A Highlander's Second Chance: Highland Temptations Page 8

  Well, she would not make that mistake again. Let him ache between his legs every day for the rest of his life if it came to it. She would not lift a finger or raise her voice to help him.

  He looked around as he straightened. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if every move pained him greatly. Yet he managed it well. “While that sort of blow might come with a great deal of satisfaction for ye, I can assure ye it will not help ye win in a fight. Were a man to attack ye on a darkened street, aye, by all means. Make him suffer. But lashing out in desperation or, worse, anger is a mistake ye canna make while ye are out there, fighting for your life.”

  He shook his head, sighing. “I suspect ye are not as disciplined as I was led to believe.”

  Ailsa’s eyes bulged, her face burning at this. How dare he? Only by sheer force of will did she manage to control her temper.

  If she thought what Jamesina did to him was painful, he’d be in for a dreadful surprise once he found out what she could do.

  “Aye, pair up. I wish to see ye practice the thrusts and counterattacks I demonstrated for ye earlier.” He was still in pain, or at least discomfort, and chose to watch the girls rather than participate any further that day.

  Good. Let him ache.

  She turned on her heel, determined to have a word with him. Her footsteps were quick, sharp, ringing out against the stone floor as she marched through the corridor and down the stairs.

  If only she could scream at him now, but no. She would not stoop to his level, would not bring the matter to his attention in front of the others. That would make her no better than he.

  She lingered outside the courtyard, beneath one of the stone archways whose pillars supported the floor above, watching and listening still. From this vantage point, she could more clearly view the movements each girl took. One stepped forward, thrusting a wooden weapon. The other pulled back, twisting away so that the weapon struck nothing but air.

  “Aye, good,” Clyde called out. “Well done, Hilda. Rhona, remember to keep your body to the side rather than facing your opponent head-on. It gives them less room to strike. Kirstine, faster. Dinna be afraid. Your wooden dagger will only bruise should it strike flesh.”

  To Ailsa’s bemusement, it appeared as though they were enjoying themselves. They took it for what it was. This was no game, but helped each other through their motions, practicing again and again until it appeared as though they performed some ancient ritualistic dance.

  It ought to have pleased her to see everyone working well together.

  Why, then, did her nails dig into her palms? Why did a bitter taste flood her mouth when she saw Clyde smile in approval at Una and Mary as they worked together?

  Why did she wish she had an excuse to order him away?

  It was not a bad thing, was it? Someone to come in and show the girls what they needed to know if they were to survive. And she did want the best for them, truly. Nothing but the best.

  Even so, when Clyde happened to look in her direction and offer a crooked smile which verged close to a grimace, she could only stare at the man.

  He would sit there, unaware of what he’d said, would he not? He was no different than any other man except when it came to his size and that scar running down his cheek.

  A fact of which she would be more than happy to remind him. Repeatedly, if need be.

  10

  What had he done this time?

  For he had surely done something to inspire her anger. There she was, glaring at him from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment in which to pounce like a bloodthirsty cat upon its prey.

  He was the prey.

  This did not sit well. What could he possibly have done to earn her ire? He’d taken a blow to his manhood, which would have made a lesser man howl as if he’d been flayed alive by the devil himself, and he thought he’d managed it quite well.

  He hadn’t shouted the dozen filthy words that had instantly sprung into his mind, for one.

  He had not even screamed at the girl for hurting him so, though he had wished for nothing more than to frighten her afterward.

  Yet there she stood, looking as though she’d like to bring the entire convent down upon his head.

  There was only so long he could keep the girls at practice, especially since there were chores to be completed before supper. “Well done,” he praised them, though he was careful not to overpraise. They might grow lazy if they believed they’d done very well so soon. “You might go about your chores now. We will continue tomorrow.”

  Jamesina approached, brushing back wild, dark curls which hung damp with perspiration around her face. “Forgive me,” she begged. “I did not—”

  “It is forgiven,” he assured her, going against his impulse to warn her never to do such a thing to him again. No sense in frightening the lass. “Ye remind me of more than one lad I trained alongside in the Guard.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I do?”

  “Aye. Ye have a great deal of fierceness. It can serve ye well, no doubt, but it can be your undoing just as easily if ye dinna learn to control it. Do ye ken?”

  “I do,” she whispered. “I shall do my best.”

  “See to it that ye do. Off with ye, then.” She did not seem a bad sort, and she did indeed bring to mind a few lads he’d known in his younger days.

  Lads who had walked headlong into mortal danger and not lived to tell the tale. He would not wish this upon her for anything. Or on any of them.

  Once the last of the lasses had disappeared, he held his breath. She’d been waiting for this, of that there could be no doubt. When she continued lingering at a distance, he asked, “Well? Out with it, then. What have ye come to rail at me about? I am far too tired and sore to argue with ye.”

  “Very well. You might hold your tongue while I tell you how vile I believe you to be.” She was by his side in the blink of an eye, cheeks flaming with bright color. “How dare you undermine me in front of them?”

  He stared at her, aghast. “Undermine ye? When did I do any such thing?”

  “You know when you did it, and do not sit there and pretend as though you have no recollection.”

  “I am…afraid I dinna. Truly.” He scratched his head, at a loss. Was she daft? He would not have been surprised were the answer yes.

  She stood barely a hairsbreadth from him, leaning in until he caught the scent of her hair on the early evening breeze. Not an unpleasant scent, but a very unpleasant situation just the same. “You told them they are not as disciplined as you were led to believe.”

  He waited, staring at her, wondering if she had any notion how her eyes darkened when she was truly enraged. When she said no more, he prompted, “And?”

  Her face fell. “And? That is all. What else is there to say? You insulted the training I have delivered up until now, when I have worked hard, long hours with those girls—”

  “Wait, wait. Hold on to yer tongue, woman.” He stood, slowly, doing all he could not to grimace or groan. “I am in no mood at present to be shouted at for things I did not mean to say. Ye must cease getting yourself in a fury over what only ye heard.”

  “You deny speaking those words?” she demanded, sputtering. “How can you—”

  “Enough!” The word echoed, bringing them both to a halt. Even he’d surprised himself with the force of it. “I dinna wish to fight with ye over this. It seems all we do is argue over a choice of words here or there. And that was all it was. Words. Aye, I used them, but I did not mean them as ye wish to believe. When I told them they were not so disciplined, it had to do with them, not with yourself.”

  “But it reflects upon me.”

  “It does not,” he insisted. Why did she seem determined to make everything a fight? “A teacher is only as good as their pupils. The girls might wish to follow your instruction and discipline themselves. They wish to please ye, after all. They admire ye so.”

  She snorted, arms folding beneath her breasts. “You are only saying that now to silence me.”

 
“That is not true, and I refuse to allow ye to tell falsehoods about me.”

  Her mouth snapped shut when she saw how very serious he was.

  He took advantage of this, as she so very rarely kept her mouth shut when she was angry. “I can only be so kind to a woman, ye ken. I have done everything I know how to avoid falling into an argument with ye, but ye insist upon pushing me. I can only tell ye so many times, as clearly as I know how, that I had no intention of insulting ye or the work ye have done. Ye have worked hard, no doubt. But the girls are not as finely honed as they can be which is why I am here. Or have ye forgotten?”

  She stammered, and now the flush which had only touched her cheeks spread over her face and down her neck. Except for the part of her throat which was always red. She wore her hair over that side of her throat as a habit, he’d noted, and he asked himself why someone as strong and self-assured as she would suffer the pangs of vanity.

  As if a simple birthmark mattered when compared to the importance of protecting these lasses and their lives.

  He leaned down, lowering his voice. He’d learned long ago that a lowered voice could be far more menacing than one raised in a shout. “I wish to prepare them just as much as ye do. Not only Mary, but all of them. Even Jamesina, though I might take to protecting myself from now on. In fact, I ought to have done so all along.”

  Her smooth forehead creased, her nostrils flared, and he realized she was trying—and failing—to hold back her laughter at his expense. The impulse passed as quickly as it struck, however, and she managed to take hold of herself again.

  “Aye, laugh if ye wish,” he grunted. “Perhaps I expect too much of them, having only begun my instruction a week ago.”

  She sighed, a bit of her anger melting in the face of his uncertainty. “No, it is best to be hard on them. Push them. I told you to do so, did I not?”

  “Aye, and I know better than to forget your instruction.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Be careful what you say from now on. I did not agree to have you here just so you can turn the girls against me or make them lose confidence in themselves.”

  “I never intended to do either of those things.” He threw his hands into the air. “Will it ever end? Are ye never satisfied? I have told ye it was not my intention.”

  “But the result is the same, which is what you do not seem to understand. Whether or not you intend to say what you say is not the problem.”

  “I promise ye, no one heard what I said the way ye heard it.”

  “So you believe.”

  “Aye, I do believe it. And I might be up in my chambers, resting my aching…parts at this very minute were it not for you being determined to argue the point. I am wasting my time, I can see.”

  She held her head in her hands, turning away from him. “Very well, then. Go. Rest your parts.”

  Yet something kept him in place. He ought to have gone, ought to have run as swiftly as his aching manhood would allow. But he could not when she looked and sounded so stricken. All of the life had left her voice.

  “They are doing well, if ye would like my opinion on the matter,” he ventured. “Quite well, in fact. Ye have every reason to be proud of how far they have come in a short time.”

  Her hands fell to her sides, yet she kept her back to him. “It is only due to your instruction,” she admitted so softly he almost could not make out her words. “You are quite good with them. Patient. I noticed that right off. They are…fortunate to have you here.”

  It was the closest to a compliment she’d come in the week since his instruction had begun. “Thank ye for saying that,” he muttered, at a loss. “I…wondered if ye would ever speak of what ye have seen so far.”

  “You’ve known I was watching?” She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “I did not need to look to feel you watching from high above,” he assured her. The woman’s eyes were like two blazing coals, burning into him throughout each lesson. There was no avoiding her gaze.

  But he had made a point to pretend as though he took no notice.

  “I know how important your instruction is, and how ill-suited I would ever be to help the girls with such matters.” She turned back to him again, shrugging. “That does not mean that I enjoy stepping back and allowing you to take control.”

  “Can we not share control?” he ventured. “Why does it have to be all or nothing? I am in control of my lessons, you are in control of the rest. You just admitted the importance of what they are learning, and how far they have already come. I must know what I am about.”

  She frowned, chewing her lip. “It does not come easily to me.”

  “Giving up control?”

  A single nod. “Yes.”

  “What made you do this?” It came out all of a sudden, without his intending to ask. The question had plagued him from the beginning but especially now that he’d observed her about the place, keeping everything under control at once while overseeing the girls’ training.

  “What else was there to do?” She shrugged, and that gesture alone struck him as belonging to a woman who was quite tired and very alone. What else was there to do, she asked. As if her life were otherwise over.

  For the first time since they’d met, his heart softened toward her considerably. Beneath the many layers of stone in which she had wrapped herself was a tenderhearted woman who’d been terribly disappointed by life.

  She cleared her throat, standing straighter. “What I mean to say is, when they asked me, what was there to do but agree to help?”

  He nodded as if he understood, though he did not. Not truly. It seemed that was hardly what she’d meant at first.

  “Why ye, though? Why would they—whoever they are—go to ye?”

  She drew a breath as if in preparation to offer a reply, then stopped just short of speaking. “I had best see to supper preparation,” she murmured, turning away yet again. This time, she gave him no chance to speak before she had already left him alone.

  What was she unwilling to share?

  11

  That was too close.

  She should not have spoken so freely.

  He’d almost convinced her to say too much, to tell him…

  What no one must ever know.

  Her heart raced, so she slowed her pace and soon came to a stop with one hand over her chest. It felt as though she might burst open at any moment. Drawing a deep breath was difficult, as though her throat were closing.

  As though a hand tightened around it.

  She stumbled farther from the courtyard and retreated to the first empty room across which she came. The room in which she typically taught the creation of poisons and how to best administer them to the foe. Just that morning she had been looking forward to growing an herb garden when the weather warmed, so that they might more easily create everything they needed.

  She sank into a chair, bent at the waist, her head between her knees. It would pass. It always passed.

  The attacks did not normally come on so quickly. She hadn’t had one in weeks. Nearly enough time that she’d begun to hope she would never have another.

  Slowly, her heart began settling into a normal rhythm. Her throat loosened, allowing her to breathe more easily. The dizziness subsided. She no longer felt the room spin around her.

  After several minutes, she felt confident enough to raise her head and sit up in the chair.

  It always happened the moment she felt threatened, as if someone were about to uncover her secret.

  Only this time, the man in question had not been about to uncover anything.

  She had been about to reveal too much. It was her fault this time.

  And to him! Of all people. Why would she tell Clyde McMannis what she had labored for years to keep secret?

  Perhaps because for once, she felt as though she’d found someone with whom she could speak freely. Someone close to being her equal. A rare thing, indeed.

  She could just imagine what he would say if she awarded him this dubio
us distinction. How he would laugh, most likely.

  But it was true. It seemed as though they were in a difficult situation together, as though she no longer bore the entire weight of this endeavor on her shoulders alone.

  And that, she supposed, made the desire to further unburden herself appear more attractive.

  What it would mean to be honest, finally. For so long she had been the only one who’d known, ever since her Thomas breathed his last and left her alone in the world.

  He’d been as good as his word, her darling one. Always protecting her, never giving her away.

  Never telling anyone of her English blood.

  Never revealing how they’d come to know each other.

  She stood, her legs still a bit shaky, and walked about the room. Narrow windows allowed little light inside, and that which did enter in beams held dust motes which danced whenever her movement stirred the air. She watched this for a moment, allowing herself to think of nothing but the patterns the bits of dust traveled in.

  For thinking of Thomas was far too painful. Too raw even after a half-dozen years without him. How had she lived so long without his smile, his touch? His playful jests, his endless patience with her flashes of ill temper?

  How had she lived so long without being loved?

  She leaned against the arched window frame, the stone mercifully cool against her overheated skin. Pressing her cheek to the unyielding stone, she closed her eyes and pretended it was Thomas’s hard, muscular chest she leaned on.

  Only he was never this cold. Always warm, always comforting.

  Except in the beginning. She smiled, eyes still shut, and recalled how difficult their early days had been. When he had trained her, as she now trained the girls in her care.

  Training which had evidently not escaped the notice of Thomas’s commanders, or else they would not have called upon her to do what she now did. He’d been the very best, and they’d trusted him to teach her everything he knew.