Chapter 17 #2
True or not, the words landed hard with Malcolm, their implication—that Catriona might actually care for him—simultaneously beguiling and terrifying.
In truth, he had not dared look at her after they left the stables for fear of what he might say or do if he did.
Indeed, it scared him to think that if not for the stable boy butting in, he might have tossed her into the hay and had his way with her.
Determined not to betray anything of his real thoughts and encourage Ewan’s teasing, he directed his pent-up energy and frustration at him.
“Are ye goin’ tae spar with me or keep on talkin’ shite?” he demanded, shrugging off Ewan’s arm. Facing his brother with a fierce expression, he hoisted his targe and unsheathed his claymore.
“I’ll gladly spar with yer, Braither, but dinnae get all gloomy when I beat ye,” Ewan warned playfully, following suit with his weapons and squaring up to Malcolm. They fell into a fighting stance, circling each other watchfully with blades poised, Malcolm scowling and Ewan grinning.
Malcolm’s sudden roar split the air as he fell upon his brother, reining savage blows down upon him, knowing he could take it.
Half grunting, half laughing, Ewan deftly turned each strike aside.
The squeal of metal sliding against metal, the smash as the handguards clashed split the afternoon.
Each violent flurry of answering strikes ended with them ruthlessly ramming each other, shoving themselves apart, both of them starting to pant and sweat.
Such was the intensity of the match, neither of them took much notice of the men who had ceased training and gathered around to watch the spectacle.
Bets were hastily placed on the outcome of the contest, a hard call to make with the brothers so well matched.
The pair fought fearlessly, as if they would battle to the death, just as they had done since first taking up wooden swords in their childish fists many years before.
“Och, ye have a lot of steam tae blow off, Braither, eh?” Ewan taunted through heavy breaths. “Admit I’m right about what’s botherin’ ye.”
He danced backwards laughingly as Malcolm’s blade smashed down to block his uppercut then tried to ram him with his targe, baring his teeth fiercely.
“Yer mouth is what’s botherin’ me, so shut it and fight,” Malcolm growled as they grappled with each other, then shoved themselves violently apart, both staggering backwards before regaining their feet.
Ewan let out a low whistle. “I’ve never seen ye like this before, man.
But then again, Cat’s so very bonny, nay wonder she’s gettin’ under yer skin,” he taunted, lunging forward and catching the front of Malcolm’s padded jerkin with the tip of his claymore.
“That’s a point tae me,” he added, laughing at Malcolm’s black scowl.
“Ye were lucky, that’s all,” he ground out, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Ye fight like a lass.”
Ewan laughed raggedly, feinting left and right to dodge his brother’s determined strikes before launching another assault, which Malcolm expertly parried. They shoved apart, facing each other, panting heavily, sweat running down their faces.
“Och, ye must mean a certain bonny lass with big green eyes and long auburn hair,” Ewan replied, tossing his own hair like a coquette.
Malcolm felt the tension within in him dissipating at his brother’s antics, and a smile ghosted his lips. “Well, there’s quite a few tae choose from. Ye’ve bedded most of them around here.”
They both cackled knowingly, for it was true.
Taking advantage of Ewan’s minute loss of perfect concentration, Malcolm darted forward and sliced the front of his brother’s chest, to the left then, with a flick of his wrist, to the right, leaving a large hole gaping in the padding of Ewan’s vest.
“Two points tae me,” he said, nimbly dodging backwards to avoid Ewan smashing him in the face, meeting it with a resounding thud that shook them both.
“I’m nae one fer livin’ like a monk as ye dae, that’s true,” Ewan replied. “I’m nae ashamed of it. When I see a lass I like, and she likes me, well, why fight it? But ye, Braither, ’tis like ye’ve been savin’ yersel’ fer someone special all this time.”
“Aye, old Betty down in the village. She’s always had a soft spot for me,” Malcolm joked to deflect Ewan from the truth. He referred to the famously aged, toothless woman who had sold her baskets in Fochabers market every weekday since before they could remember.
They clashed again, locked in a storm of fast-moving steel, striking and parrying, pushing and shoving.
“Betty prefers me, I think ye’ll find,” Ewan puffed raggedly. “Nay, I can tell by the way ye look at her that ye’re stuck on a certain lady.”
“So ye keep sayin’,” Malcolm responded, lancing forward with his claymore. Ewan dodged the sweeping arc of the blade by the skin of his teeth.
“Dae I havetae name the lassie? Come on, Braither, admit it, ye’ve always had a fancy for those pretty green-eyes of hers, even when ye were naught but a lad. And now fate has landed her in yer lap.”
“Fate would never be so kind tae me,” Malcolm retorted with grim certainty, skillfully parrying another series of strikes from Ewan.
“But what puzzles me is why ye havenae done anythin’ about it yet,” Ewan grunted as their targes collided.
“What is there tae dae? She’ll be goin’ home tae Duncan any day now, where she belongs.”
“So? If ye both fancy each other, then there’s naethin’ tae stop ye from—” He stopped talking as the tip of Malcolm’s sword sliced neatly through the leather laces of his jerkin.
“Match over, I win,” Malcolm puffed out, pulling off his helmet and pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes.
“I’ll let ye have yer wee victory, until the next time,” Ewan told him over the sound of cheering and applause from the soldiers looking on.
“Right, ye lot, ye’ve had yer fun, now get back tae yer trainin’, lads,” Malcolm commanded them before he and Ewan slowly walked off the field back to the armory.
A few minutes later, the brothers were in the armory stripping off their gear, discussing the repair of some masonry on one of the outside walls when they heard the door open. They both looked up. Malcolm was more than surprised when Catriona walked in.
“Why, Cat, what brings ye here?” Ewan asked, going to kiss her hand in greeting. Malcolm was rooted to the spot, wondering exactly the same thing as he eyed her closely. She smiled and cheerfully bid him a good day.
“I came tae ask Malcolm somethin’,” she answered, flicking a glance at him.
Malcolm stared at her in silence, his pleasure at seeing her mixed with dread. What did she want?
Ewan’s eyes swung from one to the other. Finally, he said, “Well, I have a young lady waitin’ fer me, so if ye dinnae mind, I’ll leave ye two alone. See ye at supper.”
“Aye, see ye supper,” Catriona echoed, thankfully not seeing Ewan winking at his brother as he slipped out of the door.
Alone with her again, Malcolm’s heart sank, torn as he was between his attraction to her and his loyalty to her brother. He feared he was running out of resolve and ought to leave. The tension between them rose quickly, becoming almost palpable.
Finally, not knowing what else to say, he asked, “Are ye all right?”
“Aye, perfectly, thank ye,” she answered with surprising normality.
“So, why are ye here?”
“Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about askin’ ye fer a while, but I had tae wait until me ankle mended. And now it has, I’d like ye tae give me some trainin’ lessons.”
Malcolm was taken aback by the request and did not even consider it before shaking his head. “Nay. Out of the question.”
Catriona frowned. “Why nae? Is it because I’m a woman?”
“Aye.”
“Well, that’s exactly why ye should teach me.”
“How d’ye work that out?”
“D’ye nae see? If I’m bein’ hunted, then I wantae be able tae defend mesel’ if I havetae.”
He groaned inwardly. How could he argue with that, when he wanted her to be able to defend herself too?
“All right,” he reluctantly agreed, getting up to fetch her a practice sword. When he returned, she faced him with a trusting eagerness that touched him deeply. But he made sure to hide it, instead looking at her skirts dubiously.
“Ye need tae tuck them up out of the way,” he said, gesturing at them. He almost wished he had not mentioned it when she did as he advised and kilted her skirts up into her waistband, flashing her long, slender legs. Swallowing hard, he averted his eyes and handed her the sword.
She gripped it valiantly in one hand and looked to him for guidance.
“Unless ye ken how tae wield it properly, a sword will be almost useless tae ye. It could even be used against ye,” he said, circling her, assessing her stance. Afraid to touch her because of what it might unleash, he gingerly repositioned her arms and legs correctly.
“Like this?” she asked, naturally adopting the pose with a rapidity that stunned him. Some of his own men were not so quick on the uptake.
He nodded his approval, feeling an unwarranted burst of pride. “Good. Ye learn quick. Let’s see how ye dae holdin’ it with both hands, maintainin’ yer defensive stance like I showed ye.”
As the lesson advanced, Malcolm was surprised at how well she was doing. “Ye’re light on yer feet,” he told her, “and that can be an advantage over a bigger assailant. Ye can duck and dodge and sneak in under his defenses.”
“Daes it matter that I’m small?” she asked, practicing her forward lunges as she spoke. The way her auburn hair flew out and her dress clung to her curves was just about driving him to distraction.
Dismayed to feel the familiar, awkward stirring his loins, he cleared his throat before replying, “Nay, nae necessarily. Small and agile can be very effective.”
“Och, that’s good news,” she said, unaware that every movement she made was pushing him closer to losing control.
“Here, let me correct the position of yer hands,” he said, unable to stop himself from coming up behind and reaching around her, his large body enfolding her slender one as he placed his hands over hers and adjusted her grip with precision.
She stiffened, as well she might, since he could feel his cock already hardening and likely pressing against her back.
He knew he was making a terrible mistake but could not seem to move away.
She had frozen, yet where their bodies touched, heat flared and spread outwards, a conflagration engulfing them both.
He forced himself to act before it consumed them both.
“Very good,” he said, his voice a croak as he stepped resolutely away from her. “Ye have a natural aptitude. But I think that’s enough fer today.”
Catriona turned to him, eyes bright, her face flushed with the exertion. Or maybe it was from being pressed so close to him. Part of him could not help hoping it was the latter, even though he knew it was wrong. But the pull was just so powerful.
“Thank ye fer yer time, Malcolm. Can we dae this some more? I’d like tae train regularly so I can improve faster.”
He sensed her anxiety about Sinclair was deepening, hence her desire to learn to fight. And he admired her for it. But he knew that if he did not immediately remove himself from her company, something terrible might happen.
So, in his haste to leave, he only said more brusquely than intended, “We’ll discuss it another time. I havetae go now. I’ll see ye at supper.”
Then he stalked over to the rear door, breathing a huge sigh of relief when it closed behind him.
Catriona stared after him, irritated by his sudden dismissal when she had been doing so well.
He had said so himself. Besides, something inside her was unwilling to let the lesson end so abruptly.
Certainly, it had to do with the heated exhilaration of having his body plastered against hers, her body still thrumming like a harp, although she would never admit it.
For whatever reason, she was roused to at least challenge him about cutting the lesson short and just walking away like that. Before she knew what she was doing, she went after him.
She caught him in the long, narrow stone passage that led from the rear door of the armory to the castle interior. It reminded her of the priory tunnels.
She frowned as she hurried after him, unsure if she was imagining that he sped up after hearing the door close and her footfalls behind him.
“Malcolm,” she called after him, picking up her skirts and jogging to catch up to him. “Wait!” She put a restraining hand on his arm. He drew to a halt and swung around to face her.
The passage was narrow and there was barely any space between them. She looked up into eyes, which were dark, noticing his cheekbones were flushed as returned her gaze. He was so incredibly handsome, her stomach flipped.
But it did not deter her from remonstrating with him. “Hey, why are ye in such a rush tae leave? We’ve hardly been at it a quarter of an hour, and ye said I was improvin’. Ye cannae just walk out in the middle of me lesson.”
“I remembered I have tae be somewhere,” he replied, shifting his feet uneasily as though about to take off.
“But—” she began.
“There’s nay but, Catriona. I havetae go.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently but forcefully moved her away from him.
She bridled. “What d’ye think ye’re daein’? I’m nae a piece of furniture ye can move about.”
“Catriona, I’m gonna walk away now,” he said, removing his hands. His voice was so thick and full of tension that it demanded her attention. “Dinnae follow me, please.”
She put her hands on her hips, frowning with a mixture of confusion and frustration. “Why?”
He hesitated, his deep brown eyes burning into hers. “Because if I stay any longer,” he replied in a strange, husky voice that made her shiver, “I’ll put yer honor and mine and me friendship with Duncan in jeopardy.”
She watched in stunned silence as he stalked away down the corridor and disappeared around the corner, his words ringing in her ears.