Page 52 of Ruining a Highland Healer
Valora was there, with a blade in her hand. For a moment, Torrin watched her from afar, wondering just what it was that she was doing, but then he observed her movements—familiar, if not entirely natural. She was copying what she had seen him and Noah do, he realized, or was at least trying to do so. Her movements were stilted, her steps faltering, but the motions were there, clear as day.
"Good afternoon’, lass," he called to her, and immediately, Valora came to a halt, her cheeks heating as though she was a child caught stealing bannocks. He couldn’t help but laugh ather reaction, her embarrassment. It was rather charming, he thought, how she was so quick to shyness, how she felt like she had been caught red-handed.
"Good afternoon," she echoed back to him. "What are ye daein’ here? Ye should be restin’."
"Ach, ye sound just like me council," said Torrin, waving his hand dismissively. "I’m fine, I promise."
"Ye have a gash from yer ribs tae yer abdomen," Valora reminded him. "Ye shouldnae be walkin’ like this out here on yer own."
"Well, I’m nae on me own now, am I?"
Valora gave him an unimpressed look, but Torrin only grinned at her, shrugging a shoulder.
"Truly," he insisted. "I’m fine."
She looked far from convinced, and Torrin couldn’t blame her. Though he was still in pain, still stiff, and still probably in need of plenty of rest, he couldn’t stay still. No matter how much he tried, he kept needing to walk, to blow off some steam when he was feeling so restless.
"What are ye daein’ here?" he asked her, simply to change the subject.
If it was even possible, Valora turned a deeper shade of red. "I’m tryin’ tae practice," she said, her voice small. "After what happened… after bein’ taken like that an’ then seein’ ye… seein’ ye hurt an’ covered in blood when there was naethin’ I could dae about it, I kent I had tae change somethin’. I had tae learn how tae defend meself."
Torrin couldn’t claim not to understand. He, too, had felt helpless in the past, watching the people he cared about be hurt. His parents had died, leaving him behind all alone, and there had been nothing he could have done to stop it or change it. So, seeing Valora there, trying her best to learn on her own, to teach herself how to defend herself and those she wanted to protect, moved him beyond words.
"How about I show ye?" he offered, but Valora was quick to throw her hands up in exasperation.
"Ye’re hurt!" she reminded him. "Ye’ve been seriously stabbed! In the ribs!"
"Under the ribs, technically," Torrin pointed out. "But as I said, I’m fine. There is naethin’ tae fash about. If it hurts, I’ll let ye ken."
"I’m sure ye willnae."
"I promise I will."
Valora narrowed her eyes at him as though she didn’t quite believe him, though Torrin didn’t think that was a fair assessment of him. He truly would tell her if he was in pain, but he doubted it would be an issue. Some movement would be good for him, he told himself. He wasn’t going to fight her, after all—there would be a good chance of hurting her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was simply going to show her a thing or two, so she could get comfortable with that blade she held so tightly in her hand.
"I promise I’ll be careful," he said as a last resort, and with a heavy, long-suffering sigh, Valora made a vague gesture that seemed to him as though she was giving him permission. Torrin then stood across from her, eyes narrowed—not with irritation, but calculation—as he pulled out his dirk and flipped it once in the air, catching it as it fell back down.
"Ye’ll stab yerself in the end," Valora warned him.
"Ach, I doubt it," said Torrin without a care in the world. "I dae this all the time."
That didn’t seem to impress Valora very much either. For a moment, the two of them simply stared at each other, standing still and silent a few feet apart, as Torrin began to wonder what the best way was to teach her how to use that blade.
"Relax yer grip," he said. "Nae so much that ye lose the dirk, but enough so that yer fingers dinnae hurt."
Valora cleared her throat, looking down at her hand—the bone-white knuckles, the skin stretched thin over them. Slowly, she relaxed her grip, and even though it was still too tight for Torrin’s liking, he thought it was enough for the meantime.
Better tae have it tight than too loose.
"Good," he said. "What ye were daein’ afore… t’was good, but ye need tae keep yer eyes on the target, always. Dinnae look at yer hand. Look at the enemy’s hand."
"But I dinnae have an enemy," Valora pointed out.
"Ye dae now," Torrin told her, opening his arms wide as if to say he was standing right there.
At first, Valora hesitated, just as Torrin had expected her to. She truly feared she would hurt him, it seemed, and no matter how much he reassured her, she wouldn’t make the first move.
So, he did.
