Page 44 of Fang & Fury

Ailsa caught it, settling her weight the way Kayla had drilled into her years ago.

A moment later, she lunged.

He caught her wrist before the blade landed, but she twisted free, driving her elbow toward his ribs. He grunted, stepping back.

Nearby, two fat grouse spat and crackled over the flames, fat dripping into the fire with a hiss. The flames flickered in the shallow corrie where they’d made camp for the night. Next to the hearth, Fern grinned. Kayla didn’t look up from turning the spit, though her lips twitched.

“Not bad,” Darach admitted, rolling his shoulder. “Now attack. Really attack.”

Ailsa squared up, blade angled the way she thought looked right, and lunged again.

He sidestepped easily, catching her wrist and turning it until the dagger fell, thudding onto the moss at their feet.

“You’re leading with your shoulder,” he said, close now. His hand still circled her wrist. His tawny eyes met hers, his lips quirking. “Don’t give the game away, Ailsa.”

She stooped and retrieved her dagger. “So, teach me not to.”

He guided her arm back, correcting her grip, his fingers warm over hers. Their eyes met over the blade.

Neither moved.

Heat crept up her throat, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how close he stood—the woodsmoke and leather scent of him, the warmth radiating off his bare forearm where it brushed hers.

“Like this,” he murmured, guiding her hand through a short, vicious arc. “Short. Fast. You’re not trying to look graceful, you’re trying to gut someone.”

“Charming.”

“Effective.” His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, and her pulse betrayed her, leaping beneath his touch. Something shifted in his expression—that same look he’d given her that night moons ago. Before the shieling. Before Craeg Aonaranach.

She should step back—it was best they didn’t get close again.

But she didn’t.

The grouse hissed, forgotten, and somewhere behind them, Fern cleared her throat pointedly.

“Why don’t I have a look at that tattoo, as Ailsa asked?” Kayla spoke up then. “The grouse won’t be ready for a while yet.”

Sitting back on her heels from where she’d been examining Darach’s tattoo and the circle of thorns Ailsa had used to bind the clag-doo, Kayla gave a sharp exhale.

Darach propped himself up onto one elbow, his gaze cutting back to her.

Fern and Ailsa sat silently a few feet away, observing them. Frankly, these women were probably getting sick of seeing his naked arse. He was certainly tired of showing it.

But Ailsa had been determined that Kayla help him tonight—so, here he was, lying on his side, with his breeches around his ankles.

“What does that sigh mean?” he asked, frowning. Although he was stronger than he had been back at the fort, he was still far from his old self. His body ached far more than it should have after a day in the saddle. And giving Ailsa that knife-fighting lesson, as distracting as it had been, had drained him.

Darach’s gaze dipped to the exposed tattoo on his thigh. The sight of it didn’t worry him so much these days. Before Ailsa’s intervention, the borders of it had seemed red and inflamed, and dark veins had crept out from the edges of the blue woad lines. Now, it just looked like a tattoo.

Nonetheless, the snarling visage always unnerved him a little. It was a reminder of what slept beneath his skin.

And as if hearing his thoughts, he felt something rake against the underside of his ribs.

Leaning in once more, Kayla pressed two fingers lightly along the blue lines.

Darach winced.

She nodded almost to herself. “Does it always hurt there?”