His eyes dropped to her lips.
She tensed.
The silence stretched and strained.
But he did . . . nothing.
He merely looked away, wiped his hands on a handkerchief, and walked past her, picking up hisépéeagain. He tested the square blunt on the tip, ensuring it was solidly in place.
She pivoted with him.
“Here.” He snatched a secondépéeand tossed it to her, hilt first.
Without conscious thought, she snagged it out of the air.
He nodded his approval.
“Come,” he beckoned with his blade. “Let us see what ye remember.”
“Remember? I fought?” Eilidh paused. “Or are you thinking to begin teaching me as more of yourbonuswooing?”
“Nae, no bonus wooing in this, unfortunately,” he grinned. “Ye learned tae fence, lass. Ye were quite the swordsman by the time we reached the New Hebrides.”
She learned to fence?!
Eilidh hefted the blade in her hand—half-wondering, half-terrified of its vaguely familiar weight.
“En garde.” He raised his sword.
She ignored him and instead tested the sword. It felt . . . balanced.
How did she know that? How a balanced sword felt?
Did she truly know how to use it?
He misread her hesitation.
“Ye promised me, lass,” he warned, pointing his blade at her. “I’ve never known ye to go back on a promise.”
She bit back the sarcastic words crowding her tongue,“Well, that was before ye dressed me in trews and handed me a sword.”
“If it helps, think about how satisfying it will be tae jab the fencing foil into my chest,” he continued.
“A bonus stabbing?”
His pale eyes flared. “Aye, if that comforts ye.”
He mimed taking a rapier hit to the stomach. Of course, the motion tipped his body forward, giving Eilidh a clear glimpse of corded pectorals, a smattering of chest hair, and her wedding ring spinning round.
She looked away, forcing her breathing to remain slow.
“Very well.” She lifted the blade, mirroring his stance. “I cannot say that I remember how to fence. But. . . en garde.”
He darted forward, feinting to the right.
She flinched and skittered back.
He jabbed left.
