Page 25 of Tempted By a Highland Beast
“‘Tis different than I expected,” Rowena continued, emboldened by his lack of judgment. “More graceful. Like dancing, almost.”
“In a way, it is,” Constantine agreed. “Both require balance, timing, rhythm. The ability tae read yer partner’s movements and respond accordingly.”
He gestured toward the empty courtyard. “Would ye like tae see what it feels like?”
“Aye.” The word was out before Rowena could stop it.
Constantine blinked, clearly surprised by her immediate acceptance. “I meant just the footwork,” he clarified. “Nae actual sword fighting.”
“I ken what ye meant,” Rowena said. “I am nae utterly daft.”
Her heart raced but she held her chin high.
“The basic stance,” he said, moving to demonstrate. “Feet shoulder-width apart, weight evenly distributed. Ye want tae be able tae move in any direction without losing yer balance.”
Rowena tried to mimic his position, but her feet felt clumsy, her balance uncertain. She’d spent years learning to walk gracefully in heavy gowns, not to fight in them.
“Like this?” she asked, wobbling slightly.
Constantine moved closer, his hands hovering near her shoulders. “May I?”
At her nod, he placed his hands on her shoulders, adjusting her posture. His touch was gentle but firm, and Rowena felt a shiver run through her at the contact. The touch of his hand felt good,and Rowena prayed that he couldn’t see how much he affected her.
“Better,” he said, his voice lower now. “Now try shifting yer weight from one foot tae the other. Slowly.”
Rowena did as instructed, swaying slightly as she found her rhythm. Constantine’s hands remained on her shoulders, steadying her, and she was acutely aware of his proximity. She could smell the clean scent of his skin beneath the leather and metal and could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Yer feet are still too wide,” Constantine said as he circled her like a predator. Did that make her his prey? That simply wouldn’t do.
“Me feet are perfectly positioned,” Rowena shot back.
“Fer what? Planting turnips?” He stopped in front of her, arms crossed. “If ye want tae learn tae fight, ye need tae stop fighting me on every correction.”
“I’m nae fighting ye. I’m simply pointing out that perhaps there’s more than one way tae hold a sword.”
Constantine lifted a brow. “Ah, forgive me. I hadnae realized I was in the presence of a master swordswoman. How many battles have ye won with yer superior technique?”
“Well… none,” she admitted, then added with a sweet smile. “But I havenae lost any.”
A bark of laughter escaped Constantine. “Ye’ve got a smart mouth, lass,” he moved closer, adjusting her grip on the wooden sword. “Now, when I come at ye like this?—”
He demonstrated a slow attack. Rowena immediately tried to counter with an elaborate move she saw one of the men perform earlier.
“What in God’s name was that?”
“A spinning parry?”
“Tae get yerself killed in the most graceful way possible.”
Rowena caught the hint of a smile.
“Here. Simple parry. Block the blade, dinnae perform a ballet.”
She tried again, this time following his instruction. The move worked, deflecting his practice strike.
“Better,” he murmured, and she felt an odd flutter of pride. “Though ye still look like ye’re afraid the sword will bite ye.”
“Ye certainly seem fond of using it tae make yer point.”
