Chapter 4 #2
Once she’s off preparing our drinks, I rotate my barstool to face Lyall. “How are you liking the city so far?”
“It’s loud and smelly but I can see why my brother loves it here. There are interesting things to see around every corner. What about you?”
“It’s home,” I say. “I grew up here with my granddad.”
Lyall frowns at that. “Your grandfather?”
“Yeah. My parents weren’t the parenting type, so he raised me.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“The best.” I don’t know where I’d be without him. My life would have turned out so differently, most likely for the worst. I owe him so much.
“Is he the reason you stay?”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘It’s home,’ and spoke of your grandfather.”
He’s perceptive as hell. “Oh. Well. I guess I’ve always wanted to be somewhere else.
” A twinge of guilt always accompanies these thoughts.
Fergus has done so much for me. I can’t just leave him, especially now that he’s older.
He has looked after me all these years. It’s only right to be there for him.
“The city’s great. You can walk everywhere.
There’s tons to do. But I’ve always had this feeling that there’s something more out there. ”
“Someone?” Lyall asks softly, almost to himself.
I don’t know what to say about that. It’s like he read my mind. It’s unsettling.
Our bartender brings our drinks over, and Lyall lifts his glass.
“To family,” I say.
Lyall smiles. “To charting our own course in life, no matter the consequences.”
I drink when he does, his words replaying in my head. “How’s it compare to mead in Iceland?”
He smacks his lips, then takes another gulp. “Delicious. Thank you for bringing me here. I wonder if there are any similar places we could visit.”
“You mean, more themed bars?”
“Something like that, aye.”
“Maybe there’s some other medieval-themed activity we can do.”
I didn’t mean for today to turn into a Viking-era adventure in NYC, but I’m here for it. Especially if I can make Lyall smile like that again.
Damn it. No, this is just a fun outing. Not a date. Get it together, me.
By the time we’ve drained our glasses, I’ve found something else that sounds interesting. “How about a sword fighting class?”
Lyall slams a fist on the bar. “I will conquer this class!”
I bark out a laugh. “Sounds like a yes to me.” I close out our tab and motion for Lyall to follow me. “Come on. The class starts in thirty minutes. We’ll get there faster if we take the train.”
Lyall frowns. “A train?”
“No, the F train. It’ll take us right there.”
We zip up our coats and I lead the way to the nearest station. “Have you ever taken a sword fighting class before?”
Lyall grips my arm as cars rush past, and I realize I was so busy looking at him that I almost walked into oncoming traffic. Whoops. “I’ve mastered all manner of blades and blunt weaponry. My father trained us lads as soon as we were old enough to swing a blade.”
Whoa, that’s pretty hardcore. It sounds like he had an unusual upbringing. Once we’re down in the subway, I tap my phone to pass through the turnstiles. Lyall simply hoists himself over and looks confused when other people don’t do the same.
“Show off,” I say.
Lyall grins. “It seemed the faster way.”
“Excuse me, sir,” a police officer calls, marching toward us. “You’ve got to pay the fare!”
“Shit!” I grab Lyall’s hand. “Let’s go!” I take off, leading him down onto the platform just as our train roars into the station. Lyall freezes, wide-eyed as the train screeches to a stop.
“Excuse me, pardon me!” I call out, dragging Lyall onto the cramped train before the passengers can get off.
They grumble and some curse us out, but enough people exit the train that the flow of foot traffic cuts the cop off from us.
Collapsing into a seat, I laugh as the cop’s scowling face becomes a blur out the window.
“Next time, pay the fare. Or make sure the cops don’t see you if you decide to jump it.”
Lyall doesn’t respond. He’s standing and gripping a pole with both hands. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s holding on. Wide green eyes dart around the train car, and his shoulders heave less from exertion and more from panic.
Shit. That chase with the cop must have freaked him out.
“Hey. You good?” I stand and quickly grab onto the pole so I don’t fall as the train rocks on the tracks.
“I… I don’t think so.” Lyall gulps, wincing as the train’s wheels screech over the tracks.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, not sure what else to say. “Worst-case scenario, the cop would have made us pay a fine. He probably wouldn’t have arrested us.”
“That’s not—”
The train stops in the middle of the tunnel. I don’t even blink when the announcement that we’re being held momentarily by a train ahead of us crackles over our heads, but Lyall gasps, one hand rubbing his ear like the noise hurt him.
Shit. I don’t want him to have a panic attack. What do I do?
“Lyall, everything’s okay. We’re safe.” I reach out to touch his arm.
Instead, he grabs my hand and holds on tight.
His hand is unsteady in mine, skin clammy.
Damn. He’s really unsettled. He’s been through a lot of changes.
Anyone would be overwhelmed. Heat warms my neck, but I don’t pull away.
I squeeze his fingers, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles.
Lyall inhales softly, his gaze capturing mine.
“I… I won’t let anything happen to you.” Even though his voice shakes, he grips my hand and never breaks my gaze. The promise in every word makes my heart skip.
A soft laugh escapes me. “Okay.”
I don’t know why, but I believe every word.
“Welcome, everyone!” our instructor says, a muscular woman with box braids and a bright smile. “Y’all here for the sword fighting class?”
“Yup,” I say, setting my bag down by the door.
“Good, because I’ve had a few folks askin’ for Pilates and this definitely isn’t Pilates.
” She coaxes a laugh out of the crowd and then introduces herself as Briana.
After encouraging us to introduce ourselves, she goes over a brief history of medieval sword fighting.
Briana calls up another instructor for a demonstration of a few beginner moves we can try.
There are quite a few oohs and aahs, and I’m impressed by the skillful parrying and counter-attacks the instructors show off.
Then finally we’re allowed to get our hands on some swords.
The swords themselves are metal but blunt and fitted with rubber at the tip for extra safety measures.
Lyall inspects his blade, a longsword. “Blunt. Good. No children will get hurt. Decent weight too. It beats the wooden sword I trained with…”
“How often did you train?” I ask, intrigued. Lyall’s an interesting guy.
“My father made sure I practiced every day.”
“Sounds like a cool guy.” A smile tilts my mouth. “Was he a professional fighter?” It sounds like he wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps.
“All right, everyone, let’s pair up and do some sword fighting!” Briana says before Lyall can reply.
He tugs on my arm, bringing me close to him. Heat flushes my cheeks. “We’re together,” he declares.
She laughs. “You two can go stand on the mat over there, okay?”
We face each other, longswords at the ready. “Do you remember how they did the parry and the counterattack?” I ask, trying not to think about how warm and sturdy he’d felt against my side.
“Let’s try it,” he says. “But first…” Setting down his sword, he walks into my space. My breath catches when he touches my wrists. “Hold the sword like this.” He adjusts my grip, his hands warm and his fingertips rough with calluses.
Something about the weight of the sword in my hand feels familiar. Right.
“Spread your legs,” he murmurs low in my ear. “Like this.”
He kneels before me. All my blood rushes past my hips when he touches my ankle, guiding my foot to where it should be. He’d look good on his knees in other scenarios, too…
No, think unsexy thoughts. Cockroaches. Rats. Bags of garbage.
“There we go, perfect!” Lyall says cheerfully, patting my shoulder. He picks up his sword and faces me. “I’ll swing at you. You push my blade away, then counter.”
“Just like that?” A nervous laugh escapes me.
“I’ll take it easy on you, don’t worry. Ready?” When I nod, though I feel far from ready, he swings.
As the blade comes toward me, something inside me… wakes up. I had braced myself to dodge or jump back. Instead, I throw myself into my swing, deflect his attack, and knock his sword right out of his hand.
Lyall’s mouth falls open. Heads turn and the chatter in the room falls quiet as the sword clangs loudly to the floor.
What the hell just happened? Somehow that came as naturally as breathing to me.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I hope I didn’t hurt him.
Wide, unreadable green eyes find mine. Then Lyall spins on his heel and picks up the sword. “Again,” he says.
“Wh-what?” I ask Lyall.
He grins and beckons to me. “I said again. Give me all you’ve got.” He shifts into a battle-ready stance, and I mirror him without even having to think about it. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I don’t care. My blood’s heating up, heart racing.
I swing and I don’t hold back. Lyall deflects, and as soon as he smacks the blade aside, he lunges in for a counterattack.
I sweep his attack aside without a second thought, and a thrill makes my hair stand on end.
Lyall curses under his breath, then goes charging back in.
The room blurs around us as we move, parrying, swinging, dodging.
It’s like a fierce dance, one we’ve practiced together many times. Lyall is big but graceful and fluid as water. Sometimes he hits my shoulder while I manage to catch him a few times, but he just laughs and keeps going. My own face hurts from smiling, chest heaving with exertion.
Our swords cross, and he leans into my space.
He’s panting, breath hot against my face, eyes wild and dancing with exhilaration.
Locks of blond hair cling to his sweaty forehead.
I push back against his sword, bringing us closer.
Those emerald eyes darken, lids lowering as he glances down at my mouth.
I toss him a smirk, drawing my tongue over my bottom lip to tease him. “What’s wrong? Need to take a break?”
He laughs, low and gravelly, then leans in. “Oh, no. I was just going to tell you that you should watch your footwork.”
“Huh—”
He sweeps my feet out from under me in a move that’s somehow familiar.
I grab hold of his shirt and haul him down with me and roll.
Our bodies slam together as I pin him beneath me, my knee on his wrist, my other leg sprawled across his hip.
With a grunt, he drops his sword and glares defiantly up at me.
We pant together, foreheads almost touching, sharing the same breath.
I’ve never felt such a rush before. Something about what we just did feels so familiar, so intimate, in a way nothing else ever has.
“You win,” he says breathlessly and shifts his hips against me. “Now what?”
I buck against him, keeping him pinned in place, and bite my lip so I don’t groan as our groins come into contact. He’s getting hard, and me? I could pound nails.
“Think I deserve a prize…”
A shiver goes through him. “Whatever you want.”
“Wow, that was amazing!” The class erupts into applause, making us both jump.
Mortified, I roll off him, making sure I stay on my stomach so nobody sees just how worked up I really am.
Briana claps for us. “You guys should be the ones teaching the class! Bravo!”
As the adrenaline fades, all I’m left with is confusion.
What the hell just came over me? I’ve never held a sword before in my life. All that action got me thirsty, so I escape into the hall and find a water fountain by the restroom. I take a long drink, then lean on the fountain for support.
“Are you well?” Lyall regards me with a concerned tilt of his head.
“Fine, just… I feel like I’ve done that before,” I say, pushing my sweaty hair out of my face.
Something odd brightens Lyall’s face. “What makes you say that?” For some reason, his whole body has tensed, and he’s looking at me with such intensity, it unsettles me.
“I don’t know. I’ve really never done this before. So I don’t understand why that came so naturally.”
Lyall’s eyes widen. “Tell me what you remember.” There’s an odd urgency in his voice.
“What do you mean? I don’t remember anything.”
Lyall’s shoulders slump. “Nothing?” He sounds almost disappointed.
I don’t understand. “No. Why should I?”
But Lyall just shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” He turns away before I can ask more questions. “We should get back to class.”
And as he walks away, it’s only then that I understand what that desperate look in his eyes was. It was hope that had brightened his eyes, and something about what I said took that hope and crushed it beneath my boot.