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Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
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  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE SILENCE WOKE ELLE. Was Adam finished for the day?

Had he left her alone?

In that instant of panic, her eyes sprang open. She blinked at the light of late afternoon. She was facing into the shop, and Adam was there, stripped down to his shorts, posed with his long sword gripped in both his hands.

As she watched him, her terror eased, and she relaxed.

He raised the sword over his head, thrust it down, pivoted and raised the sword again. This time he slashed sideways, then sideways again. He was like a Nordic god, rippling with muscles, intent on victory, moving slowly, deliberately. The sun stroked him from the upper windows giving him a gilt glory.

He was so beautiful he brought tears to her eyes.

Painfully, she hoisted herself onto one elbow. It had been more than twenty-four hours since Adam had dragged her out of the ocean. How long would it be before different aches and pains stopped showing up?

Adam spotted her motion and stopped. He walked toward her, searched her eyes as if seeing into her soul...and said something.

She remembered the earplugs and sheepishly pulled them out. Even in her sleep and with the earplugs, she had been aware of muffled pounding. Even in her sleep, she had known Adam was nearby.

He indicated the sword. “Would you like to try it?”

“Yes! Yes, I would.” Her scramble off the cot was more of a lurch and stagger, and he put a hand under her elbow.

She placed her hand on the sword’s long hilt. She caressed the metal, in awe of the beautiful workmanship. A round knob of pounded iron topped the black leather grip. The guard was a crossbar of a dull gold material, and on each side was an indentation created for a specific purpose, and she knew what it was. “Where are the jewels that should fill these holes?”

“I made the sword to sell, not keep. The buyer will choose their gems, and a jeweler will attach them.”

“But when you were practicing, it was as if you and the weapon were one.”

“I am the sword’s maker.” He didn’t sound conceited. More matter-of-fact.

“A thousand years ago, you would have been in demand as a swordsmith.”

“I would have made a substantial living.” Again, no hubris, but he looked at her sideways like a man offering a gift. “The blade is iron and steel, as it would have been in medieval times. Collectors who can afford my work are fussy about authenticity.”

She put her second hand on the hilt and lifted the sword. “It’s heavy!” The tip wavered.

He put his hand under hers and steadied her. “Four pounds.”

“I should be able to lift four pounds.”