Page 83 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Rhys sighed, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Now?”
“Aye, sir. They’ve already started.”
Amara looked up at him, brows raised. “Sounds like fun.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Depends on the day.”
Then, glancing at her once more, he added, “I’ll likely miss supper.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, and meant it.
He lingered, just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them again, and then turned to follow the guard, disappearing through the archway.
Amara watched him go.
She hadn’t meant to follow.
Not at first.
But her feet moved of their own accord, and before long she was stepping into the shadow of the training yard, keeping close to the edge, eyes scanning for him.
He stood in the center of the ring.
Commanding.
A dozen men stood at attention, sweat beading on their brows. They looked like boys in his shadow. Rhys moved with ease, his cloak slung over a low wall, tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows. A staff was in his hand, not his sword, but it didn’t matter.
Two of the recruits were already squaring off against him, both panting, trying not to show their exhaustion. Rhys stood calm as a winter lake.
Then he moved.
Lord above… save me from these sinful thoughts…
Fast and lethal. Sharp as a cut of wind across the highlands. He dodged a poorly thrown swing, spun, and brought his staffaround in a clean arc, knocking one of them to the ground with a thud. The second lunged, and Rhys blocked it with a single arm, then twisted the weapon in his grip and sent the lad sprawling.
It was over in seconds.
The yard erupted in whoops and cheers, though Rhys didn’t even so much as smile. He simply lowered the staff and stepped aside, giving curt instruction and letting the next set prepare.
Amara swallowed.
She remembered him in the forest, that first day. There was a storm in his stance as there was before, and the same ferocity in his eyes. But this was something else. This was a man born to lead. Born to defend.
Anddamnhim for looking so devastatingly good doing it.
She couldn’t see much more from where she stood, and the next sparring group formed a wall of bodies that blocked her view. Her body was warm from standing in the sun, and her legs were starting to ache from the walk, so she turned quietly and made her way back inside the keep.
Her chambers were still warm when she returned, the fire stoked, the basin filled.
She stripped slowly and stepped into the water, sinking down until it covered her shoulders. Her mind was a mess. It was fullof heat and questions, and the memory of Rhys’s voice as he told her what he wanted to do to her.
She hadn’t answered him. Not yet.
She wanted to.
But if I said it aloud… there’d be nay turning back.
Would that be so bad?
