Page 40 of When the Laird Claims
Victoria did not know what to do with any sort of weapon, but she accepted it, wrapping her hands around the hilt and attempting to feel even the slightest bit comfortable with themetal. “The most that I have ever cut is meat at the dinner table…”
Arran snorted a laugh. “Sorry, I daenae mean to tease ye, but I expected nothin’ less.”
Victoria was tempted to hit him in the chest for teasing her again, but did not trust herself to be able to touch him without reacting.
“I suppose the best things for ye to learn are how to throw a punch, how to defend yer face, and then where to stab a man so that it really hurts him,” Arran spoke as if he were planning out something far more serious. The firm, commanding tone that he used was more than a little attractive; she would be foolish to even pretend that it did not affect her. All she could hope was that he would not notice the extent to which she was affected.
It was not as if they had spoken about what they were to one another, or how things might or might not have changed between them since that night, which now felt so long ago.
“Try to hit me,” he said, smirking. “But maybe put the dagger down first. I daenae want any accidents.”
She did as he asked, and the lesson truly began.
“It is impossible!” Victoria wheezed, certain that the only things still keeping her on her feet were sheer determination and stubbornness. “How is… anyone supposed… to hit you? You probably win your battles… by frustrating your enemies!”
She knew that as the moon moved across the sky that her body was giving out. Her limbs were aching and tender; she was moving more slowly, but she was truly starting to feel as if she could grasp the concepts that he was attempting to teach her.
“Sometimes,” Arran replied, grinning.
“I really think we…” she sucked in a ragged breath “… should have started with… something smaller. Punching a… sack of straw or… something.”
She lunged for him again, sweeping her fist in a right hook… and missing him completely as he easily feinted backward.
“Would you stay still!” she complained, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
If only she could land just one hit on him, that would be enough, and then she could quit. At least, that was what she kept telling herself over and over again. Arran was such a large man, and she was not even able to tap him once. It defied logic that he was able to move as quickly as he was.
“Yer enemy willnae be standin’ doin’ nothin’,” he pointed out, circling her.
Even with him moving so quickly around her, no part of her was frightened of him or what he might be capable of. She did not have the same fear that she often did with Charles when he would pick up his sword or pistols. That paranoia simply did not exist here… and it made her feel stronger for it.
“Maybe, if I ask nicely, they might?” she said.
Arran chuckled. “If ye approached them in yer nightdress, perhaps they would.”
Victoria’s mind wandered, and she lost focus. Just one moment of distraction, and that was all that it took. Arran darted in and swept her off her feet—literally.
One moment, Victoria was standing; the next, she found her legs getting all tangled up inside of her own skirts, and she was falling right back down again. She was certain that she was going to collapse into the ground, were it not for the strong arm wrapping around her back and cradling her head as the pair of them fell right down to the ground. Her hips collided with the ground firmly, but the impact was mostly absorbed by the man who had been putting her on her rear in the first place.
“Got ye,” Arran whispered, his face merely an inch from her own, and she did not even know what to do with herself.
She could not breathe; all of her air was locked in her lungs, and she was almost afraid of what she might do if she placed her hands on his chest. He was entirely too close. Victoria’s eyes widened in shock. There had been wholly too many touches inthe first place. Far, far too many over these last couple of hours, that feeling him like this, half on top of her? It was more than she even knew what to do with.
Gingerly, Victoria placed a single hand on his chest, her own heaving with anticipation as she struggled to speak in a clear, even voice. “Very well, but now you need to unhand me.”
“I daenae ken why I would want to do that, lass,” Arran continued, with his voice low and directly near her ear. She did not mean to arch up into him as goosebumps ran down her spine, but she could not seem to stop herself from doing it either.
“The hour has gotten late, and I think that time has run away from both of us,” she murmured huskily. “I did not mean to distract you from your duties for quite this long, my Laird.”
A low rumble of warning left Arran’s chest, and she knew that it was because he did not like her calling him by his title when he had already given her permission to use his name. But when they were positioned so intimately like this, it did not feel appropriate to do so.
“I think that I deserve a prize for winnin’,” Arran whispered, his hand finding the back of her leg and cupping the fabric-covered skin toward him slightly. “It is only fair, after all.”
“I think that would not be fair in the slightest. You have far more experience than I; it is nowhere near a fair fight!” Victoria protested, and she hated that she giggled when she spoke to him.
“And what if I choose a reward that would benefit both of us, hm? Would ye be so averse to it then?”
“You have nothing I desire,” Victoria insisted and attempted to push his chest away from her again.
