Page 44 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)
CHAPTER THIRTY
T he bed was empty when he awoke, but Donall could feel the lingering heat of Lydia’s presence. And even if that had faded before he roused, the fact that he woke clear-headed and well rested once more was proof enough that last night’s encounter hadn’t been a dream. Lydia had been with him.
Donall allowed himself a brief grin before he pushed himself out of bed and went to dress for the day.
Lydia wasn’t in the Great Hall breaking her fast, nor in her quarters.
Bemused by her absence, Donall fixed himself a quick meal and went out into the courtyard to break his fast and enjoy the fresh morning air.
He was halfway to the ramparts to greet the evening guards before their shift changed when he was distracted by a slender, and very familiar figure standing in the training yard, moving awkwardly through a rough imitation of the sword forms he and Alex had done on other days.
Intrigued, Donall swallowed down the last of his meal, then strode over. Lydia saw him coming, and her countenance flushed a becoming rose. Her brow was already dotted with perspiration, and her expression was somewhat abashed as he stopped before her. “What are ye daein’ lass?”
“I wanted to learn how to defend myself. I thought I could practice…” By the dejection in her tone, he knew how successful her efforts were likely to be, given the difficulties that had drawn his attention.
Donall took the practice blade she’d been using and made a dismissive noise. “Och, this is too heavy a blade fer ye lass. Ye’re nae tall enough or strong enough tae be wielding a blade like this.”
Donall led Lydia over to the rack of practice weapons and selected a lighter, smaller blade, almost small enough to be a dirk. “This or a dagger would suit ye best, given yer build.”
Lydia took it from his hand and tested the weight and balance cautiously. “It does feel better.”
“Aye. It should. Now then, if ye’re serious about learnin’, then there’s some things ye need tae ken.
” Donall stepped up behind her, adjusting her grip on the blade and her stance.
“In battle, ye willnae be able tae set yer stance, but when ye’re practicing, ye want yer feet tae be a little more than shoulder width apart, balanced on the balls o’ yer feet… ”
Donall nudged her calves apart with his thigh. His blood hummed with the awareness of Lydia’s closeness, and he bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to focus. “Now then, ye want tae hold the blade like this…”
He adjusted her hands around the hilt, making sure her wrist was straight and her grip was relaxed enough to allow flex, without being loose enough to release the hilt at the first impact.
Lydia’s hands were soft against his hand, the slim, talented fingers mimicking his positioning with ease. For a moment, his vision wavered, picturing those capable hands around his shaft, holding him with the same competence and ease with which she held the hilt of her blade.
Focus.
“Here. Once ye have the blade gripped properly, there’s the basic types o’ strikes an’ blocks. Low, middle, high. Ye start like this…”
Lydia moved with him, her body pliant in his arms, her movements graceful and fluid as he guided her through a simple pattern.
Donall could feel his body trying to respond to her movements. He bit his lip and willed himself to remain in control. “Dae ye feel it, the way the blade is supposed tae move in yer hand?”
“I think so. But, what if I do not have a blade?” Lydia tipped her head back to look at him, and Donall clamped down ruthlessly on the urge to bend and kiss her lips.
“Use yer elbow, or yer foot, or yer knee.”
To his surprise, Lydia blushed. “Oh, I know about using me knee. When those men attacked me on the road, I used that move…”
Donall recalled one of the brigands had been limping slightly and smirked. “Good.”
“But if I am not facing them…” A shadow passed over her face. “When I was held from behind, I could do nothing.”
“Here.” Donall took the blade and set it to one side, then pulled Lydia closer, gripping her with one arm around her waist and his other hand clamped on her arm.
. “If ye’re held like this… stomp yer foot down.
Try tae hit the instep, here…” He used his own boot to tap the relevant spot on her foot.
“Or the ankle, or rake the shin… whatever ye can manage.”
“All right.”
“Another thing ye can dae… if ye’ve any movement in yer arms, drive yer elbow back, try tae hit yer captor in the gut.” He tugged her arm back in demonstration. “Hard as ye can. Aim fer the softer areas, below the ribs. Twist intae it if ye can.”
“I think I understand.” Lydia’s expression was filled with concentration.
“Show me.”
Her first effort was weak, but credible. “Harder.”
“I do not want to hurt you…”
“Don’t worry about that.” Donall grinned down at her. “I’ve taken worse in wrestlin’ matches with the men afore now.”
Her next blow made him cough, and he was certain that, with the proper encouragement and reason, she could do far more damage. “Good.”
His body was responding to her closeness, and Donall forced himself to let her go and step away, before he could embarrass himself. “Now, ye can also stab with a dagger the same way.” He gestured to the blade. “Pick tha’ up, and show me how ye use it.”
Lydia nodded and picked up the practice blade.
She was unskilled and untrained, but Donall could see that she had talent with a blade. It was raw and unpolished, but if she chose, Lydia could be a halfway decent sword-maiden.
Donall watched her practice until he caught the telltale tremor of her hands and arms that indicated she was on the verge of overstraining herself. Then he stepped in and stilled her movements. “Enough fer taeday lass. Ye’ll be sore enough as it is, ye dinnae want tae dae yerself an injury.”
“No. Evelyn would not be pleased.” Lydia tossed her head to try and dislodge the tendrils of sweat-dampened hair that had escaped the confines of her plait. “
“Most squires beginnin’ trainin’ need a hot bath.
” Donall stepped closer and lifted a hand to brush aside the damp locks for her.
Her small, soft smile of satisfaction was like a siren call, and he indulged himself in a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek, where the stubborn strands of hair had been.
“Ye should bathe afore ye go tae see Evelyn. ‘Twill soothe the aches.”
“Thank you. For teaching me. And for…” Lydia gasped as Donall dipped his head and claimed her lips for a more heated kiss.
“Ye dinnae have tae thank me for aught, Lydia. If anything, I should be thankin’ ye… last night was the best I slept in a long time, save fer our first night taegether.” He stroked her cheek. “I may have given ye shelter unknowingly, but ye’ve given me something as well.”
“I am glad.” Lydia’s eyes were soft with the same compassion and understanding he’d seen in them the night before.
It threatened to be his undoing, and Donall refused to let himself be so undisciplined as to give into his urges in the middle of the courtyard.
It was somewhat astonishing that he and Lydia had not already drawn a crowd of watchers, and he was certain that there were at least a few servants and guards peering around doors and out of alcoves.
With a sigh of regret, he stepped back, putting some distance between them. “’Tis probably best ye go an’ get that bath now. We both have business tae attend tae, an’ ye’ll nae be wanting tae vex Evelyn or Maisie.”
“That is true.” Lydia’s smile turned wry, a faint wistfulness that matched his own lingering in her cerulean eyes for a moment before she turned away and put her practice blade back in the rack. Donall watched her walk away, his groin tight and a faint pang of regret in his chest.
He had done the right thing, he knew. It wouldn’t do for him and Lydia to be caught in a compromising position, no matter how much he wished to tell the whole keep of his feelings for her. Besides, he still had a letter to send to Laird Cedric Wycliffe, plans to make, and a council meeting to call.
It had occurred to him that Lydia might be able to provide more information about Clan Cameron’s forces, as well as her uncle’s.
If they did end up facing the two in a feud, such knowledge would be invaluable.
Furthermore, now that her identity was known, Lydia was more likely to tell the truth about her situation, which could only be of help to Clan Ranald.
First and foremost though, he had to write the letter to her uncle. If there was to be any hope of salvaging the situation without being embroiled in conflict, it would be through negotiations with Lord Wycliffe.
Donall scowled. From what little he had gleaned from Lydia, Laird Wycliffe did not sound like the sort of man he wished to be allied with. However, for Lydia’s sake, and the sake of his clan, he would try.
Donall and Ewan approached Maisie and Lydia while they were busy in the courtyard. The laird stepped forward and announced that the Council had convened again and requested Lydia to go over everything she might know about Clan Cameron and its allies in English territory.
“And you wish for me to serve?” Lydia blinked, surprised by the show of trust.
Donall shook his head. “Ye’ll be speaking, answerin’ questions as much as ye can. Maisie will serve the Council, as yer friend… an’ as Armsmaster Ewan’s intended.”
Ewan and Maisie both flushed as cheers erupted around them, and Lydia moved forward out of Donall’s arms to embrace her friend. “Congratulations!”
Maisie laughed, as did Ewan. After a moment, however, the Ranald second-in-command sobered. “Wish we could talk more, but the Council is waiting.”
“Aye.” Donall nodded as he stepped closer to Lydia once more. “Best we dinnae try their patience any more. Lydia strode alongside him as he led the group of four into the keep proper, her gut churning slightly as she considered what Donall had said.
The Council wanted information, but she knew very little.
After all, her uncle had scarcely considered her of any worth except as a brood mare to be bargained away.
He’d certainly never shared any information on troops, alliances or money with her.
And she knew almost nothing about Clan Cameron, save that their laird had bargained for her hand.
Wait…
A thought teased the corner of her mind, and Lydia frowned as she focused on it. For a moment, it eluded her, then slipped into place.
The maps. The trade routes she’d noticed before. The overheard comment regarding the diversion of the caravan… her misgivings.
I do not know everything, or even much of anything, but perhaps, just perhaps, I might have some information of import after all…