Page 22 of Healing the Highland Sinner
“Are ye all right?” she asked.
“Aye. Just making sure of yer form.” His voice was thick and husky, but he nodded. “Good. Now, come at me again.”
She rushed at him again, just as before, but this time, when he slapped her wrist, he wasn’t able to dislodge the dagger. She brushed off the slap and held it firmly in her hand and raised it to his throat with a toothy smile. Ellair laughed and nodded.
“Good. ‘Tis very good,” he said.
She stepped back, her smile widening. Their eyes met and for a moment, the air between them felt charged. The hair on his arms stood up and it felt like the air just before a bolt of lightning streaked from the heavens. The look on her face was startled, as if she’d felt it too. Rosalind smiled softly, then lowered her gaze and examined her wooden dagger more closely. The moment lingered between them for just a second then faded.
He cleared his throat. “So, that was good. But that was just workin’ on yer grip. Ye’ll want tae get used tae wieldin’ a dagger that way. Dae that, nobody will be able tae slap it from yer hand the way I did. But that’s just the first lesson.”
“What? I’m nae a vicious killer yet?”
He chuckled. “Nay. Nae yet. But pay attention to me lessons, and practice a lot, and perhaps ye will be in time.”
“All right, teach me somethin’ else then,” she said.
He nodded. “All right. I’m goin’ tae teach ye how tae disarm somebody now.”
“Shouldnae I be learnin’ blade play? I need tae ken how tae fight.”
“And that’ll come, lass,” he said. “But every skilled bladesman needs a firm groundin’ in defense. Ye need tae ken how tae protect yerself. If ye can dae that, if ye can learn how tae turn blades meant tae kill ye aside, ye’ll be settin’ yerself up for a counterstrike that’ll win the day fer ye.”
“Defense sound boring.”
“Defense is what’ll keep ye alive long enough tae kill yer opponent.”
She sighed dramatically. “All right,” she said with a smile. “Teach me some boring defense.”
“Good lass.”
They spent the balance of the day working on her skills with both a dagger and a sword. Rosalind was lithe and flexible. She had the grace of a dancer and a keen mind that took his lessons very well. While not really a natural with a blade in her hand, she was certainly quick to pick up everything he was showing her, like a sponge, absorbing every lesson he laid down.
By the end of the day, she had a pretty firm grasp of the basic forms. She was rough and unpolished, but it was a start. She had laid a firm foundation and in their next lessons, they would build upon that. But Ellair mostly felt closer to her as they finished their lessons for the day. They had laughed and swapped stories together all day long and he felt like he knew more about her. More than that, he liked what he had learned.
“I may make a competent swordsman of ye yet,” he said.
“I’ll be able tae take ye down before ye ken it.”
He laughed. “’Tis good tae have dreams, lass.”
They laughed together as they rode and Ellair found himself stealing glances at her as they made their way back to the house. Whenever he did, he felt a flutter in his heart. It was gentle but persistent. And when he caught her stealing glances at him, it was like a hard, sudden jolt that shot from the pit of his stomach through every vein in his body.
Her green eyes sparkled like chips of emerald in the dying like of the afternoon. “Thank ye.”
“Fer what?”
“Fer daen’ all ye did taeday,” she said. “For daein’ all ye’ve been daein’ since ye fell in with us.”
Her words were sweet, and her smile was warm and genuine. Those fluttering wings brushed Ellair’s heart once more and drew a smile from him in return.
“Ye’re welcome.”
She bit her lower lip and seemed to be debating with herself about something. With a small shake of her head, she seemed to end the debate.
“I’m glad ye found us, Ellair,” she said. “I’m glad ye fell in with us.”
Her words made his heart swell in ways that confounded him. He had gone there to do a job, not feel whatever it was he was feeling for her. She was, in Laird Gunn’s estimation, the enemy. Or at least a tool of their enemy. He shouldn’t be feeling anything other than rage. And yet, as he looked into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t feel that, no matter how hard he tried. There was something about her that overruled every instinct he had.
