Chapter 19
Casrian ran a hand through his hair as he watched Rowan sleep.
She looked incredibly young in the pale predawn light.
Beautiful and untouchable, like the angel he’d first thought she was when he woke up in her bed.
Her dark hair was sleep-tousled, her lips slightly parted.
Long lashes fanned across her pale skin.
She had freckles. It seemed wrong for a woman with freckles scattered so sweetly across her nose to be lying here on the cold ground in the Black Woods.
“Rowan.” He nudged her shoulder, and she made a small, distressed sound, rolled over and snuggled deeper into the blanket.
He wished he could let her sleep. She’d waited too long to wake him for his watch.
She’d insisted on taking first, though she’d looked so ragged and worn he’d almost insisted she turn in.
Even after he relieved her, she had trouble falling asleep.
She’d tossed and turned with bad dreams for most of the night.
It was probably this place. No one slept soundly on a witch hunt.
She’d been spooked by the bear. By whatever she’d seen in the woods.
“Rowan,” he said her name a little louder, ignoring the frown that twitched at her lips. God, she was hard to wake. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her harder. Her shoulder was thin, the bones too prominent, fragile. He’d felt it when he caught her from the saddle, how light she was.
“It’s time to go.”
“Witch hunter,” she mumbled in her sleep, turning over. “Go away.”
She rolled onto her back, stretching one arm over her head. The blanket slipped as her back arched. The curve of her breast pressed against the thin wool. He thought, just faintly, he could see the outline of one taut nipple.
Fuck, but she was a lovely thing.
It was like she’d been formed to torment him. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on, and someone he could never have.
He pulled his gaze away and gave her shoulder another firm shake. “Come on. Up.”
Rowan’s gray eyes blinked open. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him.
Her expression was open, almost vulnerable, and it tugged at something in his chest. Then she focused on his face and her expression closed like a slamming door.
That pinch formed between her brows. The corners of her mouth tensed.
Her whole body stiffened ever so slightly.
“Captain.” She rubbed her face. “What do you want?”
She kept calling him Captain. Witch hunter. Never Casrian. He wanted her to call him Casrian. She probably knew it and withheld it from spite.
“Time for your lesson.”
She frowned as he climbed to his feet. He held out a hand for her, but she ignored it, rolling to a crouch and gathering up her blanket. “What lesson?”
“I promised to show you how to use your knife.”
She glanced at her boots, the sheath sticking out of the one on the right. It looked ready to fall out. She grimaced. “That was just talk. You don’t have to do it.”
“I have you out here in the middle of the Black Woods hunting a witch. The least I can do is teach you how to defend yourself.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I always keep my promises.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I can defend myself. I’ve been defending myself for years. Besides, I have my bow too, and I’m better at that.”
“The only reason we’re here is because you were hunting a doe and missed your shot.”
“I hit the doe.” Her nose scrunched up. “Just not exactly where I wanted to.”
“You’ll want to reach for the bow first out here. It’s always better to keep as much distance as possible between yourself and the threat. But you need to know how to use the knife too.”
It would make him feel better once they parted ways knowing that she actually knew how to use a blade if she insisted on carrying one around.
Maybe she could cut the fingers off some of those groping hands.
Just the thought of someone like George pawing at her sent a spike of fury through him.
She didn’t want his fury any more than she wanted his comfort, so he kept it to himself.
But he could give her this—a way to defend herself in the future.
She didn’t look happy about the prospect of a predawn knife lesson. Before she could think up another argument, he took the blanket from her hands. “Go clean up. I’ll finish packing. Meet me in the clearing when you’re done.”
He indicated a spot past the horses. They wouldn’t need much room. He mostly wanted to see what he had to work with.
She actually growled at him before turning away and moving toward the creek. Her gait was stiff from riding all day yesterday, but she was moving. She didn’t complain about it. She didn’t complain about much.
She was tougher than most of the soldiers he’d known.
The blade work would help loosen her muscles too, which was another reason he thought it was worth the lost sleep. He could smell the liniment on her, but she still had to be sore. They’d need to take more frequent breaks today so she could stretch her legs.
He watched the spot where she’d disappeared into the trees while he broke down camp. He threw dirt over what was left of the fire, rolled up her blanket, and tied her bag to the saddle. By the time she returned, it was done.
He followed her to the clearing, shrugged out of his coat, and hung it on a branch. Rowan spun around to face him, holding out her empty hands. “We should just get going. I’m not going to get into a knife fight in the middle of the woods.”
“You never know.” He stalked toward her, slowly. “You can pretend I’m a bear if it helps motivate you.”
The edge of her mouth curled up. “You’d make for a pathetic bear. Scrawny with patchy fur and blunt teeth.”
Scrawny? He snapped his teeth at her. “Try me, angel.”
He circled her, noting the way she followed the movement. Even with her bruised hip, she moved smoothly. She was light on her feet and well-proportioned. But she was small. The top of her head barely came up to his chin and she had no bulk to her. Her hands were strong at least.
“You can draw your blade if you like.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have a knife.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Then neither do I.”
He dipped his chin. “As you will.”
He moved. She froze and then jerked back, but she was too slow to dodge him. He wrapped her up in his arms and spun her around so her back was pressed to his chest. One hand curled around her hip. The other braced across her chest.
And it only occurred to him then that maybe this hadn’t been his finest idea. There were curves there, despite how slender she was. Soft and giving. Her ass was tucked against his groin. Her breasts pressed against his forearm.
He stopped, caught by the feel of her, which gave her just enough time to kick back with her heel, hitting his shin hard enough to make him grunt. Deserved that. He dodged her head when she tried to ram it into his face and twisted away when she bent to elbow him in the balls.
“You fight dirty,” he said. “Good. Use whatever you need to get free. Your feet. Your head. Teeth. Claws.”
She huffed as she stepped back, shoving her hair out of her face. “I don’t have claws.”
“Sure you do, kitten.” He lifted his chin toward her knife. “Show me.”
“Don’t call me kitten.”
She reached for the blade and he grinned.
They spent the next half hour dancing around the clearing, Rowan lunging at him with her knife, him avoiding the blows.
Dodge, feint, the occasional block. She was quick, he was glad to see.
Quick enough to give him a foundation to build upon, and she had good instincts.
She caught on to his feints early on and then he actually had to pay attention to the blade in her hand.
She tired quickly, not used to the pace. He couldn’t afford to wear her down further. They had a lot of ground to cover today.
He stepped inside her guard and clamped his hand around the wrist of her knife arm. He caught her against him again and when she struggled, he said, “Be still. This is your first lesson.”
Her body hummed with energy. She’d finally come fully awake. He could feel the heat of her through his clothes, scent the flush on her skin. He slid his hand down to cover hers and adjusted her grip, nudging her thumb into a better position. “Hold it like this. You’ll have more control.”
Her breathing was unsteady. Had he pushed her too hard? She was so proud, she’d never tell him if he had.
“You’ll want to run. Always. If you have the chance to run from a fight, take it.
If you need to use your knife, stab quick and get out.
Avoid the ribs. Aim here.” He slid his hand across her belly to press against her liver.
“Or here.” He moved his hand to her kidneys.
“You need a different sheath. You won’t always be able to reach your boot.
You’ll want your blade closer to your hand.
On your belt or maybe at your thigh. Think about it. Let me know what you prefer.”
She wet her lips, and he couldn’t help but look there.
“You shouldn’t say ‘thigh’ to me, Casrian. It’s inappropriate. I’m not your wife.”
He breathed a laugh, something hot sliding through him at the sound of his name. “No. You’re not.”
Even if he wanted a wife, he couldn’t have someone like Rowan.
She looked up at him. “Are you sure you should be showing me where to stab you?”
“You’re not going to kill me.” He was certain of it. She didn’t have it in her. For all of her toughness, she still had a heart. “If you wanted me dead, you’d have left me to bleed out in the woods.”
“I’ve got more of an incentive now. I’m written in your will.”
Maybe that had been a mistake, but he owed them. And who else would his money go to?
He turned the knife in her hand and closed her fingers around the grip so it was angled in the opposite direction.
He guided her arm toward him until the surprisingly sharp tip of the blade pressed against his gut.
“This would be messy but effective. It wouldn’t kill me right away, but I’d have no chance of surviving. ”
He was fascinated by the way her eyes widened, the pupils blowing wide. Like she was affected by his nearness too. His voice lowered as he moved the tip of the blade to his thigh. “This would slow me down, but only for a short time. I’d tie off the wound and still be able to give chase.”
“Would you?”
He didn’t let himself imagine that, chasing her, catching her. “With a horse, I’d be on you within minutes. In a city, you’d make it free. Always consider your surroundings.” He opened his hand and stepped away. “That’s enough for today. We’ll work on it again tomorrow.”
Rowan knelt to sheathe her blade. Her skin was flushed and her lips were parted as she caught her breath. There was a defiant lift to her chin that hit him like a challenge. Her gray eyes glittered as if she wanted to keep fighting him. He almost welcomed that.
He tipped his head to the side. “Do you want to keep training?”
She straightened slowly, wiping her dirty hands on her dirty pants.
Strands of dark hair had come loose from her braid and were tangled about her face.
She shouldn’t look so appealing after sleeping rough, dressed in clothes that were little more than rags and glaring at him like she hated his guts.
But there was that pull making him want to move toward her, to take her into his arms, to do…things he had no business considering. They were connected, the two of them. Even her mother had seen it. He didn’t know whether it was the hand of God or some darker force that kept bringing them together.
Sometimes he thought she might actually be a witch.
Still, his body warmed as she ran her gaze over him, his interest piqued by the quirk of her brow and the smirk that curved her lips.
“I think you’ve had enough,” she said, trying to get a rise out of him.
Was she trying to torment him?
No.
Not Rowan, who was almost alarmingly direct. She wasn’t the kind to play those sorts of games.
Rowan wasn’t secretly trying to tempt him or torment him. She was simply being her insolent, infuriating, naturally appealing self.
And he needed to keep his hands off her.
Focus on his missing men and the cursed woods and the damned witch. Plenty of other things he should be thinking about instead of her fucking freckles.
He’d already fucked up her life enough.
It was only two weeks. Surely, he could make it that long.
“Get the horses,” he told her. “It’s going to be a long day.”