It crashed to earth again, and an exasperated cry burst from her. Defeat balled in her throat, and she gouged the dirt with the sword’s tip, wanting to fling the cursed weapon away as far as she could. Only the knowledge that her puny show of strength would undoubtedly embarrass her further stayed her hand.
Just as she was trying to muster enough energy to attempt hoisting it again, she realized that Gray had moved in behind her. Surprise blossomed to shock when she felt him press against her back to enfold her in his arms.
When he slid his hands down from her shoulders, placing them over hers where they gripped the hilt, jolts of sensation surged through her. Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord. She felt his palms, warm and hard, caressing her hands; she sensed his strength behind her, supporting her, protecting her, guiding her. And then he whispered in her ear…
“Save your anger for your enemies, wife. It serves no purpose to direct it at your weapon.”
Catherine’s eyes flew open, and she twisted to look at him, her mood sparking to ire again at the thinly veiled amusement in his damnably green gaze.
“Aye, well, my enemies will have a fine laugh at my fumbling, my lord. I’ll nary find means to lift this weapon, and they’ll lop my head off for me.”
She felt his entire body tighten—all but for his hands, which stroked the tops of hers more gently round the hilt. The warmth of his breath wafted soft against her cheek. “Nay, lady. By the time I finish with you, I warrant you’ll be able to keep even me at bay. ’Twill take hard work to get there, but we will make it happen together, I promise you.”
Together. That word sent a strange thrill of longing coursing through Catherine, until it settled deep in her heart. But she had little time to nurture the feeling; he lifted her arms, her hands still gripped by his to her sword. Then he took a few practice strokes, and she felt the swish of the blade, reveled in the tantalizing play of his chest muscles along her back.
“Spread your legs wider.”
His soft command made a warm blossom of heat unfurl in her belly, and she was appalled for one sinking moment when she thought that he’d heard the catch in her breathing. He paused before continuing with the movements of their arms, but other than that he didn’t seem to have noticed. Yet it was all she could do to concentrate on the strokes and arcs he guided her through in the next minutes.
She couldn’t seem to focus. All she could feel was the warmth of his body behind hers, his arms circling her with their strength, the powerful muscles of his legs pressed into the backs of her thighs from his own wide stance…the delicious sensation of his breath tickling her ear on each exhalation.
Her muscles felt like butter and her belly a fluttering swirl of sweet, hot liquid, when he finally released her a few minutes later and stepped away. Though she’d exerted herself but little in the exercise, her breath came as fast and hard as if she’d raced up a hill.
When the reason struck her, ’twas with stunning force. What had happened last night was but a taste of this unbelievable feeling. This was raw, full-blown desire, and it took her so much by surprise that she crumpled to her knees where she stood.
“Are you unwell, Elise?” In one swift motion, Gray knelt next to her, taking her hand to chafe at her wrist. “Here.” He reached for a water skin, untied it, and held it to her mouth. “Take a drink.”
She tried to protest that she was fine, but he pushed on until she took a quick swallow. It was probably for the best, anyway. Certainly better than telling him the true reason behind her moment of weakness.
“I feel much better now,” she said, rising to stand.
“Don’t move so quickly.”
“I’m fine,” Catherine protested, dusting off her knees with her hands. “’Tis just the heat. The sun shines bright today.”
Gray shielded his eyes and glanced up. “Aye. ’Tis near midday. We began our training too late. You’ll need some refreshment before we continue.” He gestured to the shade of a nearby tree. “Come and sit you down where ’tis cooler, while I fetch the basket.”
Catherine frowned. Basket? She’d thought they’d be going back to the castle to eat with the others. But she had to admit that she was hungry. Her stomach rumbled as she sat beneath the tree, reminding her that she’d yet to take any food or drink today. And Gray was right about one thing. It was much cooler here, and itdidfeel good to sit.
She watched him return from his stallion with a woven basket. The lid was attached to the ragged sides with a frayed strip of willow, and she raised her brow as he sat beside her with it.
“That basket looks as if it could use some mending.”
His mouth quirked up on one side. “Aye, I suppose it could. I’ve had it for years. ’Twas with me on Crusade.”
“I amend my remark, then. ’Tis in better shape than I guessed if it survived the war in Egypt.”
“Yet it has seen better days.” He caught her gaze as he unwound the tattered silk that held the lid on tight. “At our wedding feast you talked of searching for willow swamps. Do you possess skill enough in weaving to repair the basket for me?”
Now it was Catherine’s turn to smile, though she hid it in the act of smoothing the ground for their meal cloth. Of course he couldn’t know that she’d been weaving willow of much finer texture than his basket since she was a seven years child.
“I think I might be able to manage it, my lord, provided we find an ample supply of withies to harvest in the next weeks.”
He handed her the cloth, and she spread it in front of them, adding some smaller folded linens for wiping their fingers and mouths later. As he busied himself with pouring wine into her cup and cider into his own, she stole another glance at him. “You must have had many adventures while Crusading for the Holy Cause. Sir Alban talked of the battles you fought together while in Egypt, and he swore that you’d saved his life.”
Gray laughed. “Alban tends to exaggerate. I didn’t actually save his life. And ’twas hardly heroic.”
“Nay? Alban made it sound so, though he suggested that you tell the story better than he does.”
