“I’ll go fetch my sword.” She moved to walk past Conan.
He held an arm out, catching her so she couldn’t pass. “No sword today.”
She should move. Back away. Push forward. She should do anything except stand there enjoying the press of his hand against her hip.
His eyes darkened, storm clouds rolling through the blue-grey irises. “You need to know how to throw a punch.”
Her hand absently lifted to her nose, where the bruises had only just finished healing.
Conan nodded, his hazy eyes devouring her. “Your sword didn’t do you any good, and you know enough to defend yourself with it. You need to know how to defend yourself without it.”
His hand squeezed her hip, Alannah’s desire coming to life at his touch. She didn’t know what was happening, only that she didn’t want it to stop. Beyond that, her thoughts fell away like leaves in the autumn.
The approach of footsteps broke the spell. His hand fell from her body. They each took a step back. The hunger in his eyes lingered until the rest of the men joined them.
Still, Alannah felt the pull toward him, her hip warm where his hand had been.
Where she wished it still were.
Everything in her screamed that it was reckless to want anything more with this man. But in that moment, she realized that she did.
Chapter Fourteen
He couldn’t takethe way she looked at him. He knew that look all too well—it was the one he hadn’t been able to resist the night they arrived in Ath Luain.
“I’m going to need you to punch me,” he managed.
It took her several seconds to process his words. Then she was back, feisty as ever.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she grinned, taking up the stance she used with her sword and balling her fists.
“Wait, you’re teaching her to fist fight?” Dallan asked, squaring up against Finn. “What happened to her sword?”
“When Oran attacked me the other night, it was a fistfight,” she answered.
Dallan and Finn both turned to Conan. He hadn’t told them about it. He wasn’t trying to be secretive, it just hadn’t felt like his story to tell.
“You didn’t notice the giant bruise on her face?”
“Of course I did,” Dallan scoffed. “I’m just too much of a gentleman to comment on it, obviously.”
“Well, if Conan hadn’t been there, bruises on my face would’ve been the least of my problems.”
Finn lowered his sword, focused entirely on them now. “Wait. How was Conan there? Wasn’t this the day we arrived?”
“It was the next night,” Conan replied. “After you went to bed Oran broke through the front door. Alannah handled it more or less on her own.”
She smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “They know perfectly well I couldn’t have won that fight.”
“Actually, based on the situation when we arrived, I assumed you could best him handily,” Dallan told her.
“She’ll never best anyone if you lot don’t start practicing,” Illadan bellowed, blocking a blow from Ardál.
Conan returned his focus to the beauty in front of him. He lifted his hand, palm out, creating a target for her. “Hit me.”
They sparred untilmidday. By then Alannah had mastered how to properly form a fist and land a right hook, but they had a long way to go before she’d be winning any bouts. After that, she had to hurry off to run errands in town for the inn.
The Fianna washed in a nearby creek, taking the opportunity to discuss their next strategy for destroying the bridge.
