Page 28 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
James had been watching her, and now he moved over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She started, gasped, and looked up at him.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked kindly, frowning.
“No,” she replied, shaking his hands off her shoulders. “But thank you for your concern.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here.” His deep voice was soft. “I want to know you better, Laria. Listening to your troubles is part of that.”
She gave him a faint smile. “May I listen to yours?”
“Of course,” he answered. “If you will let me cry on your shoulder.”
Laria was wearing an emerald-green woolen dress that day with a deeper green cloak over it. “May I put on one of my old dresses first?” she asked, raising her eyebrows with a cheeky smile. “I have just had this new one made, and I do not want it ruined.”
“Only if you take it off again,” he replied, then slapped a hand to his forehead. “I am so sorry. That did not sound the way I meant it to.” He was amazed when she laughed. “So you do have a sense of humor.”
“I know,” she replied. “I am not as forbidding as you seem to think.”
They gazed at each other for a moment before a shadow passed over her eyes, and she turned and ran downstairs. He followed her, keeping pace with her until she reached the bottom of the stairs and realized that she had no idea where to go.
James was annoyed. Just when she had been opening up to him, she had shut down again. Was it because she was afraid she would grow to like him? He stood in front of her. “Would you like me to show you to your room, or may I show you something first?”
Laria debated with herself for a moment. She was curious but frightened. He was so much bigger than she, but he had always been gentle toward her. In the end, her curiosity won, and she nodded.
He took her hand and began to lead her outside. For a moment, she contemplated pulling it out of his grip, but she found herself relishing the feeling of the rough skin of his hand, which completely enveloped hers, rasping against her skin.
He led her around to a fenced-off corner of the courtyard, outside of which was hanging a punch bag like the one she had at home, and several pairs of padded leather gloves.
Laria looked up at James. “You want me to fight you?” she asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” he replied. “Well, not a serious battle, just a bit of sparring. Unless you are afraid, of course?”
Laria tilted her chin up, her eyes blazing. “I am not scared of you!” she spat, then she looked down at her dress. Her parents would be furious if she ruined it. She thought for only an instant before she accepted James’s offer. “Very well,” she answered, “but I cannot wear this. You will have much more freedom of movement than I do and therefore an unfair advantage.”
James went into the stables and came out with a pair of breeches that were dirty and a little the worse for wear, and a shirt that was in a similar condition.
“These belonged to one of our stable lads who left us a while ago,” he told her. “Can you wear them?”
Laria held them up for inspection and nodded. “If I must,” she replied. “Although they do stink quite a lot!”
She looked around for somewhere to change, and James pointed to a little shed that abutted the wall. It contained various cleaning implements and tubs of oil and turpentine. She quickly changed out of her dress and into the smelly clothes, wrinkling her nose up as she pulled them on. Pinning a suitably ferocious expression on her face, she came out of the shack and allowed James to put on the smallest pair of gloves, which were still a little too big for her.
James had never sparred with anyone so small. When he and Gavin went into the ring, it was a fairly even contest, and they held nothing back. Because they were evenly matched in size, weight, and reach, they each had an even number of “victories.”
This bout, however, was more akin to a tiger battling with a house cat, and he knew that he would have to hold back more than a little if he was not to injure her. He was a big muscular man, and even if she was fit and strong, her woman’s body would always make her weaker than he was.
Laria swallowed nervously as she looked at the size of his hands in the big leather gloves, even as she strove to keep the ferocious scowl on her face. Then she began to dance around him, jabbing at him with surprisingly powerful hits that surprised him with their ferocity. He held back, however, only risking a little blow here and there that would do her no harm.
Laria was frustrated. “Stop playing with me!” she demanded, angry that he was holding back. “Hit me!”
James looked into the silver-gray eyes that had become dark with rage. He was tempted, for a split second, to obey her wishes and strike out as hard as he could, but he knew that would likely end in disaster. He said nothing and carried on striking her with the same force that she was using on him.
Suddenly, Laria had had enough. Summoning all her strength, she struck him a punishing blow in his stomach when he made the mistake of letting his guard down. He staggered back against the guard rail, cutting his arm with a splinter from one of the wooden posts that held up the ropes around the ring.
Laria immediately went to him and somehow managed to get their gloves off by using her teeth to undo the laces. “I am so sorry!” Her voice was fearful as she took a look at his arm, out of which a six-inch-long splinter was protruding. Blood was seeping from around the wound, and Laria looked at it helplessly for a moment before tearing a strip from her ragged shirt to use as a bandage. “This will hurt a bit,” she told James. “Are you ready?”
“No,” he said painfully, wincing. “But do your worst.”
Laria removed the splinter as slowly and gently as she could and heard James give a gasp of pain. She felt wretched knowing that she was the cause of it.
