His lips touched her scalp gently just as darkness claimed her gaze from exhaustion.Someone to protect me, safe, at long last – for now.
Chapter 4
Odd.It was odd in a disturbing sort of way: Keirah slept as if it had been years since her last slumber. Not only this but she kept giving small whimpers; her little icicle nose tucked under his chin would twitch slightly.
All night he hadn’t heard any twigs break, but the cavern floor had helped him stay awake with its rough dampness. When she leaned back slowly at rest, her features showed clearer by the sun approaching midday which peeped around the cavern’s ledge. Her dark lashes brushed over the soiled, stained cheeks. It was as clear to him as the sun’s rays washing over them: he would guard her with everything he was, even if it saw him to death’s door. Why the sudden urge? Not a clue.
However, one aspect was clear as the crusted mud in her hair: she felt good to be in his embrace. Good? Naw, special in the most spectacular way. He’d best savor it now, for when she discovered he…he had been banished from his clan, by his very brother, she would turn away in disgust, the same as every other lass who became enamored by his demeanor and features.
Her lashes began fluttering; she was awakening. Should he greet her with ‘Good morrow, lass’ or ‘Sleep well, lass?’ In almost a daze she stared at his arm resting over her shoulder a mere moment then jerked back, giving a sound almost like she had been pierced by an arrow…
“NAE!” she screamed while bolting backward, awkwardly stammering, “L…Lord Kollungr!”
She was terrified! “Keirah, nae,” he called out calmly, despite every speck inside seeking to snarl in rage at this shite called Lord Kollungr.
She scrambled upon her hands and knees, sending pebbles whipping about, before vanishing into the cavern’s back shadows like she had just seen a phantom.
“Keirah, ’tis Aonghus.” He kept his tone steady. “Not Lord Kollungr.”
Resting on his heels, kneeling, the shadows were like a dark curtain pulled before him. His eyes continued to search frantically in the unseen black vista. There was no exit to the cavern’s backside; where had she gone? What the hell had those shite trolls tortured her with?
“Keirah?” he asked, his voice calling to the tone one would use for a skittish kitten. What could he do if she refused to come out? How might he offer her comfort…?
A tiny sob tore the air from the darkness. “Forgive me Aonghus, I saw your arm, not your face. I thought…” Her words were broken as she. “I do not know what my muddled mind thought. Please forgive…”
He remained frozen. “Keirah, ’tis nothing.” He cut short her apology. “You have been through a hell, like a warrior after battle. The wounds are fresh and raw. Time, lass, time it will ease.”
“I am nae warrior, Aonghus.” Her voice echoed from the shadows. “I cannot even hold a bow.” Well, that was going to change. Right. Now.
He fetched one of the two daggers tucked into the back waist strap at the top of his chausse. “You understand the ways in how to use a dagger?”
“The sharpened blade, not the hilt, strikes the opponent,” she replied, sounding embarrassed.
Under normal circumstances he would have laughed at the innocent answer.
She explained further, “They sought to keep me docile and never spoke regarding weaponry.”
His brows drew together; if he could breathe fire, he would.
“Keirah, I am goin’ to approach,” he advised and stayed low on his heels, shuffling along the ground till she came more into his sights. There she was – seated on the ground, her knees tucked before her breasts, clutching the legs close like a protective shield. She needed to feel strong again, and dammit, he was the same as the dirt on the cavern’s floor if he couldn’t unleash this emotion for her.
He offered her a dagger’s hilt. “This will not stand for much longer; I shall teach you how to throw a dagger,” he promised. “Keirah MacThistlen, are you prepared to sharpen those wee Scottish thorns, my Highlands thistle? To claim your strength and freedom back? You ready, lass?”
Her shaking hand emerged from the shadows’ edge, cautiously taking the hilt, her fingers brushing his. She was cold again. Movement. Training and movement would warm her quickly, or he could tuck her close again. No. This would only unleash more feelings which could never be.
She clutched the weapon in both hands before her breasts to whisper, “Aye.”
“Cluaran, then let us commence!”
***
“Once more, then another, then another!” she heard her new battle instructor demand, three hours later. “If you are goin’ to be a cluaran,sharp, you must take heed of an opponent’s vulnerable points. What are the targets to kill an enemy with your throw?”
She stood at the cavern’s center looking toward the Scotsman’s face flushed by intensity. He seemed an honorable sort; dare she trust him fully? “Take care and aim for” – she focused on the task while pressing her lungs – “where one shall draw breath, mindful of the ribs as a natural shield” – her fingers went to the increased thumping under her breast at their laboring in her learning – “your heart.”
He nodded. “Brillant.” Why did his praise affect her so? “Then we look to your stance, Cluaran.” He pointed at her feet.
She raised her skirt with the free hand; he frowned. Normally when a summit-sized warrior approached, she would back up, but not now; he had worked diligently training her the whole afternoon while they waited for dusk before re-taking the journey south. Each step he had been firm but fair; with every turn she…wastrusting him more. Huh, something she had lacked for years now.
