That wicked grin, the weapon he used so readily, flashed at her. “Practice, of course. Go get your cloak, princess.”
Pointedly ignoring the flutters that filled her stomach at the way that word rolled off his roguish tongue, Cara did as he asked, returning a moment later dressed for the outdoors.
“Will you at least tell me what torture you’ve planned?” she said, following him out into the chilly autumn evening.
“We’ve covered all of the pieces—holding hands, hugging, conversing. But when I watch you with him, though you’re able to do all those things now, it still looks forced. So,” he declared, offering her his hand, “we’re going to put it all together. You’ve been going on walks with Sitric, yes? Where to?”
“I like to look out over the harbor,” she replied.
Diarmid nodded, his eyes narrowing as though he were deep in thought. “Right. Here’s what we’re going to do—we’re going to walk to the overlook, the same path you take with Sitric. I want you to pretend that you’re walking with him, in spite of the fact that I’m far superior company. And I’m going to push your boundaries a little, do all the things we’ve practiced, but unexpectedly this time. Just as it would be with Sitric.”
Cara groaned. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered for the thousandth time since they’d begun this arrangement. “I shouldn’t need to be doing this, practicing how to behave as a normal human being.”
“You are a normal human being,” Diarmid’s gentle tone eased the tension she’d been holding. “And many people struggle with such things. There’s no shame in practicing something to improve at it, no matter the skill.”
Cara’s stomach fluttered again, this time with greater insistence, as though attempting to pull her toward Diarmid and his kind words. In all her life, no one had spoken to her like that—like she wasn’t broken or at fault. As though, even with all her sharp edges, she could still be embraced like everyone else.
They walked together in silence, taking in the settlement as it tucked in for the night. When the ascent to the overlook began in earnest, Cara realized that she’d been holding Diarmid’s hand the entire walk. It had felt so natural, as easy as the journey itself or the amicable silence.
“Why do you enjoy the harbor?” he asked when they’d reached the overlook, a flat swath of grass with a view over the harbor and the obsidian sea beyond.
Diarmid laid his cloak on the damp ground and sat, patting the spot beside him.
Cara joined him, sitting far enough away that she didn’t touch him.
“It reminds me of the Greeks sailing to Troy,” she answered, watching as a ship with red sails tied off at a pier. “It’s like seeing the story come to life. I can imagine them pulling up on the sandy beaches, ready for battle.”
“Have you ever been on one?” His hand found hers, his rough palm enveloping hers in warmth.
“No.” Cara couldn’t take her eyes off their joined hands as he slowly raised them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. She shivered, but not from the cold.
“This would be a good time to ask me a question,” he whispered against her hand, not taking his lips from it.
“What do you do?” her voice came out softer than she’d intended, matching his own intimate tone. “For fun, I mean. I read. What do you do?”
A disarming grin stretched across his face, his eyes dancing. “You know what I do, princess.”
Cara nearly choked on her next breath. “That’s your preferred pastime? Truly?” Aside from the discomfort ofcontemplating Diarmid in bed with another woman, Cara couldn’t fathom anyone doing that for the fun of it.
“Is that so hard to believe? It’s enjoyable for women, too, you know.”
She very much doubted that. “Maybe for some women.”
“Forallwomen,” he insisted, “so long as you’re with a competent man, that is.”
Until that moment, it hadn’t truly sunk in that she’d be reliving that awful experience in Sitric’s bed soon. Too soon. She wasn’t ready for that again.
“Ask me whatever it is you’re thinking,” he demanded gently, turning her hand over and pressing a languid kiss against her palm. “Open up instead of keeping such musings to yourself.”
“Do you think that Sitric is a man such as that?”
The playful fire left Diarmid’s dark eyes. “I do.”
Cara’s belly dropped at the turn in conversation. “Tell me of the Fianna,” she hurried, changing course from her unpleasant future. In spite of Diarmid’s half-hearted assurance, Cara still couldn’t see how what had happened with Torna could be so different as to make it enjoyable.
Diarmid didn’t question her sudden change of topic. As the western wind picked up, rolling off the lively sea below, he told her of the trials he and the men had endured to earn their place among the Fianna. His face lit from within when he spoke of it, and with each addition to his tale it became clear that he derived great purpose from his position among the men. He took his oath seriously, and his bond with the warriors was stronger than she’d guessed. Once again, he surprised her.
His tale came to an end when the moon sat high in the night sky, pale moonlight leaping from wave to rippling wave in the chill winds.
