The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch (14 page)

She shook her head. “You cannot mean that I
could fend off someone like … like you, a man easily twice my
size.”

“It is not a matter of power or size, but of
balance.” He hunted around on the ground, then picked up a stick.
“I want you to be able to defend yourself, in case anything should
happen to me.”

“Do not say that.”

He straightened abruptly at her vehement
command, looking at her with a curious light in his dark eyes.

She stared back at him, feeling equally
surprised by what she had said. And how she had said it. “I …
what I meant was, you are my escort,” she concluded at last. “I
would be lost if anything happened to you. I … I need you to
guide me.”

That did not begin to explain it, not to
him, not to herself. The thoughts and feelings whirling in her head
were all new to her, and so strong and confusing she could not make
sense of them.

“Fear not, milady.” He grinned, a flash of
white that revealed a dimple in his tanned cheek. “I have no
intention of getting myself killed. I am told that in Heaven there
is no wine, no sin, and no—well, never mind, but I assure you, I am
not eager to go there just yet.” He walked toward her, tossing the
stick in the air with a nimble flick of his fingers. “The tricks I
can teach you will not avail you much against a sword or an arrow.
But if someone tries to carry you off, or comes at you with a knife
again, at least you will be able to put up a fight.”

“I will?”

“Aye. Although I must warn you,” he said
with mock seriousness, waggling the stick like a tutor’s pointer,
his expression dour, “some would consider it most
improper
for a princess to learn to fight ….”

“Say no more.” She relented, laughing. “The
idea has just gone beyond intriguing to irresistible. You may begin
your lesson.”

An hour later, as she sidestepped his
stabbing attack and tripped him to the ground for the third time,
her reluctance had changed to enthusiasm and her doubt to
confidence.

“I think I rather like this,” she said with
a smile, bending over her instructor, who lay stretched out
facedown.

“You are a quick pupil.” He groaned into the
grass, not moving.

“You make a most excellent tutor.” She felt
warm, glowing from the exercise. “Shall we try it again?”

He mumbled something incoherent, pushed
himself up. “I think you have mastered that particular tactic. Let
me show you another.”

Ciara stepped back, braced for whatever
might come. It usually took several tries, but she had mastered
each skill, one after another. He had shown her how to use an
onrushing attacker’s speed against him, stopping him cold by
driving her elbow into his windpipe or sending him off balance with
a sharp kick to his knee.

He had taught her that she could even defend
herself at dose quarters by striking a quick upward blow with the
heel of her palm, delivered to nose or chin, or gouging at her
attacker’s vulnerable eyes.

It was all very strange, almost frightening
in a way, yet at the same time, it felt oddly … exciting. All her
life she had been coddled, pampered, protected. This was the first
time she had ever engaged in a purely
physical
activity.

And she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

She waited for Royce to make his next move,
but he stood still, probing at a bruise on his jaw.

“I am sorry about that,” she said meekly.
“Does it hurt much?”

“No more than all the others,” he told her
with a pained grin.

She felt bad that he was suffering in order
to help her. “We do not have to continue. I have learned a great
deal.”

He glanced up at the sun overhead. “One more
practice and then we will ride on.” Heading into the trees, he
gestured for her to follow. “This is mayhap the most important
skill, milady. It is simple enough to defend yourself when you can
see
your opponent coming for you. But if he attacks by
surprise, you will need to think quickly and clearly if you are to
escape.”

He led her a short way into the forest until
they were surrounded by towering pines and broad oaks, the thatch
of branches overhead obscuring much of the sunlight. ‘Twas cooler
here. And darker.

“Now, then.” He stopped, turning to face
her. “Do you remember what I have taught you? Your two best
weapons?”

“Elbow and heel,” she said quickly. He had
made her repeat the phrase until it was engraved in her mind.
Elbow and heel, elbow and heel.

“Excellent. And how do you use them?”

“Elbow first, then heel, then run.”

“Exactly. Do not forget the running part.
Even if you strike as hard as you can, you will not disable an
attacker for long. You must get away as quickly as possible.”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“Very well. Let us see how you manage when
we add an element of surprise. Stay there.”

She remained in place as he disappeared into
the trees. As instructed, she waited a few minutes. Then a few
minutes more. She peered into the shadows all around her. Watched.
Listened. Heard naught but the breeze and a few birds.

She grew more tense as each minute passed,
kept repeating the phrase in her mind.
Elbow and heel, elbow and
heel, elbow and—

Suddenly he sprang out of the shadows behind
her. She let out a shriek of surprise but instantly responded as
she had been taught. Even as he grabbed her from behind, one arm
closing around her, she jabbed backward with her elbow—and was
rewarded with his
oof
as she connected with his ribs. In the
same second, she kicked back with her heel, caught him in the knee,
and broke away.

She ran a few paces and turned, smiling,
uncommonly pleased with herself. “Victory is mine.” She kept
moving, backward now, and almost felt like laughing. “Do you
yield?”

“I yield,” he conceded, one hand splayed
over his ribs, a pained grin on his face. “You have won the day,
mil—Ciara, watch out!”

His warning came too late. She never saw the
low-hanging branch, but she felt the stunning blow to the back of
her head. The impact knocked her senseless.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on
the ground, Royce kneeling beside her, a stream of curses tumbling
from his lips.

“God’s blood, woman, are you hurt? Say
something. Speak to me.”

She blinked up at him, tried to focus, but
the world seemed to be spinning. And she could not make her tongue
form words.

“Ciara?” He lifted her, cradling her against
him, touching her bruised head with gentle fingers. “Burn me, I
never should have—”

“I am all right,” she managed to say at
last, resting her cheek against his shoulder. The trees stopped
dancing in her vision.

“There is no blood.” He did not release her,
still examining the spot where she had struck the branch. “Only a
lump. By all the saints, woman, you should have been more
careful.”

“It is only a bruise,” she responded
dazedly, distracted from the pain by the far more interesting
sensation of his fingers moving through her hair. “And it is …
only fair. Now we are even.”

“Nay, it is not fair,” he replied hotly.
“You could have been badly hurt. If anything happened to you, I
would …”

His voice trailed off. And she could not
reply, suddenly aware of how close he was holding her … how solid
and rather nice his shoulder felt beneath her cheek … how
muscular and strong his arm felt around her back … how her
breasts were pressed against him, flattened by his chest.

An icy-hot tingle danced down her spine.
Neither of them spoke. Or moved. She could not even breathe. Again
she felt that strange fluttering in her stomach, the odd feeling
she could only call
restlessness
. But for the first time,
like a bolt from the sky above, the real cause flashed into her
mind: the sensation had naught to do with fear or nervousness or
any strange peasant food she had eaten.

It had to do with him. His nearness. His
voice. His touch.

Him.

She lifted her head, met his gaze. Those
potent brown eyes pierced hers, filled with feelings she could not
sort out. Longing. Concern. Something more. Something that
frightened her. Yet she did not pull away.
Did not want to pull
away
.

A breeze rustled the leaves over their
heads. He moved his hand to her cheek, the leather of his glove
surprisingly soft against her skin. His fingers tilted her chin
higher and her heart missed a beat, then began to pound.

He angled his head, his mouth dropping
toward hers. The air heated all around her, within her, and she
felt herself melting like honey in the sun, her lips parting, her
lashes drifting closed.

Then he suddenly froze.

She could feel his breath, warm against her
mouth, but he did not kiss her. She felt a shudder go through him,
so strong that it wrenched a groan from deep in his throat.

He abruptly released her. His hands came to
rest on her shoulders and he pushed her away.

Before she knew what was happening, he had
thrust himself to his feet and turned his back.

She sat there shivering with sudden cold,
stunned, bewildered. “Royce—”

“Your injury is not serious, milady.” His
voice sounded hoarse. “And it is time to leave.”

“But—”

“Our lessons are done,” he said flatly,
walking back the way they had come. “There is naught more that I
care to teach you this day.”

“But what happened just now—”

“Forget it,” he snapped. “Naught happened.
Do not speak of it. Do not think of it.
Forget.
”

He stalked away from her, toward his
destrier, but she remained where she was, unable to follow. She was
trembling too hard even to stand.

She felt as if she had just been swept up
into the air, like a fledgling bird on a warm wind, only to be
suddenly thrown to the ground. Shivering, she lifted one hand to
her lips, not sure whether she should feel embarrassed or angry or
hurt or all three. There were too many new feelings crowding in on
her at the same time.

All she knew was that she could not forget
what had happened between them. She had
wanted
him to kiss
her.

And wanted it still.

T
hey endured the
rest of the afternoon in tense silence as Anteros carried them high
into the rocky hills. The air grew cooler but Royce barely noticed,
aware only of the heat pulsing through his veins, so scalding he
was surprised that steam did not rise from his body. Heat from
unleashed desire—and from fury.

Fury at himself.

He tried to keep a space between himself and
Ciara as they rode. Fastened his attention on their surroundings.
Checked frequently to make sure no one was following them. Tried to
remember his
duty
and his
vow
, damn him to Hell’s
deepest pit. He had forgotten both far too quickly in that insane
moment in the woods. Had been but a hairsbreadth from tasting the
sweetness he was forbidden to taste.

Even now, he was not sure how he had stopped
himself. Wished to God that she had slapped him, fought, protested
with outrage that he would even
think
of holding her that
way, kissing her.

But she had not resisted.

Saints’ breath, she had wanted him.

Tentatively, shyly wanted him to touch her,
kiss her. And as her innocent longing stirred to life, he had felt
a fierce shot of desire that would not be quenched.

But he must
never
satisfy the hunger
that had been unleashed within him. She had been ready to accept
his kiss, aye, but she did not begin to understand where it could
lead. She was as naive about passion as she was about everything
else here in the world beyond her palace. She had no idea what it
meant for a man to want a woman the way he wanted her.

But
he
knew. Knew that one kiss would
never be enough. Feared that if he dared take that much, he could
not resist claiming more.

So he would not touch her that way again.
Would not allow himself to steal even a single kiss. The matter was
closed. She was a valuable package, not a woman.

Unfortunately, the image no longer held any
power to help, for it only made him think of how much he would
enjoy unwrapping the package to discover the surprises hidden
within.

Stifling a curse, he lifted his gaze to the
clouds that had been gathering all afternoon.
Christophe, old
friend,
he prayed silently, desperately,
if you are up there
somewhere, if you could put in a good word, this would be an
excellent time for some help from above.

Mayhap an act of God could help him forget
what it had felt like to have Ciara so warm and yielding in his
arms.

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky by the
time they reached the mountain summit. Snow had been sifting down
for an hour now, surrounding them with a glittering veil of white.
As they topped the rise, Ciara made a soft sound of wonder. Royce,
captivated by the sight that greeted them, reined Anteros to a
halt.

Alpine peaks studded the landscape as far as
the eye could see, like massive diamonds scattered over the earth,
wreathed in mist and snow. The sun gleamed on soaring ridges and
sheer cliffs sculpted of stone and ice. Only a hint of sky could be
seen here and there, between the towering giants that rose up to
pierce the clouds.

His chest tightened. His throat burned. He
glanced to the right, to the southeast—where the Ferrano lands were
just visible in the distance.

He was home. For the first time in more than
four years, he was home.

“It is beautiful,” Ciara whispered.

“Aye,” he agreed hoarsely. “There is no
other place in the world like this.”

They both drank it in for another moment, in
silence, before he nudged the stallion forward.