Kennan dropped and rolled away from her pointy tip. “You can try, lassie.”

“All right.” She moved back to a ready stance—the lass mightn’t know it, but she’d learned well from her da. “Shall we start at the beginning?”

“’Tis always smart.”

He moved through a form of the positions. “On guard, head, left shoulder, left gut, left leg, right shoulder, right gut, right leg.”

Her feet stumbled as she raised the weapon to her side. “On guard?”

“Close—you did it just a moment ago without knowing.” He moved in behind her and grasped her wrists. “When you are on guard you hold the hilt up and out, whilst eyeing your opponent, ready for his attack.”

“Or her attack.”

Kennan cleared his throat. “Hmm.” The scent of roses distracted him as he moved her hands up. “This is a very important position. Here you block deathly strikes to your head and neck.”

“Very well.” Divana’s voice grew breathless, her shoulders relaxing against his chest.

From behind, he craned his neck and observed her face as he took her through the motions. “If you want to become an accomplished swordswoman, you must first master these eight defenses.”

“I can do that.”

“You’ll practice every day?”

She turned enough to look him in the eye. “I can when I’m not needed in the kitchens.”

His breath caught in his chest. It felt so inexplicably good to keep her so close, to hold his arms around her. “I…ah…” He licked his lips, trying to convince himself he mustn’t kiss the soft, irresistible woman—but she was so tempting, her bow-shaped lips so utterly inviting. “Mayhap we should go through it once more?”

“I’d like that.”

Kennan’s knees turned to boneless mollusks as he dipped his chin and studied the curve of her neck. “On guard,” he purred at the side of her ear. Having been taught swordsmanship since the age of seven, going through the basic motions was like breathing. But his student excelled admirably. Divana’s arms were like clay in his hands as she intently studied each exact placement.

“Right leg.” He whispered the final position as his lips caressed her creamy flesh.

She drew in a gasp but didn’t push him away. “Ye will be my undoing, Sir Kennan Cameron.” The words came out low and sultry, as if she were fighting the same inner demons tormenting him.

Unable to help himself, he applied a gentle kiss at the base of her throat—right atop the pulse quivering in a steady rhythm.

Her inhale came in a stuttered gasp, her lithe body shifting against him.

Though it nearly tore him to bits, he forced himself to lower his arms to his sides. “Forgive me. I did not intend to take liberties.”

A lovely blush spread up her neck, the wee pulse thrumming faster. “We are so similar ye and I, yet separated by an uncrossable divide.”

Chapter Seventeen