Whoa. He’d seen her spar with other warriors, and she was incredible. But it was one thing to see it, and quite another to experience that this gorgeous female could kick his ass.
“Pick it up.” Her lips curved in a wry, satisfied smile. “Attack. Don’t hold back. As ye see, I can take it.”
Konnor leaned down and picked up his stick. She was no fragile flower. She was a Snow White who could fight her own battles against evil.
“I see I need to watch my ass,” he said and took the position.
“Come on,” she said, stepping back several steps to give him space to attack her.
With a lightness in the center of his diaphragm, like the joy of a game, something he hadn’t felt often, he moved towards her. Hesitation pulled at his arms as he brought the stick down on her, but she met his blow with a strong, precise counterstrike. He slashed at her with his stick again, and she deflected. He hit for the third time, and she protected herself with the ease of a master.
She was good.
“Come on, Konnor!” she shouted with fervor and a huge grin that lit up her face. “Harder.”
He couldn’t stop the grin on his own face. She bit her lip. “I dinna think I’ve seen ye smile before,” she said. “We should train more often.”
He found himself thinking that as long as he could put a smile like that on her face, he was ready to do anything.
He came at her, attacking with a different feeling now. He knew she could take it, and he knew she was a master. What a woman. She’d been through a lot, and yet she’d risen above and gained more strength and power than before. The experience hadn’t broken her. It had molded her like fire could shape steel.
He reached a state he’d often gotten to in judo training—when he let his mind take a backseat and his body took over. Marjorie and he danced in the courtyard, exchanging blows, fluid and connected. She let him attack, and she deflected and then attacked him, too, giving him a run for his money.
The sticks clunked together, and Marjorie rained blows down on him, left, right, left, right. His ankle ached, the muscles in his shoulders strained from the exercise. He missed a block or two and groaned as her stick landed on his ribs and his hip. She certainly didn’t go easy on him.
He backed up, stepping back to protect himself from her attack, and his foot caught on something. His bad ankle gave in with a sharp snap of pain. He tripped, and Marjorie leaned towards him, as though trying to hold on to him so he wouldn’t fall. He caught her sleeve, and they both tumbled down.
He landed on his back, her warm and soft weight pleasant on top of him. The smell of her, flowery and musky from the exercise, combined with her breasts pressed against him and her legs spread, made him harden. She felt it. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and her eyebrows snapped together.
What the devil was he doing, getting hard like that? He didn’t give a damn about anyone’s reaction but hers. He must have frightened her, probably triggered memories or something. But she didn’t look afraid. Her lips were so close, he could just lean forward an inch and kiss her.
She actually looked like she was…
Excited?
Realization widened her eyes, and fear flickered through them. She pushed herself off him, red-cheeked, her eyes watering.
Tamhas was at her side in a moment.
“Mistress?” he said, standing between her and Konnor. She hugged herself.
Konnor slowly stood. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“I dinna feel so good,” she said. “Mayhap ‘tis best ye continue yer training with Tamhas.”
She turned and walked away, retreating to her tower. Konnor helplessly watched her hunched form, feeling like shit. Tamhas looked at him, an angry snarl forming on his upper lip.
“Did ye hurt her?” he barked.
“No,” Konnor said, watching the entrance to the tower where she’d just disappeared.
“What happened?” Tamhas said.
What happened was he’d exposed her to something she was still not ready for. He should really stay away from her. The last thing she needed was a guy getting horny around her like that.
“I must have bruised her, after all,” Konnor murmured.
Tamhas stepped towards Konnor and stabbed his index finger at him. “Ye wilna touch her again.”
“Trust me, buddy,” Konnor said, picking up the stick. “I have no intention to.”
He turned to Tamhas and nodded at Marjorie’s stick on the ground. “Are we doing this thing or what?”
Scowling at Konnor, Tamhas picked up the stick. “I wilna go easy on ye.”
“I don’t want you to.” Konnor stood in a fighting stance, actually looking forward to blowing off some steam and trying to beat the shit out of this guy. Finally, sparring man-to-man.
As Tamhas came at him, thrusting the stick vigorously, Konnor thought she deserved to be loved and cherished. Someone needed to help her heal. That man wasn’t him. He wasn’t going to be here long and would head back to his real life as soon as he knew she was safe.
And until then, he’d make sure he kept his distance.
Chapter 16
Marjorie panted, leaning on the hard, cold rock of the wall.
Air. She needed air. There wasn’t enough of it, even up on the castle wall with the whole sky above her like an endless ceiling and the ground far below.
What had just happened? A man had gotten excited because of her. That was something natural for a normal woman. But she wasn’t normal. She was damaged. She was hurt. She was still broken.
She—the warrior who’d trained for years—had gotten scared.
It had been wonderful to spar with Konnor. He was a good partner, though obviously inexperienced in swordsmanship. But laughing with him, smiling with him, and just breathing the same air with him had made her feel alive. When the unmistakable, hard bulge between Konnor’s legs pressed into her lower belly, it had taken her breath away.
Not because she was disgusted or afraid.
Because she’d gotten excited. Something warm and pleasant had flashed in her core, a place she’d only known as a source of pain and torture before.
And that was terrifying. It was new and wonderful and completely unexpected. Was that the feeling all regular women had with a man? Was that a glimpse of healing for her?
And if so, why was it so frightening? Why did the hope mix with dread in her soul and tighten her lungs as though they’d shrunk to the size of a ball of yarn?
She knew why. She couldn’t trust another man after what Alasdair had done to her. She was dirty. Stained. Used like a worthless piece of cloth.
Tears welled and fell down her cheeks, leaving burning traces. She leaned with her back against the wall and slid down until she sat on the cold, dirty floor. She hid her face in her palms.
She wanted to be normal. She wanted to be a regular woman who could fall in love and be mindlessly happy. But how could she if deep inside she was still that tormented, abused lass, helpless and desperate.
Konnor was right. In a way, she was in a crystal coffin after being poisoned by evil, trapped somewhere between death and sleep. Could a prince really wake her up? Could Konnor?
“Lass?” Isbeil’s voice said, and Marjorie raised her head. The woman stood at the entrance to the tower, leaning against the hard stone with one hand. Her dark eyes pierced Marjorie—the perceptive eyes of a healer, and the caring eyes of a friend. She was the closest thing Marjorie had to a mother, even though her stepmother, Domhnall, Owen, and Lena’s mother, who had died a few years ago, had been nothing but supportive and loving.