“It’s time to go.”
“Witch hunter,” she mumbled in her sleep, turning over. “Go away.”
She rolled onto her back, stretching one arm over her head. The blanket slipped as her back arched. The curve of her breast pressed against the thin wool. He thought, just faintly, he could see the outline of one taut nipple.
Fuck, but she was a lovely thing.
It was like she’d been formed to torment him. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on, and someone he could never have.
He pulled his gaze away and gave her shoulder another firm shake. “Come on. Up.”
Rowan’s gray eyes blinked open. For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. Her expression was open, almost vulnerable, and it tugged at something in his chest. Then she focused on his face and her expression closed like a slamming door. That pinch formed between her brows. The corners of her mouth tensed. Her whole body stiffened ever so slightly.
“Captain.” She rubbed her face. “What do you want?”
She kept calling him Captain. Witch hunter. Never Casrian. He wanted her to call him Casrian. She probably knew it and withheld it from spite.
“Time for your lesson.”
She frowned as he climbed to his feet. He held out a hand for her, but she ignored it, rolling to a crouch and gathering up her blanket. “What lesson?”
“I promised to show you how to use your knife.”
She glanced at her boots, the sheath sticking out of the one on the right. It looked ready to fall out. She grimaced. “That was just talk. You don’t have to do it.”
“I have you out here in the middle of the Black Woods hunting a witch. The least I can do is teach you how to defend yourself.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I always keep my promises.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I can defend myself. I’ve been defending myself for years. Besides, I have my bow too, and I’m better at that.”
“The only reason we’re here is because you were hunting a doe and missed your shot.”
“I hit the doe.” Her nose scrunched up. “Just not exactly where I wanted to.”
“You’ll want to reach for the bow first out here. It’s always better to keep as much distance as possible between yourself and the threat. But you need to know how to use the knife too.”
It would make him feel better once they parted ways knowing that she actually knew how to use a blade if she insisted on carrying one around. Maybe she could cut the fingers off some of those groping hands. Just the thought of someone like George pawing at her sent a spike of fury through him. She didn’t want his fury any more than she wanted his comfort, so he kept it to himself. But he could give her this—a way to defend herself in the future.
She didn’t look happy about the prospect of a predawn knife lesson. Before she could think up another argument, he took the blanket from her hands. “Go clean up. I’ll finish packing. Meet me in the clearing when you’re done.”
He indicated a spot past the horses. They wouldn’t need much room. He mostly wanted to see what he had to work with.
She actually growled at him before turning away and moving toward the creek. Her gait was stiff from riding all day yesterday,but she was moving. She didn’t complain about it. She didn’t complain about much.
She was tougher than most of the soldiers he’d known.
The blade work would help loosen her muscles too, which was another reason he thought it was worth the lost sleep. He could smell the liniment on her, but she still had to be sore. They’d need to take more frequent breaks today so she could stretch her legs.
He watched the spot where she’d disappeared into the trees while he broke down camp. He threw dirt over what was left of the fire, rolled up her blanket, and tied her bag to the saddle. By the time she returned, it was done.
He followed her to the clearing, shrugged out of his coat, and hung it on a branch. Rowan spun around to face him, holding out her empty hands. “We should just get going. I’m not going to get into a knife fight in the middle of the woods.”
“You never know.” He stalked toward her, slowly. “You can pretend I’m a bear if it helps motivate you.”
The edge of her mouth curled up. “You’d make for a pathetic bear. Scrawny with patchy fur and blunt teeth.”
Scrawny? He snapped his teeth at her. “Try me, angel.”
He circled her, noting the way she followed the movement. Even with her bruised hip, she moved smoothly. She was light on her feet and well-proportioned. But she was small. The top of her head barely came up to his chin and she had no bulk to her. Her hands were strong at least.
