“Gavin, I need to run, I need to do sit-ups, I need to start boxing again. Please.”

“You cannot think to run, lady, I’ve made myself clear. You will remain here.” God but she had a thick skull.

“You misunderstand, Gavin. I don’t wish to run away. I like to run distances. It helps me think, and I miss the feeling of invigoration it gives me.”

“I thought you preferred Lady Madelyn’s potion or brandy,” he remarked dryly. “Don’t think I’ve not seen you run for the decanter after something’s unsettled you.”

His mistress smiled. “Okay, so I admit I still have a hard time with certain things. Trust me, Gavin, you would too. But it’s not the same as running. And, besides, it’s a much better vice.” She stood a little taller, her eyes gleamed, and her smile lifted but a touch. “Would you give up training?” she asked. “Doesn’t it help you clear your mind and make you feel invincible?”

Damn, she had a point. “Where would you do this running?” he asked. He shook his head, disgusted that he’d even considered it. Greylen would have his hide. But Gavin would kill him first, with his bare hands, for leaving this to him.

“I could run in circles around the castle, or down the path through the cottages. I don’t care, Gavin. I’ll run up and down the steps if that’s all you’ll let me do.” She grabbed his hands and said, “I’m begging. God, this sucks.”

“What of this ‘boxing’ as you call it?” Damn, he did it again. How did she always make him see her way? His stomach turned as her face lit up and a wicked smile crossed her lips.

Double damn!

“Ready for some fun?” she asked mischievously.

“Nay, lady, I’m truly not,” he said, shaking his head.

“Too bad, Gavin, hold your hands up in front of you and I’ll show you what boxing is.” She moved toward him, throwing her robe to Isabelle, who sat watching with obvious glee.

His mistress gave him what she referred to as a “dirty” look as he rolled his eyes and held his hands out. “Nay, not like that,” she said. “Palms out and up, in front of your chest, please.” He complied, begrudgingly. “Thank you, very kind sir.”

Gavin had no time to respond, for his mistress made a perfect fist with each of her hands and began jabbing at him. First with high straight punches, then she swung low from the waist. And he found himself moving his hands, catching her every blow.