While the Wynchester clan prepared for their trip, Kuni returned to her guest chamber to stay out of their way. After smoothing a bit of cream into her dry skin, she cleared a large space for wide movements and began her morning standing stretches before launching into her more intense strengthening routine.
It didn’t take long to feel energy coursing through her blood. Practicing the movements she had learned with the Royal Guardsmen was difficult when limited to a bedchamber—even one as spacious and well appointed as this—but the morning was brisk and cloudless. Perhaps opening the window for a bit of sun and fresh air would let her close her eyes and imagine she was training with the Balcovian soldiers, not as a hanger-on but as a fellow guard.
When she moved the curtain aside, movement caught her eye below. Sun filtered through the spring-green leaves to reveal Graham Wynchester emerging below, between the house and a stone wall dividing the Wynchester property from their neighbors.
Her breath caught.
It was both like and unlike all the afternoons she had watched the soldiers from the castle window when she could not leave Princess Mechtilda. Then, Kuni had longed to be part of the guards’ ranks, not the companions’. The men tolerated her training with them in the mornings when she could slip away, but they did not miss her when she was gone or pay any particular heed to how she was progressing, year after year.
Graham must have finished packing for the trip north. He was performing stretches similar to the Royal Guards’ routine, but he did not look like a soldier. Nor did he look like a gentleman. His black curls were rumpled as though he had freshly risen from bed. His legs were clad in formfitting buckskins, and his strong shoulders and muscled arms were hidden only by the thin cambric of a white shirt, tucked loosely into his waistband. No coat. No waistcoat. No cravat. Just delicious, decadent dishabille.
He glanced up and caught her staring at him with hunger.
Kuni’s face flamed with heat in mortification.
He smiled as though he’d been hoping she would spy on him. He motioned for her to come down and join him.
Her pulse skipped. She forgot all about her embarrassment and tapped her chest with eagerness instead.
“Me?” she mouthed.
Graham scooped his arm through the air in an even larger come-hither motion, then began bending and twisting in much the same way Kuni had just done beside her bed.
He was going to train! And he wanted her to join him!
She dropped the curtain and hurried to her trunk. All her clothes were still folded neatly inside. She had not allowed the maid to place them in the provided wardrobe. If a guard needed to leave quickly, there was no time to waste packing up luggage. Besides, Kuni knew exactly where everything was.
She reached for her outdoor training dress. It had a Balcovian amaranth bodice with several hidden compartments, and a billowy, overlarge skirt she had sliced up the center and sewn into two pantaloon legs, both of which were equipped with easy access to the daggers strapped to her thighs.
When standing still, it would look like she was wearing an ordinary gown, but the split legs allowed her to ride a steed astride like a man—or perform a complex series of jumps and kicks to and fro across a battlefield, just like the soldiers in their sharp military uniforms.
She raced through the silent house and out the servants’ entrance to the rear garden where she had glimpsed Graham.
He was next to a row of brightly colored spring irises, his body parallel to the ground as he pushed up with his arms and slowly lowered himself back down. Upon sight of her, he started to rise to his feet.
Kuni motioned for him to continue. She was more than familiar with press-up exercises. She sprinted lightly over to him and dropped into position at his side, lowering herself down and pressing back up, keeping time to his rhythm.
His eyes widened in obvious surprise.
“What?” she asked archly. “You thought the English were the only ones who know how to exercise their muscles in this way?”
“Knowing how to do a thing and actually doing the thing are not at all the same thing,” he answered. “Every person in my household hasseenme do this. You’re the first to do itwithme.”
She pressed up in silence, inordinately proud of her years of training and the strength of her body. It was worth it. Even before she’d been anywhere near the battlefield practice sessions, her brothers would tease her at the drop of a feather to stop whatever she was doing and show them five of these maneuvers with perfect posture. Or ten. Or twenty. She could do over a hundred now without a respite.
Before she was even halfway there, however, Graham sprang to his feet and held out his palm to her.
Ah! She knew what came next in Balcovia. After strength-building was hand-to-hand combat.
She placed her hand in his, gripping tight, then yanked her elbow backward. Graham’s body jerked toward her in surprise, which was all Kuni needed. She used his forward momentum to tumble him past her and onto the ground on his back. Even as the breath whooshed out of him, she was already dropping atop, her palms flat against his, pinning him beneath her and covering the length of his body with hers.
“Wh-what?” he managed hoarsely.
“Was hand-to-hand combat not the next step in your routine?” she asked innocently. “That’s how we do it in Balcovia.”
His eyes shone. “I adore Balcovia.”
Graham’s lips were close enough to kiss, not that she would do any such thing. It was enough that her body pressed its full weight scandalously against him. Her bosom to his waistcoat-less chest, her hips to his, their thighs mashed together.
