Page 4 of The Beast's Bride
“Aye—I need to know how to break a hold.”
Taran raised an eyebrow. “I thought ye wanted to practice at swordplay?”
Rhona shook her head, favoring him with a slow smile. “Not today. We’ve done that for years. I want to be able to fight without a sword or a dagger in my hand.”
The pair of them stood in the training yard—a small area wedged in between the stables and the armory. Stained and pitted grey walls reared up around them, and a blue sky full of racing clouds stretched overhead. There was no one else about, Rhona had made sure of it, choosing the time when most folk would be eating their noon meal.
Like Taran, Rhona was dressed in a mail shirt today over a léine—a loose tunic that reached the knee. She had swapped her kirtle for a pair of braies and long boots, while her long hair was pulled back in a thick braid.
Taran found the sight distracting.
“Aye … very well,” he replied after a pause. Truthfully, he wasn’t that keen to give her such a lesson. MacLeod wouldn’t be pleased to learn that his daughter was being taught to brawl.
On the other hand, he rarely had the opportunity to be in such close proximity to Rhona, or to touch her.
He approached the young woman, stopping before her so that they stood only two feet apart. “Grab me then … like Dughall did with ye.”
Rhona nodded, her lovely features tensing with concentration. She had a proud face, with high cheekbones and a slight cleft in her chin. However, it was her storm-grey eyes that caught his attention: large and limpid with long lashes.
Rhona reached out with her right hand, her fingers fastening around his left forearm. Taran inwardly cursed the leather bracer that prevented their skin from coming into contact.
“He held me like this,” she explained, “and then he yanked me against him.” Taran felt a tug at his arm, but he did not budge.
She frowned, huffing out a breath. “Clearly, I’m not as strong as him.”
Taran smiled. “Strength will only get ye so far—agility and flexibility are just as important.”
He watched her frown ease. “Really?”
“Aye … yer mistake yesterday was to give him time. The first rule is to act quickly.”
Her mouth curved, an expression that made him grow still. “So, what should I have done?”
He raised a foot, nudging her in the shin with his toe. “Kick first.” He then raised the hand she held, turning the palm toward him. “Then do this … as if ye are trying to read yer palm. See how it makes yer wrist twist and exposes the underside of yer hand?”
Rhona nodded, her gaze shifting to where she still gripped his forearm.
“Now reach under and around the arm that’s caught and catch yer attacker’s hand … like this.”
His fingers hooked over the heel of her hand, and the warmth and smoothness of her skin made his breathing catch. Forcing himself to concentrate, Taran stepped back from her, rotating his body in an arc while twisting her wrist.
Rhona lurched sideways, stumbling as she nearly lost her footing.
He favored her with a tight smile, trying to ignore the feel of her hand in his. “There … easy.”
Rhona gave an unladylike snort before righting herself and releasing him. “For ye, maybe … ye are three times my size.”
“I told ye before—size makes no matter. If ye move fast and loose like that, ye can bring any man down.”
Her eyes lit up, her full lips stretching into a wicked smile. “CanItry?”
Taran nodded. “Ready?”
“Aye … grab me.”
Her words, said with earnest ignorance, made his pulse quicken. How often had he dreamed of doing just that?
Taran stepped forward, catching hold of her arm and holding tight. He thought he might have to remind Rhona of the moves—yet before he knew it, she kicked him hard in the shin. She then twisted, raised her palm, and took hold of the meat of the hand that held her. An instant later she pivoted like a dancer.
