Chapter 13 #2
Rose tried to pay attention to the blade, but her world had narrowed to the sensation of his palm swallowing hers. He leaned in closer to inspect the hold, his shoulder brushing hers, his scent filling her lungs.
“There,” he said, his breath ghosting over her ear. “Feel the difference?”
The air in her lungs vanished. She felt the difference in the weapon, yes, but she felt the rest of him more: the steady, rhythmic pull of his chest so near her own, the way her thighs instinctively tensed as she braced against the sudden, overwhelming urge to lean into him.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word escaping as a broken, soft exhale.
Logan’s eyes flicked to her mouth, his gaze darkening for one long, silent second. Neither of them moved. The courtyard went silent, fading into the rush of blood in her ears.
Then, Logan stepped back. The sudden loss of his warmth left her breathless, the cold air rushing back in where his presence had just been.
“Try a simple motion,” he said, his voice grittier than before. “From here, across.”
Rose followed as best she could, slicing the blade through the air.
It was terrible. She knew it before he even spoke.
Logan’s brows drew together, not in anger, but in pained concentration. “Nay.”
Rose lowered the dagger. “That bad?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“From whom?”
“A boy o’ six wi’ a wooden knife.” His face remained solemn.
Rose’s lips parted, a small sound escaping her. “That is not helpful.”
“It is honest.”
“I begin to think honesty is a weapon you favor too much.”
“Aye,” he said. “But unlike that dagger, ye seem able tae handle it.”
She looked away quickly before he could see the effect of that line.
The wind moved between them, tugging a loose strand of hair across her cheek. She brushed it back, annoyed by the tremor in her fingers.
“Again,” he said.
She raised the dagger.
“Nae from yer shoulder. From yer body. Ye are too stiff.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you insult all your students?”
“Only the ones who grip a blade like a quill.”
This time, she could not hold back the laugh. His expression changed with such immediacy that Rose felt the laughter catch in her chest and turn into something warmer.
He stepped behind her.
Rose went still.
The movement was practical. She knew that. He did not crowd her suddenly or touch her without warning. Yet the moment his shadow fell over her, every breath inside her seemed to rearrange itself.
“May I show ye?” he asked, his voice near her ear now.
Rose’s mouth had gone dry. “Yes.”
His hand closed over hers from behind.
The contact was firm, steady, and far too intimate for the open air. His chest hovered a breath from her back, close enough that she felt the heat of him through the thin space between them. His other hand settled carefully at her hip.
Rose’s body forgot itself.
It is only a hand. Only instruction.
Yet the weight of his palm through the fabric of her gown sent a sharp awareness through her, a flutter low in her stomach that made her grip falter around the dagger.
Logan’s hand tightened over hers at once.
“Easy,” he murmured.
The word nearly undid her.
He shifted her hip a fraction, guiding her weight back from the injured ankle. “Ye’re standing too much on the wrong side. Here.”
His fingers pressed gently, but enough to move her. Rose followed because she could not seem to think of refusing. Her back brushed his chest as she adjusted.
Both of them stilled. It lasted barely a heartbeat, but it rang through her like struck metal. His breath moved once behind her, controlled, but not wholly even. Rose stared at the blade in her hand as if the whole world depended on the position of her fingers.
“Like this,” he said, his voice roughened.
Together, they moved the dagger.
He guided her hand in a short, clean arc. His hand at her hip held her steady, and each correction seemed to burn through the cloth between them.
“Again,” he said.
She obeyed.
The second motion was smoother. The third, steadier. Rose felt the difference and hated that part of the reason she felt it was because he was wrapped around the shape of her stance, teaching her body how not to be afraid.
“Better,” he said, his mouth close enough that the word stirred the loose hair near her ear.
Her fingers tightened and Logan’s thumb went still over the back of her hand.
The silence stretched. Rose felt the frantic, heavy thud of her heart echoing all the way down to her thighs, every nerve ending screaming under the weight of his stillness.
They stood in the center of a held breath, the air between them drawn so tight it felt as though one wrong breath might break it.
“Rose,” he said quietly.
She did not turn. “Yes?”
A pause.
Then voices sounded near the archway.
The spell snapped. Propriety rushed back in like a cold tide, and they both stepped away at once, the space between them tripling in size.
Rose’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm she couldn't suppress. Logan shifted his weight, subtly positioning himself to look as though they had been standing apart all along.
The men’s laughter echoed briefly, then began to fade toward the gates.
Rose looked down at the dagger and quickly extended it toward him. He took it back with precise care, making certain their fingers did not touch. The lack of contact felt sharper than the touch itself.
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Rose couldn't bear the weight of it a second longer.
“Perhaps we should end the lesson for today.”
“Aye,” Logan said, his voice too steady.
She risked a glance at him.
His gaze was on the dagger, his fingers wrapped around the hilt with controlled care. “Yer ankle shouldnae be strained.”
“No,” she said, grateful for the excuse and wounded by it all at once. “It isn’t.”
Another pause.
The wind pulled at her skirts. The place where his hand had rested at her hip still seemed marked by heat.
“Ye learned quickly,” he said.
It was such an ordinary remark that it nearly hurt.
Rose inclined her head. “You are a patient teacher.”
His eyes lifted to hers. Something moved in his expression, faint and restrained.
Then he gave a short nod toward the keep. “Go inside before the cold reaches ye.”
Rose almost smiled at the sternness, but the moment was too fragile.
“Of course,” she said. She took one step, then stopped. “Logan?”
His attention returned to her at once.
“Thank you,” she said, and hated how inadequate it sounded. “For the lesson.”
His jaw tightened once. “Ye’re welcome, Rose.”
She nodded and turned toward the keep.
She kept her pace slow as she crossed the courtyard, even though every nerve beneath her skin felt newly awakened. She could feel his gaze at her back until she reached the archway, and only once the shadows of the corridor closed around her did she release the breath she had been holding.