was like Joan of Arc on the front lines, fighting for others. He’d never seen anyone quite like her. Something boiled inside Konnor’s chest, trembling and vibrating.
And that was bad.
He should get out of here, get far away from her as soon as he could. He didn’t need more mess in his life than he had already. There was no woman in his future because he would never be a good husband or father after what he’d seen growing up. All he could offer a woman was a good fuck and a brooding face. He was done hurting women emotionally.
Chapter 8
In a downward stroke, Marjorie pummeled Muir’s raised sword like a blacksmith. Her shoulders and arms were on fire from the exercise. Sweat covered her whole body. And through it all, she felt Konnor’s gaze on her skin like the caress of a cool breeze.
“You’re so beautiful.” His words rang in her head again and again. She was flattered. No one had told her anything like that since she’d come back from Dunollie. She didn’t think he’d meant to offend her. But even the reminder that she was a woman and he was a man who might want her triggered memories of that week with Alasdair.
Aye, she’d reacted too harshly. All he’d done was compliment her and look at her like a man looked at a woman he wanted. She’d seen it between husbands and wives, between lovers, between her brother Craig and his new wife, Amy, when she and Colin had gone to Inverlochy about two sennights ago.
Konnor’s look hadn’t been malicious. It would ignite desire in a regular, undamaged woman. Especially from a man like Konnor.
Malcolm brought his blade down and from the side. Marjorie barely managed to deflect his sword.
“Stay in the fight.” Owen’s words rang out in her head. Her half-brother had told her that over and over again in the first year of her training after Colin was born. “Stay in the fight. Dinna slip back into that dark, dangerous place ye’ve just crawled out of.”
Owen was four years younger than her. He was a rebel and a rake and made their father frustrated enough to pull out his hair, but Owen had always been there for her. He and Isbeil were the two people who’d gotten her out of the bottomless pit of desperation she’d been trapped in.
He’d distracted her with tall tales and even made her laugh once in a while. During her whole pregnancy, she’d refused to believe there was a part of that monster inside of her. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with the baby, and she’d even considered asking Isbeil to give the bairn to a good family in one of the Cambel villages.
But she hadn’t. The moment the baby was placed on her chest, she’d known there was not a drop of Alasdair in him. He was pure and beautiful and hers. Her son. Hers alone. He was a Cambel through and through. And that had been the start of her healing. In a way, her son had saved her.
She stepped forward, stopping just short of smashing the pommel of her sword into Malcolm’s face.
“Aye. Good, lass,” Malcolm said, breathing heavily, his wrinkled forehead glistening with sweat. “In a real battle, that unexpected move might be why ye win.”
Marjorie panted, too. She leaned forwards and put her hands on her knees.
Real battle… A chill ran through her.
“I’ll ken what a real battle is sooner rather than later,” she said.
Aye, she’d know whether she wanted to or not.
Marjorie glanced at the entrance of the tower where Konnor had stood watching her, but he was gone now. Her stomach dropped in disappointment. She was very conflicted about him. On the one hand, she was being careful. He was a stranger who’d lied to her to get into the castle. A stranger who was talking about things she’d never heard of, demanding her to call some numbers. He wanted a phone. What the hell was all that about?
A spy wouldn’t draw attention to himself like that. A spy would blend in and be unnoticeable. So chances were Konnor wasn’t a MacDougall spy. He really must be a man in trouble, and mayhap he was more injured than he thought he was.
At the same time, he was handsome. So handsome, that for the first time since Dunollie, Marjorie had noticed a man. For the first time in twelve years, someone had stirred feelings in her, feelings she’d never thought she would have. Excitement bubbled in her stomach playfully and clouded her head like a strong ale.
Nae. She didn’t need this. Whoever Konnor was, he was a distraction. She should take this sudden attraction to him as a sign she was mending. One wee step at a time, she was healing. But nothing more than that. Even if she was getting better, she would still never take a lover or a husband. Her decision in that regard wouldn’t change. She would never act on her feelings towards a man like Konnor. He was handsome, powerful, and made her heart beat faster.