He winks. “You could start with your cotehardie.”
I shake my head at him. “I’m not taking off my clothes, Jasce.”
“What a shame.” He grins, and my stomach flutters. Despite his reputation as a dangerous, ruthless warrior, I am drawn to him. The way his dark hair falls in loose waves around his forehead, and the torchlight skims his chiseled jawline.
But it is his honey-brown eyes that fully captivate me. Especially those gold flecks. They lure me to him, like a moth to flame. I blink and look away, not wanting to be lured.
He tugs on my arm and pulls me out a side door and into a small courtyard with tall hedges bordering the perimeter. A gentle wind follows us as he leads me to a weapon rack and yanks free two wooden swords.
He turns to me and offers me one of the weapons. “I want to train you.”
My brow lifts. “Why?”
“I believe every woman should know how to defend herself.”
Behton’s handsome face flashes through my thoughts as I take a sword from Jasce. Behton said those words to me summers ago. He wanted to make sure I knew how to fight. Of course, my skills are limited, since he never got to spend as much time as he wanted training me. He was too busy fighting Grandfather’s wars, and in the end, it had taken his life.
I swallow through the pain, the sadness, the grief.
“Face me,” Jasce says.
I plant my feet, my heart beating in anticipation. Jasce lifts his sword in a fluid motion, and I mimic the movement, feeling a sense of power coursing through my veins. As he approaches, I hold my ground as my muscles tense, and my focus sharpens.
He swings his sword, and I block it, the impact sending a jolt through my arms. We continue, our swords clashing and ringing out through the empty courtyard.
“You have done this before,” he says.
“Yes.” I see no point in denying it.
“You are full of surprises lately.”
I deflect his quick swipe.
“Good.” Jasce accelerates his strikes, and I struggle to keep up.
“Jasce,” I pant out when he sends me backward with each move until my back is against a post.
“Never allow your enemy to get the upper hand.” He lands a powerful blow against my weapon, and it flies from my hand.
A fierce frown pulls at my mouth as he nods at the weapon.
“Pick it up.”
I shove sticky strands behind my ears. “You’re not being fair.”
“Do you think your enemies will be fair to you?” He nods at the practice sword again. “Pick it up.”
A sigh escapes me as I move to the weapon and pluck it from the ground, but before I can set my feet, he strikes again. I pivot and lose my balance. Dirt kicks into the air as I land in a pitiful heap, and the weapon flies out of my hand. Again.
Something glints behind his stare as he stands over me. “Get your weapon.”
“I could get it if you would stop attacking me.”
He doesn’t speak as I grumble about annoying barbarians and grab the sword. This time when I stand with it in hand, he waits, watching me.
“Why are you so intense?” I shove more sticky strands behind my ears.
He ignores me. “Attack me.”
