Page 53 of Ruining a Highland Healer
He made a move towards her, his movements still a little stiff, but good enough to spar. Pain shot through his torso as he took the first few steps, but it soon faded, his body adjusting to it. He needed the practice just as much as she did; he needed to move, to get his body back to normal. He needed to get used to the pain of that movement, just in case he had to fight while wounded—something that seemed more than likely, almost unavoidable.
Valora yelped and moved out of the way just in time, sidestepping him. Laughing softly, Torrin came to a halt just as he ran past her, spinning around once he stopped to face her.
"That isnae how ye fight," he pointed out. "That is how ye run."
"What will ye have me dae?" Valora demanded. "If I try tae fight ye, I might hurt ye!"
"Ye willnae hurt me," Torrin assured her. "I can handle it, I promise ye. Come… try."
Valora hesitated, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, but then she did as she was told, perhaps exasperated by his insistence. She charged at Torrin, her practice blade held high—too high—and Torrin was quick to deflect it, using the hilt of his dirk.
As Valora stepped back, Torrin laughed softly, rolling his shoulders. "Ye willnae impress me like this, lass."
Valora raised the practice sword again, adjusting her grip. "I’m nae tryin’ tae impress ye."
"Well, ye are daein’ a spectacular job, then."
His tone was light, teasing, but Valora didn’t laugh, nor did she give him another moment or notice before she lunged again. Torrin quickly stepped aside, just enough to evade her blade and flick it aside with the flat of his own. Their weapons hissed as they slid apart.
Valora wasn’t experienced, but even so, Torrin could tell that she wasn’t putting her maximum effort behind her blows. There was more to her, she was simply afraid to use it.
"Ye’re holdin’ back," he said.
Scowling, Valora wiped sweat off her brow. "Like I said, ye’re hurt."
"I’m fine," said Torrin, giving her a look that lingered, slow and deliberate. "So, stop pretendin’ either o’ us is so fragile."
Valora gave him a look of disbelief, her mouth hanging open for a moment. Then, she moved again—this time quicker, determined. He parried, but she twisted low, kicked him in the shin, and sent him staggering. Before he could recover, she surged forward and jabbed her wooden blade against his ribs.
A satisfying thump. She stepped back, panting, triumphant. Torrin blinked once, surprise and understanding coming upon him at once. He was hurt, that much was true, and so he was far slower than he would have been under any other circumstances, but that didn’t make Valora’s effort any less impressive. This was the first time she had fought anyone, so her skills, unpolished as they were, were not something Torrin would have expected from her.
For a while, he was silent, contemplating the blow. Then he smirked. "Well done."
"Thank ye," said Valora, clearly pleased with herself.
"I was bein’ charitable," Torrin said with a shrug.
Valora arched a brow. "Were ye?"
He laughed, shaking his head. Of course, he wasn’t; Valora had simply managed to catch him by surprise. For a moment, he observed her, taking in her stance, the way she held that practice blade—but then his stance shifted. In one swift motion, he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around her waist, and they tumbled into the grass, rolling once, twice, before he found himself hovering over her, pinning her down to the ground.
His breath was uneven, but not from exertion. His hands trembled, aching to touch her. Their bodies were aligned chest to chest, legs tangled, the fine wool of his tunic rough against the front of her bodice. His hand braced beside her head, the other still hooked lightly behind her back. The air between them seemed to spark, the air igniting with everything that was still unspoken between them.
Valora didn’t move. Neither did he. The entire world seemed to come to a standstill, as if nature herself was waiting for them.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower—to the hollow of her throat, rising and falling rapidly. He felt the heat of her, the ache of longing, the sharp awareness of every place their bodies touched. When he finally looked up at her again, his voice was low as he spoke.
He could kiss her. He should kiss her, he thought; grasp the opportunity and give them both what they so clearly craved. Her lips parted as he leaned close, craving to feel the softness of her own?—
The sound of boots crunching grass cut across the field stopped him dead in his tracks and Torrin pulled away from Valora before he even knew what he was doing. When he searched for the intruder with his gaze, he saw a stable hand crossing nearby, leading a gray mare by its reins.
Torrin pushed himself to his feet and Valora sat up, breathless, skin flushed. She didn’t meet his gaze, but then again, neither could he meet hers.
Torrin cleared his throat, suddenly awkward, not knowing what to say. "Let us head back. We should bathe."
"Ye shouldnae bathe with that wound," Valora said. "Ye can have a sponge bath."
With a long-suffering sigh, Torrin said, "Fine, then ye shall bathe. I’ll have the servants draw a bath fer ye."
