Page 37 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Their next exchange moved faster. Donaldina advanced. Roy retreated, giving her just enough resistance to force thought without defeating her. Wood struck wood, the sound carrying between the wet walls. She began to anticipate him. Once, she nearly caught his wrist. Another time, she turned too slowly, and his blade stopped against her shoulder.

“Dead,” he spoke.

“How cheerful.”

“An attacker willnae apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Then I shall endeavor tae remain alive out of spite.”

“I expected nae less.”

She smiled at him again. Roy should not have encouraged it. He knew this with the same certainty with which he knew the reach of his sword and the warning tremor of unstable ground.

Yet, when she attacked once more, he allowed himself to smile in return. Donaldina saw it, but surprise momentarily distracted her. Her next step landed too far forward. She lunged, attempting to recover the lost distance, and her boot came down upon a patch of wet stone. Her foot slid, and the wooden sword flew from her hand.

Roy released his hold and reached her just before she hit the ground. One arm wrapped around her waist, while his other hand caught her forearm, turning her from the stones and pulling her firmly against him.

For a moment, the yard ceased to exist. Donaldina’s hand pressed against his chest. Her body rested within the curve of his arm, warm despite the cold air. One loosened strand of hair brushed his jaw. He smelled rain upon her and the faint trace of lavender from whatever soap the women of Dun Ard used.

Her breath brushed against the open collar of his shirt. Roy’s hand spanned her waist, and he became conscious of every finger. Donaldina looked up, her amusement and triumph fading from her face. Her wide eyes reflected something quieter yet equally dangerous, not fear but a different kind of alertness. Roy had previously caught her, once on the cliff path with death close beneath her, and again in the great hall, where Cormac’s grip stained her bandage red. Each time allowed no thought beyond keeping her alive.

This was different. There was no blade near her throat, no enemy before them, and no reason for Roy’s arm to remain around her after she had regained her balance.

Yet, he did not release her. Donaldina’s fingers curled slightly against his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart struck with humiliating force.

Neither spoke. Around them, wind passed over the walls. Somewhere in the stable, a horse stamped against its stall. The sea continued its endless assault upon the cliffs below, but even that great sound seemed distant.

Roy’s gaze lowered to her mouth. He stopped it there only an instant before forcing it back to her eyes. Donaldina noticed, and color moved slowly into her cheeks.

“Ye lost yer footing,” he said at last, his voice coming out rough.

“So I gathered.”

He should have stepped away. Instead, his thumb moved once against the fabric at her waist, a small and thoughtless motion that caused her breath to catch.

Roy released her immediately. Donaldina straightened, though she remained close enough that the loose edge of her sleeve brushed his hand. She looked toward the fallen swords rather than at him.

“That,” Roy pointed out, bending to retrieve them, “is why balance matters.”

Donaldina accepted her weapon when he offered it.

“And yet,” she retorted quietly, “I didnae fall.”

Roy met her eyes. “Nae.”

The word held more than either of them intended to examine.

Donaldina closed her fingers around the wooden hilt. “Again?”

Roy should have ended the lesson. The hour was nearly done. She was tired, the stones were wet, and his judgment had already suffered enough damage for one morning.

He lifted his sword.

“Again.”

CHAPTER TEN

Roy learned early that pain became less troublesome when ignored.