Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They faced each other on the grass. At first, he let her come to him.
She was wary, which was good. Too many untrained fighters rushed in with more courage than skill and died with surprise on their faces.
Elspeth circled instead, watching his shoulders, his hands, his feet. Malcolm had taught her that much.
She struck once. Colin turned it aside easily. She struck again, more quickly.
He moved out of reach. “Better.”
“Try nae tae sound astonished.”
“I am astonished.”
She lunged. He laughed under his breath and caught her wrist, but she twisted free before he could turn the hold.
Clever.
She wasn’t strong enough to overpower him, but quick enough to make strength work for her if he was careless. He would not be careless twice.
They moved across the damp grass, blade to blade, breath to breath. Her cheeks flushed with exertion. Her braid loosened further. At one point, she nearly slipped, recovered, and used his moment of adjustment to drive him back a step.
Colin’s brows lifted. She smiled like a woman who had just stolen a horse.
“There,” she said. “Was that theatrical?”
“That,” he admitted, “was irritating.”
“Excellent.”
He should have ended it then. Instead, he found himself enjoying it.
It wasn’t merely her skill, though that intrigued him.
Nor was it merely the quickness of her tongue, though that had already become a hazard.
It was the life of her, the refusal to fold, the fury that did not make her foolish, only bright.
She had been sold, frightened, threatened, and brought into a house that did not yet know what to do with her, and still she stood in his garden with a dirk in hand and victory in her eyes.
“We need rules,” she said.
“Fer what?”
“Fer a proper match,” she explained. “A match without stakes is practice. A match with stakes is worth winning.”
“And what daes the winner receive?”
“A wish.”
Her expression changed at once, curiosity overtaking caution. “Any wish?”
“Within reason.”
“Ah. The coward’s boundary.”
“The survivor’s boundary.”
She held the dirk firmly in her hands keeping her distance.
“If I win?” she asked.
“Ye may ask one thing of me.”
“And ye must grant it?”
“If it is within reason.”
She studied him. “And if ye win?”
Colin looked at her mouth before he could stop himself. Her lips parted slightly. The garden, the castle, the murdered guard, even the threat beyond the border seemed to fall back for one suspended breath.
“If I win,” he said, voice lower, “I will have one wish of me own.”
Elspeth’s grip tightened on the dirk.
She smiled. “Then try tae earn it, husband.”
Colin raised his blade. And wondered, too late, which of them had set the trap.
Elspeth discovered, within three heartbeats of beginning the match, that Colin had been indulging her.
The first time, he allowed her enough success to make pride bloom in her chest like a dangerous flower. Now, with the wager between them, he moved as if the whole contest had already been decided and she was merely being permitted to learn it.
She lunged. He was not there. She turned sharply, with her blade raised, only to find him watching her from two steps away with that faint, dark amusement which made her wish to stab him more than safety recommended.
“Stop vanishing,” she snapped.
“I havenae vanished. Ye are looking in the wrong place.”
“That is the sort of thing insufferable men say before being kicked again.”
His mouth curved. “Ye’ll need tae get closer for that.”
Elspeth did. It was a mistake. She came at him with more temper than wisdom, and Colin caught her wrist as easily as if she had offered it to him.
She twisted, but he turned with her, stealing every movement before she completed it.
A moment later, her dirk was gone from her hand, her back was against the trunk of an old yew, and Colin was standing before her with one palm braced beside her head.
Her own blade rested harmlessly in his other hand. She stared at it, then at him.
“That,” she said, breathing hard, “wasnae fair.”
“It was victory.”
“I demand another attempt.”
“Nay.”
“I wasnae ready.”
“Ye said tae try and earn me wish.”
“I meant dae it honorably.”
“Enemies rarely ask what ye mean.”
She glared at him. “I dislike how often ye make sense.”
“I shall try tae dae it less.”
He stepped back and offered her the dirk, hilt first. She snatched it from him with all the dignity available to a woman who had been defeated in fewer moments than it took to sneeze.
Colin folded his arms. “I believe I won.”
“I believe ye cheated.”
“How?”
“By being larger, faster, and annoyingly competent.”
“That isnae cheating.”
“It should be.”
His smile deepened by a fraction, and Elspeth’s stomach did a foolish, traitorous little turn.
She hated that smile. A cold Colin was easy to resist. A rude Colin could be met sword for sword, word for word.
But this Colin, with amusement warming the hard line of his mouth, was a more dangerous opponent than any man with a blade.
She lifted her chin. “Well? What is this wish ye have so nobly stolen?”
His gaze moved over her face, unlike men who looked at women as if assessing horses or silver. Colin’s gaze was worse because it noticed the loose strands of hair at her cheek, the rise and fall of her breath, the color she could feel burning in her face.
Then, his eyes found her mouth. Elspeth forgot what breathing was meant to accomplish.
“A kiss,” he whispered.
Her fingers tightened around the dirk. “That is yer great wish?”
“This time,” he added, taking one slow step closer, “without biting.”
Heat rushed up her throat. “That was because ye kissed me against me warning.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Ye warned me ye would kill me.”
“And yet I showed restraint.”
“Aye. Very merciful.”
She should have stepped away. The yew tree was still behind her, damp bark nearly touching her back, and Colin stood too near already. The garden seemed smaller than it had moments before. The air gathered between them, warm despite the threatening clouds.
“Were ye angry?” she asked before she could think better of it.
“At the wedding?”
“When I bit ye.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “Nay.”
Elspeth blinked. “Nay?”
“I was intrigued.”
That was worse… far worse. A sensible man would have been outraged.
A decent man might have been insulted. A barbarian, as she had so frequently named him, ought surely to have been furious.
But Colin MacKenzie stood before a church full of horrified witnesses with blood upon his mouth and found her interesting.
“Ye are a strange man,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped again to her lips. “Aye.”
“It wasnae meant as praise.”
“I didnae take it as such.”
Then he lifted one hand and touched her chin. Elspeth’s pulse stumbled.
“Give me me wish,” he murmured.
The command was soft. That made it no less a command.
She ought to have refused simply because he had expected obedience.
She ought to have laughed and told him to go kiss his own reflection in the loch, as he seemed overly fond of himself.
She ought, at the very least, to have moved the dirk between them.
Instead, she heard herself say, “One kiss.”
His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw. “One.”
“And nay barbaric liberties.”
His mouth curved. “Define them.”
“Colin.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Me name, as if ye are scolding it intae behaving.”
“I am scolding ye intae behaving.”
“Nay.” He leaned closer. “Ye are delaying.”
Her reply vanished because his mouth found hers.
It was not like the kiss in the cathedral.
That had been sudden, public, and outrageous, a claim sealed in front of God, her father, and far too many strangers.
This was slower, worse for being private and worse because he did not seize so much as invite, and Elspeth, to her everlasting shame, answered before she remembered she meant to resist.
His lips moved over hers with a patience that unsettled her. They were firm, warm, coaxing. One hand remained at her chin, and the other came to rest at her waist, not pulling yet, only holding. She could have stepped away. She did not.
The thought made heat unfurl low in her belly. Colin tilted her face and deepened the kiss. Elspeth made a small sound. The instant it escaped, she wished to chase it down and murder it.
Colin heard. The hand at her waist tightened, drawing her nearer until her skirts brushed his legs and her body learned, in one shocking rush, the shape of his hard chest, broad shoulders, and strength held carefully enough to be more dangerous than force.
She lifted one hand to push him away. It landed against his chest. Then, it remained there.
His heart was beating beneath her palm, steady and strong, while hers behaved like a panicked bird in a cage.
He kissed her until thought blurred at the edges, until the garden, the wager, the blade in her hand, all became distant things belonging to some other woman with better sense.
Then his mouth left hers only to move along her cheek.
“Elspeth,” he murmured.
Her eyes opened halfway. She had no memory of closing them.
“This is enough,” she whispered, though she did not know whether she meant for him or for herself.
“Is it?”
“Aye.”
“Then let go of me.”
She looked down. Her fist had gathered the front of his shirt. With great horror, she released it at once. Colin’s eyes gleamed.
“I was steadying meself,” she pouted.
“Were ye falling?”
“I might have been.”
“Against a tree?”
“One never kens when trees may shift.”
“Aye. Treacherous things.”
She hated him. She certainly hated him. It was the only explanation for the furious heat in her face and the way she wanted to either slap him or drag him back. Perhaps both.
He leaned in again.
She turned her head slightly, though not far enough to escape. “I have paid yer wish.”
“Have ye?”
“One kiss, we agreed.”
“That felt like several.”
“Then ye have overcharged me.”
His breath moved near her ear, and she shivered before she could prevent it. Colin went still. The change in him was not large. He did not laugh. He did not smile. He simply became very attentive, as if every small betrayal of her body had spoken a language he understood fluently.
Elspeth swallowed.
“Dinnae look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“As though ye ken something.”
“I dae.”
“How fortunate for us both that someone does.”
His hand moved from her waist to the side of her ribs, still above the fabric of her gown, still proper enough that she could accuse him of nothing and feel everything. “Ye enjoyed that.”
“I didnae.”
“Elspeth.”
“I endured it.”
“With yer hand clenched in me shirt?”
“I wished tae make certain ye didnae escape before I could decide whether tae strike ye.”
His smile returned. “Liar.”
The word should have offended her. It did… but not enough.
She pushed at his chest. This time, he let her create a little space, though his hands remained near enough to remind her that space existed only because he permitted it.
“I am nae lying.”
“Nay?”
“Nay.”
“If I put me hand beneath yer dress,” he said quietly, “I would find ye ready fer me.”
The words made no sense. They also made all the sense in the world.
Elspeth stared at him, heat draining from her face only to rush back twice as fiercely. “Ready?”
His amusement faded.
He studied her with unnerving stillness. “Ye… dinnae ken what that means?”
“Of course I ken what ready means.”
“Nae as I mean it.”
Her stomach tightened. The warm confusion from the kiss turned suddenly too bright and too exposed.
She remembered the night before, his hand over her breast and his voice telling her that pleasure could belong to women.
She remembered her mother’s trembling mouth and Skye’s uncertain advice and every whispered warning that made marriage sound like something survived by silence and clenched teeth.
Colin’s eyes moved over her face, and she knew he understood too much.
“Elspeth,” he spoke more softly, “when a woman wants—”
“I dinnae.”
He paused.
“When she is… stirred,” he corrected, “her body changes.”
She looked away, mortified. “I have nay desire tae hear this.”
“Dae ye wish tae keep fearing what ye dinnae understand?”
“I am nae afraid.”
The lie was so frail it scarcely reached the space between them. Colin did not mock her. That was almost worse.
“I can explain it,” he offered gently. “Only explain, naething more.”
Her breath caught. For one dangerous moment, curiosity rose in her, and not gentle curiosity, but desperate and unwilling.
She wanted to know why her skin warmed when he came near, why her body leaned into a kiss her pride rejected, why fear was no longer alone inside her, and why that frightened her more than fear ever had.
But she could not stand beneath his gaze and ask. She could not let Colin MacKenzie, of all men, see how little she knew.
“Nay,” she replied quickly.
“Elspeth—”
“Nay.”
She stepped away, and this time he let her go entirely. His hands fell to his sides. The absence of his touch felt, insultingly, like cold.
“I am going inside,” she announced.
“Aye.”
“Ye need nae follow me.”
“I wasnae planning tae.”
That stung, which was absurd.
She glared at him to cover it. “Good.”
“Good.”
They stared at one another like enemies who had both misplaced their weapons. Then Elspeth turned and walked toward the castle as fast as dignity allowed. She did not run. Running would have suggested retreat, and she was not retreating. She was withdrawing strategically.
Behind her, Colin did not call out. That was good. It was exactly what she wanted.
Mostly.
By the time she reached the garden door, her mouth still tingled, her pulse had not settled, and her mind was crowded with questions she refused to ask. She slipped inside with burning cheeks and one terrible certainty. Colin MacKenzie had won more than the wager.
And she had no notion how to win it back.