Ignoring for the moment that she’d used his given name—and how much he liked hearing her do so—he wanted to argue but realized he couldn’t. She had extricated herself. Quite well actually. Her movements had been smooth and polished, as if it were something she’d done many times before. Perhaps she had. But something else about it niggled. Something familiar.

He frowned. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Joan knew that she’d made a mistake. Her third or fourth of the afternoon—so many she’d lost count. From thinking she could do what she had to do to avoid the confrontation like she’d just had with Sir Hugh, to nearly blurting out that she knew exactly what could happen, to reminding Alex of skills that she didn’t want him curious about.

She could bite off her tongue. But she was more shaken by the episode with Sir Hugh than she wanted to admit. Alex was right: he would not forget the slight, and Joan knew she would have to be very careful around Sir Hugh for the remainder of their time at Berwick.

Just like she was supposed to be careful around Alex. Knowing that she would likely only arouse more curiosity if she pretended that she didn’t know what he meant, she said, “My mother thought it was important that I learned how to defend myself.”

The frown that gathered between his brows didn’t release right away. He stared at her with an intensity that made her want to squirm, but she held her expression impassive. He must have trained with Lachlan many times; would he recognize something?

Finally, he relented with a nod. “That sounds like Bella. I’m surprised she did not have you practicing with swords.”

“Swords were too heavy. But I do have this.”

She pulled out her eating knife from the sheath on her girdle. The handle of horn was worn with use to fit perfectly in her hand. The four-inch steel blade had been honed to a razor’s edge to slice easily through the toughest meat—or whatever else she might need to cut through.

Alex shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? You know how to use it?”

She nodded. Not as well as him, maybe—even Lachlan had conceded Sir Alex’s superior skill with a dagger—but she could defend herself if need be.

He held her a little while longer with that too-penetrating stare that saw too much and made her want to shuffle her feet like a naughty child.

“Don’t let it give you a false sense of confidence,” he said. “A blade like that will do little against armor, and it can be defended against by someone with the right training.” Like him, she supposed he meant. But she’d had training, too—not that she could tell him that. “You also have to be willing to use it.”