Chapter 11 #2
Iona kept advancing.
Each step felt deliberate, though her thoughts were anything but. The words she had meant to bring with her tangled somewhere behind her ribs, caught between fear and stubbornness and something far more dangerous that she did not care to name.
Tell him.
The echo of Erin’s voice pressed at her, steady and insistent.
But as she drew closer, as Frederick’s presence sharpened and filled the space around her, that resolve faltered.
Her pulse picked up, her awareness narrowing to the man before her, to the way the morning light caught along his shoulders, to the faint sheen of sweat at his skin, to the quiet authority in the way he simply stood and waited.
She stopped a few steps away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
She could feel his gaze on her face, steady and searching, as though he expected something more than a casual approach. He always expected more. That was part of what made him so difficult to face.
Say it.
Her throat tightened.
Instead, the first thing that came out of her mouth was entirely the wrong thing. “Teach me how to fight.”
The words left her in a rush, far less composed than she would have liked, and for a heartbeat, she nearly winced at herself.
Frederick’s mouth curved, not quite a smile but close enough to irritate her. “Aye?” he said, his voice low with amusement. “Like mother, like son.”
The words struck deeper than he likely had intended, and guilt flared, sharp and unwelcome, curling low in her chest and refusing to leave.
I should tell him now.
She did not.
Frederick stepped closer.
“Stand properly,” he said, the humor fading as his tone shifted into something more instructive. “If ye wish to learn, ye will need to listen.”
“I am listening,” she snapped, though she adjusted her stance anyway.
His hand came to her arm, firm but controlled, turning her slightly.
“Nay, ye are arguing,” he said. “There is a difference.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I daenae see why I must stand like a statue to throw a punch.”
“Because if ye daenae ken where yer weight is, ye will be on the ground before ye land the blow.”
She huffed, though she did as he instructed.
His hands guided her again, one at her shoulder, the other briefly at her waist, shifting her balance with quiet precision. The contact sent an unwanted awareness through her, sharp and immediate, her body responding before her mind could intervene.
Too close.
Far too close.
“Ye are doing that on purpose,” she muttered.
“Doing what?”
“Standing so near.”
“If I stood any farther, ye would fall over before ye learned anything.”
“I wouldnae.”
“Aye,” he said calmly, “ye would.”
She turned her head to argue further, only to find him closer than she had realized.
The space between them narrowed to something fragile.
Her breath caught.
Of course, he noticed.
She watched as his gaze dropped, just slightly, not to her eyes this time, but to her mouth.
Warmth climbed her throat, her pulse shifting into something uneven and far too fast.
This is a mistake.
And yet she did not step back.
“Focus,” he said quietly, though the word lacked its earlier firmness.
“I am,” she replied, though her mind continued the thought. Not at all.
His hand remained at her waist, steady, grounding, while the other adjusted her wrist, guiding the angle of her arm.
“Like this,” he murmured.
She followed the movement, though her awareness had narrowed to the presence of him, to the faint roughness of his touch, to the way his breath brushed too close when he spoke.
“This is foolish,” she said, though it came out softer than intended.
“Aye,” he agreed.
Her eyes lifted to his.
There was no amusement there now.
Only something that made her stomach tighten.
He moved closer.
Or perhaps she did.
She could not tell.
All she knew was that the distance between them disappeared too easily, as though neither of them had truly intended to keep it.
Her lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady.
He was going to kiss her.
The certainty came before the moment.
Her eyes closed.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to let it happen.
She felt his breath against her lips.
Warm.
Close.
So close that the anticipation of it tightened through her chest, through her fingers, through every part of her that had no business reacting so quickly.
Then his voice came instead.
“I daenae intend to kiss a woman who has nay intention of marrying me.”
The words brushed her mouth where his lips should have been.
The effect was immediate.
Her eyes snapped open.
Mortification flared hot and sharp, burning away the softness of the moment, leaving only frustration in its wake.
She shoved lightly at his chest, forcing space between them.
“Ye have a fine way of choosing when to be honorable,” she snapped.
His brow lifted slightly, though his expression remained steady.
“Do I?”
“Aye,” she said, blush rising in her cheeks. “Considering ye did a great deal more than kiss me the first time we met.”
That earned her something.
A flicker of satisfaction.
“So ye do remember that night,” he said, his voice low again, edged with something she could not quite place.
Her stomach flipped.
“What night?” she shot back, far too quickly.
His gaze sharpened.
He did not believe her.
She could see it plainly.
He stepped closer again, though this time she held her ground.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Ye are contradicting yerself.”
“I am doing nay such thing.”
“Aye, ye are.”
“Then perhaps ye should stop listening so closely.”
His mouth curved again, softer this time, but no less dangerous.
“Difficult when ye speak so loudly.”
She exhaled sharply, frustrated beyond reason, and turned away before he could say anything further.
“Never mind,” she muttered.
I am a fool. What had she been thinking, coming here like this? Asking him anything, letting him stand so close, letting herself forget for even a moment why she had come at all.
And now she smelled of sweat and herbs and foolish decisions.
She did not look back.
She refused to.
Still, as she walked away from the training yard, she could hear it.
That low, quiet chuckle behind her.
And it followed her far longer than she cared to admit.