Isla discarded her cap and cloak, then sauntered toward him. His breath caught at her sheer sensuality; the confidence she had when wearing hose rather than the gowns she hated. Naturally, his thoughts turned carnal, imagining Isla naked on her hands and knees in front of him, his fingers tangled in those pitch-black curls, teasing her sweet cunt while his thumb penetrated her arse to heighten release…
“Why Alastair,” she purred, raising one winged black eyebrow. “Whatever were you thinking just now?”
A polite lie slid onto his tongue, but much like Callum didn’t want secrets between them, he didn’t want a lie between him and Isla, even a small one.
“Lewd things.”
“Oh?” Isla replied, looking interested rather than offended. “Such as?”
“You, naked, on your hands and knees. Your hair tangled about my wrist. Teasing your wet cunt while I press my thumb deep in that perfect peach arse of yours,” he said abruptly.
Absolute silence filled the room. Then she pressed her thighs together.
Alastair’s lips twitched. Isla was indeed a hot-blooded lass. “’Tis a shame we have little time today. After you teach Callum, we could have taught you.”
“We have time,” Isla whispered. “The king gave my manservant Leith private messages to deliver also. He’ll be back to fetch me at nightfall so I return to my, er, sickbed before the feast ends. His wife Morag is guarding the chamber from concerned visitors.”
“Well then. Callum? Shall we strike a bargain with the lady? Sword lesson for pleasure lesson?”
His laird joined them in the space cleared for practice. “Only if you wish, Isla. I am grateful you are here at all, for I know the risks you are taking to help me.”
Isla smiled. “Oh, I wish to. Very much. As to the risk…all the more reason to do as much as I can in the time that I have. So let us dance, Callum. Today I will show you the best ways to defend yourself. Alastair, fetch your sword. I need you to be the devilish beast that he may face on the battlefield.”
He handed her Callum’s sword before unsheathing his own and taking up a stance in the center of the room. “One devilish beast at your service, lady. Do you require sounds? A few growls or snarls maybe?”
Isla giggled, and the delight on her face, warmed him to the core. “But of course. Callum, watch closely.”
“Yes, lady,” his laird replied, brow furrowing into that endearing look of complete concentration.
“Now. You remember the correct grip, your right hand closest to the crossguard, your left directly below it for the most force? Good. Then let us begin with the best stance; holding the sword beside your head, the hilt level with your cheek. This is especially helpful when you are unsure of your opponent, for it allows you to move easily into attack or defense. See?”
Alastair’s jaw dropped as her sword flashed about his body and head, cutting and thrusting with such precision, such control, he felt a slight breeze when the steel passed by his flesh. He’d known she would be good—anyone praised by the legendary Sir Lachlan would have to be—but Isla was a master. She wielded the sword as though it was part of her body, yet every movement had purpose, control, and aggression; nothing loose nor lazy, no wide arcs or extravagant flourishes here. In true battle, this lady would have your head or innards on the ground before you’d even raised your arm.
“Well, sir?” said Isla, as she stepped back and rested the sword on her shoulder.
Alastair dropped to one knee. “In this, I yield.”
“How did you even do that, Isla?” asked Callum.
She patted the sword hilt fondly, like it was a small child. “I learned from the best. Years and years of practice. I was gifted my first wooden sword aged four and pestered everyone to teach me. Leith first, then an indulgent uncle who wanted to annoy my father. Later, a few Sutherland men at arms, followed by a gentleman from Rome hired for my brothers, all whom I bribed with coin. When I heard about Sir Lachlan’s training school, I told my mother and father that I needed to go to St. Andrews to learn piety. Instead, I encountered my toughest and most gifted tutor, honing my skills for months before…well, you know what happened.”
“I thought that only strength mattered,” said Callum slowly. “But you demonstrate that speed and skill can triumph.”
Isla’s expression turned serious. “Let me be clear…strength does matter. However, it is not the only path. Great swordfighters have strength and speed. Strength and skill. And they are often fighting an opponent who has none. Also, the line between victory and defeat is very narrow. It could be one move you did or did not do, and the same for your opponent. It is easy to become tired and lose concentration. Perhaps be fooled by a false step, take too long to respond, or allow the other to get too close.”
Alastair gazed at her in awe. If anyone was unclear that swordplay was Isla’s passion, hearing her speak, seeing the way her face lit up, watching her demonstrate her expertise, would end that uncertainty. She was a truly remarkable woman.
Yet this knowledge brought with it unwelcome feelings, the kind he did his best to quell each and every day. That his whole life was a lie. That he knew nothing, was nothing, and would amount to naught. Aye, he looked the part of devilish beast. But what else did he have to offer? Behind the oak door remained the little boy he’d once been: starving, abandoned, trying desperately to belong, the one who’d mastered no skill as a grown man but fucking and massage.
Eventually, Alastair cleared his throat. “How then…” he said hesitantly, the words bubbling up from somewhere deep and dark inside him, unable to be halted, “how do you keep fighting when all is against you?”
“Not all is against me,” said Isla, reaching out and gently squeezing his free hand. “I am not hungry, penniless, or without a home. My family might see me as no more than a body to sell for favor and position, but Morag and Leith care. Sir Lachlan, Lady Marjorie, and Lady Janet kept my secret and urged me on. Many men would have mocked my offer of help, sure a woman could teach them nothing, but you and Callum accepted. Rays of sunshine can find their way to light even the loneliest path.”
That made him flinch. Callum and Lady Maude were his rays of sunshine, the only two people who had ever cared for him. He wanted their happiness and prosperity more than anything, but the key to that was Isla. And while he felt a fledgling trust and affection for her alongside the lust, the Sutherlands loomed as a cold, malevolent force behind her. They did not believe in tender sentiment, and were renowned for opposing the unconventional. Not in a thousand years would they countenance their daughter’s husband bedding another man. What if a marriage, the dowry and alliance hinged on his removal from Glennoe Castle? It wasn’t as though he was an actual MacIntyre…
“Enough talk,” Alastair growled, despair awakening a true devilish beast. “Fight.”
Isla’s steady gaze held far, far too much understanding. “Very well, Master Graham,” she said softly. “Let us dance.”
Pain. So much pain in Alastair’s eyes, Isla could scarcely bear it.
But if she’d learned one thing being around Highland men her whole life, it was that they loathed to share what hurt or grieved them. They brooded, then either fought or fucked.