Chapter Seventeen #2
He kept his voice low. “Next move is a sweep. If someone comes in low, this is how you stop them. Drop your blade. Here.” His hand came to her hip, the heat of the brief touch igniting his senses. “Don’t twist your spine. Let your knees absorb it.”
Her breath hitched, and again, he put space between them.
He swung his sword toward her, keeping it low, and she blocked it.
Raising his arm, he forced her into the first block he’d shown her, walking a slow circle around her.
“One of the most important parts about a sword fight is the movement of your feet. Keep them moving. If you stop, you give your opponent an opportunity.”
With a nod, she twisted to the side, circling with him.
They danced that way for minutes, blades rising and falling, and he slowly increased his speed and intensity.
Soon, her curls stuck to her sweat-dampened forehead, shoulders rising and falling in quick breaths.
After a heavy blow, she stumbled to her knees.
In a blink, she pushed herself back up and leveled her blade at him.
Her gaze met his, flushed and fierce, and something dangerously close to affection stirred in his chest.
He lowered his sword. “Enough.”
She frowned, swiping a lock of hair from her face with the back of her hand. “Already?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached to his belt and pulled his dagger free. He held it loosely, the worn leather grip familiar against his palm. A much different weapon than his sword—personal, meant for close quarters. The kind of fighting that happened when all other options had run out.
“You won’t win a fight with a sword. But…” He flipped the blade in his hand and offered it to her. “This could save your life.”
He moved behind her. “Imagine someone grabs you. One arm around your waist, pulling you back.” His arm wrapped around her front—not touching—but close enough to let her feel the idea of it. “Don’t panic. Drop your weight and drive the blade back. No warning. No hesitation.”
She turned the dagger in her palm, and nodded once before turning to face him. “I can’t take this.” Her fingertip grazed his engraved initials at the base of the blade, and she offered it back to him.
He closed his hand around hers, wrapping her fingers firmly around the hilt. “Keep it. I will feel better knowing you carry a capable and well forged blade.”
She stared at it, running one slender finger along its length. Again, heat coursed through him and he chewed on a curse. After last night, he wouldn’t be able to look at her without remembering… remembering it all. He twisted, staring out over the sea behind them.
He didn’t like complications. They clouded judgment. Fractured focus.
Got men killed.
*
“She’s a dangerous distraction.”
Isaac jerked his gaze from the main deck, where Miss Montclair had just walked out into the midday sun. Silas gave him a level look, daring him to argue. Truth was, he couldn’t. His first officer was right.
“I know.” His gruff retort had Silas raising his brows. “By the end of today, she’ll be back on Christian’s schooner. No more distractions.”
“You say that as if having a civilian ship—one captained by a woman who looks like a blasted pirate—alongside us isn’t a distraction in and of itself.”
Silas had joined Isaac’s crew a month ago, which meant he hadn’t witnessed Christian’s and Samantha’s skills. The men who had sailed under Christian’s command and had aided in his rescue held a healthy amount of respect for both him and his new wife. Those weren’t the ones he had to worry about.
“I assure you, having their help greatly increases our chances at success.” Isaac kept his gaze fixed forward.
“You have a lot of faith in a former lieutenant.” Silas stepped forward and took the wheel. “It’s no secret you were good friends before you served together. I just hope that doesn’t cloud your judgment—or hamper your duties.”
A thread of unease wormed through Isaac’s gut as his first officer voiced the very concern that had been lingering on his own conscience all along.
No. He straightened his shoulders. Christian had been his friend since they were boys.
They had gone through their entire lives together. He trusted him. Wholeheartedly.
Didn’t he?
Isaac clenched his jaw and turned his eyes toward the horizon, willing a smudge of land into view.
A gust of wind tugged at his coat, and movement on the deck caught his eye.
Miss Montclair had moved to the railing, her posture graceful and unguarded as she leaned into the breeze.
The way she stood, skirts whipping around her legs, she looked like a regal princess yearning for a glimpse of a faraway land.
She twisted to face him and he quickly dropped his gaze.
Not quick enough to miss her knowing smile.
And damn him, he nearly smiled back.
Whatever passed between them—whatever this was—it couldn’t matter.
Not now. He had his duty. She had a home to return to.
He tilted his head her way again and his pulse jumped.
She had moved. Was moving. Toward him. His throat went dry.
He forced himself to stand still, hoping his expression remained neutral, though his mind still raced.
She passed by Burke, the shipwrecked sailor who perched on a barrel in the sun, sharpening his dagger. His condition had markedly improved overnight.
“Miss Montclair, isn’t it?” he drawled, raising his head, eyes dragging over her like she was something for sale.
Isaac’s jaw clenched as she slowed.
“Oh. Hello.” She took a slight step back as Burke openly stared at her. “You look much better already.”
“I am, thank you.” He picked something from under his nail with the point of his blade. “What I want to know is why the lieutenant gets to bring his paramour on board during a mission.”
Her cheeks went pink. “I’m not his—”
A grating laugh burst free. “Come on now, you don’t think the rest of us are stupid, do you? Everyone knows you two spent the last night together.”
Before he knew what he was doing, Isaac vaulted over the railing and dropped to the main deck, his boots slamming the boards. The crewman barely had time to turn before Isaac closed the space between them and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him upright.
“You watch your mouth,” Isaac growled, voice low and lethal.
Burke raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk remained. “Didn’t mean no harm, Cap’n. Just making conversation—”
Isaac’s hand tightened, twisting the sailor’s shirt until the man choked for breath. “This is my ship.” His voice came sharp as drawn steel. “You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. You forget she’s aboard, or I’ll toss you overboard myself and let the sea decide your fate.”
The seaman stared at him for a long moment, sails flapping overhead.
Finally, he nodded. Isaac released his grip and Burke took off, rubbing his neck.
After the sailor descended the main hatch, he turned to Miss Montclair, who stared at him with wide eyes.
A gust of wind swept across the deck, and the moment stretched between them like a taut line.
Footsteps creaked behind them, and Silas called down from the helm, “Land ahead!”
Isaac turned instinctively. Sure enough, the gray silhouette of Norfolk rose from the horizon, hazy but unmistakable. He exhaled, grateful for the distraction.
“We’ll be docking within the hour.” He climbed back up to the helm and she followed, keeping her distance.
The crew hurried into action, readying the ship for their arrival.
While activity bloomed around him, Isaac watched her from the corner of his eye.
Tried not to notice the flush still high on her cheekbones—the storm she kept so carefully locked behind her eyes.
Her hand moved, slow and deliberate to her neckline.
She tugged the ribbon there. The key slid free like a secret, catching the morning light before she curled her fingers around it, holding it close to her chest.
After a long moment, she turned to him. “Please—”
He lifted his hand. “No need to convince me. You’re coming. With Thorne in town, I’m not taking my eyes off of you until Christian and Samantha catch up.”