“That’s what ye’re offering.” She didn’t raise her voice, but the words pressed hard against his ribs, making it difficult to draw a full breath. She stayed where she was, so close he could feel the heat radiating from her body, her scent—clean skin and a hint of wild heather—filling his head until his thoughts began to slip. “Protection that belongs tae someone else tae give and take. Men who stand between me and harm, while I remain the same woman who cannae dae a thing fer herself.”
“That is nae a failure.” The answer came fast, irritation slipping through despite his effort to keep it leashed.
“It is tae me.”
The simplicity of it stopped him.
Harald held her gaze, waiting for the turn, the hidden intent he had learned to anticipate in moments like that. It never came. There was only resolve there. Pride. A refusal to bend that felt uncomfortably familiar, as though he were looking at a mirror he hadn’t known existed.
“This is nae about proving something,” he said at last, the words slower now, chosen rather than struck.
“Nay.” She inclined her head a fraction, eyes never leaving his. “It’s about refusing tae be helpless, Harald.”
Something shifted then, a quiet tilt in the balance he had been holding too tightly.
He broke the line of her gaze, the intensity of it becoming too much to bear, and turned away. He crossed the room in two measured steps, his blood singing a high, frantic tune. He rakeda hand through his hair, searching for solid ground in a world that had suddenly gone liquid.
“I cannae teach ye that,” he said, voice quieter now, the edge worn down to a dangerous rasp. “Ye’ve nay idea what ye’re asking.”
She watched him without moving, her stillness more challenging than any advance. “Then tell me.”
He stopped near the shelves, his back to her, the weight of her presence pressing between his shoulders. “Fighting teaches ye how tae expect pain,” he said. “How tae live wi’ it. How tae cause it wi’out hesitation. It hardens ye in ways that dinnae always soften again.”
“And ye think I’m soft?” she asked.
He turned back sharply. “I think ye’ve survived enough already.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then she drew a slow, deep breath, and something in her posture shifted. “I want tae choose fer meself,” she said. “Even if it frightens ye.”
The words struck deeper than he liked.
He saw the fire in her, the rigid strength, and he realized he was already lost. He didn’t just want to protect her; he wanted to possess that fire. He wanted to see what happened when that resolve was turned toward him.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with an electric tension that made the air feel like it might spark. She drew a slow, deep breath, her breasts straining against the fabric of her bodice, and something in Harald’s lower belly coiled tight and hot.
Harald studied her, his gaze dropping to her mouth for one treacherous second before snapping back to her eyes. The careful order of his life was in ruins.
“Fine.” The word cost him more than he let show. It was a surrender not just to her request, but to the fact that he was utterly, completely undone by her.
Her eyes widened, just a breath, surprise flickering before it sharpened into something intent and bright. She simply waited, as though she had known this was where he would land all along.
“We’ll train,” he went on, lifting a hand when she drew breath, cutting off whatever quick retort or triumph she might have offered. His voice had settled into something firm again. “Once. I’ll show ye enough tae understand what ye’re asking fer. And then we’ll see.”
She held his gaze for a beat, measuring him as carefully as he had measured her. Then she inclined her head, sharp and decisive. “Agreed.”
The lack of hesitation unsettled him more than argument would have.
“Come,” he said, already turning away.
He took the stairs two at a time, his boots striking the stone with a rhythmic violence that mirrored the frantic thudding of his heart.
He could feel her behind him. Her presence was a physical heat radiating against his spine, a magnetic pull that made every nerve ending on his back prickle with static. She didn't speak, and that silence was worse than any taunt; it was a heavy, expectant pressure that made the air feel thin.
They passed through the lower corridors and out of the keep, the air shifting as stone gave way to wind and open space. The scent of damp earth and grass met them at once. Harald set a steady pace across the grounds, boots striking packed soil, his path angled away from the main yard and its watchful eyes.
When the passage narrowed, he could hear the soft, frantic hitch in her lungs. He could smell her—not just the heather and soap, but the scent of a woman whose blood was boiling. It took everything he had not to spin around, pin her against the cold stone, and find out if she tasted as defiant as she sounded.
At the end of the tunnel, he reached for the iron-banded door. As he leaned past her to throw the bolt, his chest brushed her shoulder. The contact was electric, a jolt that sizzled straight to his gut and made his vision swim. For a second, he was trapped in her orbit, the faint warmth of her neck inches from his mouth.
