Page 32 of Taken By the Exiled Laird

She arched an eyebrow. "That would require ye havin' a heart. Or, at least, one ye werenae tryin' tae hide from everyone. Then again, I think I may be one of the few who's seen it." Her voice softened. "Ye gave that lassie the means tae protect herself and her brother yesterday. It was wonderful. Help me learn tae defend meself as well."

Something in his chest ached at the earnestness in her voice and written all over her face. He placed one of the knives in her hand, transfixed, then moved behind her, placing his hands gently on her hips. She leaned into him instantly, shifting under his guidance so easily that it was almost like a dance.

"Stand like this," he instructed, guiding her into the right position. His hand traveled up her side to touch her elbow, positioning her arm, inadvertently standing closer to her in the process. The air between them was like the heat before a storm, the electricity crackling and drawing him in. As he leaned over to move her more, the words escaped his lips without him even realizing it until they were already said. "Ye look so bonny in that dress. More beautiful than the woods themselves."

Her body stiffened against him, and his own thrummed in response. If she turned and kissed him now, he'd be lost. If she moved into his arms, if she let him hold her, he'd surrender to whatever he'd been fighting against, and nothing else would matter.

But she didn't. Instead, she raised her arm and threw the knife. It went far too wide, missing the tree by a good few feet. Briana cursed, and Theon smiled slightly, offering her another knife.

"Again," he said.

She threw again, and though she hit the tree this time, it was still far from the target. "Damn it!" she exclaimed.

"That's hardly ladylike," he teased.

"Help me," she ordered.

He gave her another knife then cupped her hand with his. She pressed back against him, their bodies close together, and they moved as one as they threw. The knife sailed through the air and hit the center of the target.

"Oh!" Briana exclaimed. She jumped away from him, dancing a silly little dance as she cheered. "I did it! Did ye see?! I did it!"

Theon laughed. Briana ran toward him and grabbed his hands, her eyes sparkling. "Ye did it," he agreed.

She smiled up at him as he ran his thumb over her palms. Coyly, she asked, "What's me reward?"

"Well…" he started, leaning forward.

But he paused as his thumbs found the hard calluses on her hands, roughness that had no right to exist on the supposedly soft hands of a lady. He pulled her hand forward, flipping it to look, tracing the calluses with his finger. "What is this?" he asked, his mind back on the scars. "Briana, what⁠—"

The mood shattered, the heat dissipating from the air in an instant. She yanked her hands away and abruptly turned her back on him. "Thank ye for the lesson. I should be gettin' back," she said in a clipped voice.

"Wait—!"

But it was too late. She'd walked away from him yet again, and she didn't turn or look back.

Theon stared after her, then groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep saying and doing the wrong thing? Did he even know what the right thing meant anymore?

Grumbling to himself, he moved to retrieve the knives from the tree. More than that, what was he missing? Something about this whole thing made no sense. The scars, the callouses, the coldness she showed whenever he asked… Briana was supposed to be a spoiled daughter of a cold laird, a vapid, pampered tool he could use to get what he needed for his family.

And yet, and yet, there was no denying it—this girl did not fit the role she was meant to play.

If it continued like this, if he continued like this, the whole story was going to come crumbling down around them.

Chapter Fourteen

Another week passed, and Briana found herself uncomfortably comfortable with the new routine of her life. She enjoyed laughing with Graeme and sharing secrets with Noah. She enjoyed training with Theon, flirting with him, fighting with him, arguing with him—just being around him.

She was even getting used to Keir, who seemed to have moved on from completely despising her to just generally tolerating her. She liked showing them how to cook and hearing their stories of how things used to be, and she enjoyed being treated as more or less an equal despite her status as a prisoner. In short, Briana felt at home, and she knew that it was the worst kind of contentment she could ever feel.

She was supposed to want to go home. She was supposed to want to get married.

But when she traveled in the forest with Noah or visited the local villages with Graeme or practiced combat in the woods with Theon, she saw a whole world she hadn't known existed. These people lived outside the cage she'd been raised in, and the more time she spent in their world, the less eager she was to return to her own.

She knew that what the MacKenzies had done was utterly unforgivable, and she would never forget it, but she was also beginning to accept that the other clans of the alliance had not been entirely blameless. How could they be if they treated their own people the way she'd seen? She hadn't fully worked out what it all meant, but she couldn't pretend to herself anymore. She was happier here in this little makeshift rebel base than she had ever been in her life.

One day, it would end. She knew that. But she wasn't ready yet. It wasn't the time to find the full truth or confront her confused loyalties or terrifying, exciting, overwhelming feelings that were fluttering in her heart about Theon.

For now, she sat by the campfire, humming an old tune to herself as she sewed her old dress. It would never be perfect again, but she was sure she could mend it into something presentable. Privately she hoped she could make Theon look at her again the way that he had when she'd stepped forward in her green dress.