The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (22 page)

He wondered what those muscles looked like naked.

“I have my chin tucked so you can’t … Gregor, are you paying attention?”

“Aye,” he lied gruffly.

“You’re not doing it right. You have to hold me harder.”

Christ
, not the thing to say right now!

He did as she asked, although it wasn’t the way he wanted. If it had been the way he wanted, they both wouldn’t have any clothes on, the hand that was around her neck would be dipped between her legs, and the other would be cupping her breasts as he slowly slid into her from behind. It would be “harder,” all right. Hard and deep.

He cursed silently, as the image sent a fresh rush of blood to a place that had no need of it. They were pressed together again, her tucked into the shield of his body. He caught a whiff of a soft fragrance from her hair and was trying to figure out the flower in her soap when something—the heel of her boot, he realized later—slammed down hard on his instep.

He groaned in shock and not a small amount of pain, his body naturally buckling forward in surprise.

She was ready and took advantage of the slack in the arm around her neck, twisting just enough to free the arm from its locked position at her back, pivot her foot behind his, and knock him on his arse.

He didn’t know whether it was the ground or shock that slammed the air from his lungs—perhaps both.

Jesus!
Lustful thoughts about his opponent was definitely a new distraction for him on the battlefield. But he was sure as hell paying attention now.

She stood over him, looking down. Though the sun was behind her head, he didn’t need to see her expression to know she was angry. He could hear it in her voice. “That’s how I’d do it. Now are you going to start taking this seriously, and stop holding me as if I’m a porcelain poppet?”

He rolled off his back and jumped to his feet. “I’m taking it seriously, Cate. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She heaved a heavy sigh, releasing some of the anger along with it. “I know, but it will happen. I’ve had plenty of bruises and scrapes with John.”

His face darkened. “If John hasn’t been careful—”

The exasperation was back. She looked like she couldn’t decide whether to shake him or stomp on his foot again. “Of course, he’s careful, but accidents happen in training. You can’t tell me you didn’t wobble home a few times after practice when you were learning.”

Hell, he still did—especially when Boyd was teaching them something new. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a …”

“Lass,” she finished for him. “Well, you’re going to have to forget that. How else can I learn? I went through all of this with your brother. Isn’t it better to suffer a few accidental bruises from you than be defenseless against someone who is intent on doing me harm?”

Hearing the rising agitation in her voice, he said in a gentle voice, “You are safe here, Cate.”

“Am I?” Their eyes met and held. “You can’t guarantee that. Just today I—”

She stopped, trying to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. He caught her arm and forced her gaze back to his. Had someone tried to hurt her? Was that why she was so upset? God, he’d kill him!

His voice was as hard as the steel that had just filled his veins. “What happened today?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “I was in the forest playing with Eddie, and I saw him—or thought I saw him.”

“Saw who?”

“The man who attacked my mother.”

He let her go, his expression automatically shuttering.
“You were mistaken,” he said flatly. End of subject. End of conversation.

But Cate wasn’t finished. “Yes, but he looked so much like him.” She shuddered at the memory, and the momentary glimpse of vulnerability made him want to reach for her. But it lasted for only an instant before the fierce expression returned to her face. “I don’t want to be scared.”

“Did he threaten you?” The menace in his voice only hinted at the fury roaring inside him. Gregor rarely lost control. As an archer—a marksman—he had to be cold and methodical. Precise. Perfect. But just the idea of Cate in danger made him want to lash out wildly around him, striking indiscriminately and uncontrollably at anyone who would harm her.

Where had that rage come from?

She shook her head. “I thought he might be following me, but I must have been mistaken. He did nothing more than stare at me for a moment before continuing on. Did you perchance have a messenger today?”

“Nay. In which direction was he heading?”

“East, I think.”

He questioned her a little more until he was satisfied that it was probably nothing. Solitary riders avoiding the road and traveling through the forest were not common, but neither were they that unusual. He would do some checking into it, however, just to be sure, and insist she take an escort if she was going to stray too far from the castle. Guessing how she’d react to that, he kept it to himself.

At least now he had an explanation for her quietness at the midday meal, and perhaps also for her intensity on the practice field.

She bent down to pick up the knife, slipping it in her hand for a moment before handing it to him. “Would you do something for me?”

Anything
. But that was not a promise he could make. “If it is in my power.”

“I don’t want to presume …” She caught her lip between her teeth and peered up at him uneasily. “Am I right in thinking that you know the king fairly well?”

He schooled his features to impassivity, the question startling him. She’d never asked him about his role in the king’s army, so he’d never had to lie to her. He didn’t relish the idea of having to do so now. Bruce and his followers were a topic that she normally avoided. He sensed she still had no love of the king and blamed him for what had befallen her village. “Why?”

“Do you think you might ask him to make some enquiries? I know you’ve tried to find out his name, but maybe the king would have better contacts …”

“I’ve done everything that can be done.”

“I don’t understand why the soldier’s name should be so hard to discover. Surely there can’t have been that many captains with the Earl of Hereford in Scotland at the time?”

He didn’t want to talk about this, damn it. “I thought you agreed to let me handle it.”

“I did. It’s just that it’s been so long, and I know you’ve been busy.” She stepped forward, putting the hand that wasn’t holding the knife on his arm. “I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. He has to pay.”

Gregor agreed, but he wouldn’t risk her going after him herself. Just the idea of it made his blood run cold. She was too stubborn for her own good. “So what do you plan to do when you find out, Cate, kill him?”

Her eyes narrowed at the hint of scorn in his tone. “Why shouldn’t I? He deserves it.”

“You think it’s just that easy to take a life? You think you can kill him and escape unscathed? You think it won’t change you?”

He realized he was shouting only when she released his
arm and stepped back. She was staring at him with far more understanding than he would have liked.

Feeling as if he’d just revealed more than he intended, he forced his temper to cool. Taking the dagger from her, he slipped it into the belt at his waist. “I don’t want that for you, Cate.”

“But what about you?”

It was too late for him. “It’s what I was trained to do.”

“To kill?”

He didn’t answer. “You have been trained to defend yourself. There is a big difference between the two. You are not trying to win—”

“I am trying to get away, I know.” She finished with a roll of her eyes. “You sound just like John.”

Relieved at the excuse to end the subject, he smiled. “Good. Let’s see what else my brother has taught you. Shall we see how well you do if I am the one wielding the knife?”

She nodded. “But if you are going to go too easy on me, I’m going to go find John.”

The hell she would. The lazy smile that curved his mouth revealed nothing of the vehemence of his thoughts. “Careful what you ask for, Caty—you just might get it.”

Gregor wasn’t his brother. John was good, but Gregor was something else entirely. He seemed to have no weaknesses, his skills as sharp and deadly as the blade he kept getting past her defenses. If this were real, Cate would be dead ten times over by now.

She’d given the outside of his wrist a quick double slap, the way John had taught her, but the dagger didn’t come flying out. She’d attempt to block the arm coming toward her and change the direction of the wrist, by putting pressure on it and twisting to release the knife, but she wasn’t fast enough to get her hands into position before he stopped her.

He left Cate no openings and seemed to anticipate what she was going to do before she did it.

And then there was his strength. She would have had more luck trying to bend steel than break his hold on her. His arms were …

A ripple of awareness shuddered through her. Rock solid, bulging with raw masculine strength, and unbelievably warm. They felt so good wrapped around her, they made her knees weak. Which didn’t exactly help her ability to concentrate any.

After another embarrassing failure, which landed her in the dirt on her back, she had to drag herself back to her feet.

He definitely wasn’t taking it easy on her, but neither did she sense he was trying very hard. It was infuriating to realize that he was probably using only half—maybe three-quarters—of his strength and skill to defeat her soundly. She felt like a pesky midge being slapped away.

Although Robert the Bruce had waged a whole war on being “pesky,” after what happened this morning with the rider, it was humbling. She was supposed to be a warrior, yet all it took was a man who looked like the soldier who’d raped and killed her mother to turn her limbs to ice.

“Again,” he said.

She muttered a furious “why bother” under her breath. He would just put her on her backside again, which was bruised and sore already.

Apparently, he didn’t just have super strength; he had super hearing as well. “Are you giving up, Caty?”

Cate had never glowered before, but there was a first time for everything. Her mouth pursed tightly, and if she could have killed him with a look, she would have.

The slightly smug smile was the worst. He knew how frustrated she was. God, what she wouldn’t do to wipe that smile off his face. “I will never give up.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think so.” Shaking his head, his
gaze suddenly grew more pensive. “You remind me of someone when you do that, but I can’t think who it is.”

She was so shocked, her mouth fell open before she recovered. “A jealous husband, perhaps, who’d like to see you gelded?”

He shuddered dramatically. “God’s bones, Cate. Let’s not use the word ‘gelded’ when there is a dagger within reach.”

“That’s assuming I could ever get it out of your hand.”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed.”

She dropped her gaze to the area in question. She thought she might have heard him swear. When she glanced back up at him, she was smiling. “Oh, I wouldn’t geld you.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” There might have been a touch of lingering huskiness in his voice.

She dimpled, her smile turning sugary sweet. “Not without cause, at least.”

To her surprise, he laughed, swiping a strand of hair from her lashes. She didn’t think he even realized what he’d done. But she did. The unconscious gesture was both tender and intimate, and worth every minute of being tossed on her backside all afternoon.

“You’re a fierce little thing, aren’t you?”

“Thank you,” she said primly. “I think that is the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”

He frowned, as if he couldn’t quite figure out whether she was serious. Deciding she must be, he shook his head. “You are an unusual woman, Caitrina Kirkpatrick.”

Hating the sound of the false name she’d given him, she wanted to correct him. Instead she smiled. “And that was the second nicest. Perhaps we should resume before I’m overcome by too much flattery?”

He gave her bottom a playful slap. “Saucy brat, get over there. This time try not to project your intentions so much. Look at my arms, not at my face.” As if that were easy. But he was right. The moment their eyes met, she lost some of
her concentration. “You are quick and agile, but you also have to make every movement count—you aren’t going to get many of them against a skilled opponent. And with a weapon coming at you there isn’t much room for error. You won’t beat me skill to skill or strength to strength—no matter how badly you want to.” She flushed, realizing that was exactly what she’d been trying to do. She’d wanted to impress him by besting him, and in doing so, she’d forgotten what John had taught her. Her goal wasn’t to win; it was to get away. She’d let her pride interfere. “What else can you do?” he challenged her.

She thought about it as they squared off again. She could trick him or distract him somehow. But how? By preying on his weaknesses. Not that she could think of any. Suddenly, she smiled. She had an idea. Maybe he did have a weakness.

The next time he came at her, she kept her eyes low, avoiding his gaze and concentrating on his shoulders. It was a good thing, too, since he decided to switch hands, the blighter—the knife was in his left, not in his right.

But she was ready. When he stabbed with the knife, instead of trying to block, she jumped back out of the way and cried out as if he’d skimmed her.

“Oh God, Cate!” Instantly, forgetting the battle, he lunged toward her.

She locked her hand on the wrist still holding the knife and immediately controlled his hand with her other, twisting it and locking his wrist. He grunted in pain, having no choice but to move toward the ground with the torquing pressure. The knife clattered to the ground. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get him fully on the ground like this, she immediately followed up with a solid kick in the place where John had told her a man was especially vulnerable. As soon as he groaned and collapsed forward, she let his arm go, grabbed the knife, and stood over him.

She’d done it!

He was sure making a lot of noise, though, rolling on the ground and moaning. She took a few tentative steps closer. “Gregor, are you all …?”