He picked up the axe and placed it in her hands. The weight surprised her, pulling her arms downward.
“Grip it firm,” he instructed, stepping behind her. His chest brushed her back as he adjusted her stance.
Her breath hitched at the contact.
“Like this?” she asked, trying to focus on the task. His hands closed over hers, large and warm, guiding her fingers into place. “Aye, just so,” he murmured near her ear.
The closeness stole her composure more surely than any kiss might have. She felt every inch of him aligned with her, solid and protective. “Ye’re tremblin’,” he noted quietly.
“I am nae,” she lied.
He shifted her feet apart with a gentle nudge of his boot. “Balance, Arianna,” he said. “Let the strength come from yer shoulders.”
She swallowed as his hands slid to her waist, steadying her.
“Ye daenae make this easy,” she muttered.
“It’s wood we’re choppin’, lass, nae virtue.”
Her face flamed deeper at that.
“Lift it high,” he instructed, guiding her arms upward. The stretch arched her back against him. She felt the hard line of his body and nearly forgot to breathe.
“Now bring it down swift,” he said. Together they swung the axe. It struck the log with a sharp crack, splitting it cleanly.
The force jolted through her arms, but his hands kept her steady. “There,” he said, pride threading his voice. “Ye did it.”
She laughed breathlessly, surprised by her own delight.
“I had help,” she said.
He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear without quite touching. “We’ll call it teamwork.”
She turned her head slightly, and their faces hovered inches apart. “Ye’re enjoyin’ this far too much,” she accused softly.
She watched the corner of his mouth tug into a mischievous smirk.
“Again,” he urged, resetting the log. She raised the axe, and he guided her once more, slower this time. His touch lingered, not necessary but deliberate.
“Ye’re strong,” he said against her hair. “Stronger than ye think.” The praise warmed her more than the exertion. She felt seen in a way she had not expected.
When the axe fell again, the wood split neatly. She gasped in triumph, turning to him with shining eyes. He looked at her as though she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“Still angry?” he asked quietly. She considered the question honestly.
“Less so,” she admitted.
“Good,” he said, brushing a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered against her skin, rough yet gentle. “I’d rather see that fire turned toward me than against me.”
Her heart pounded at the boldness of that statement. “Ye may regret sayin’ that,” she warned. His eyes darkened, not with menace but with desire carefully leashed. “I doubt it,” he replied.
They stood in silence for a moment, the split logs at their feet evidence of shared effort. The tension between them was no longer sharp with anger but thick with promise. Ian stepped back. She looked at him, trying to hide her disappointment at the sudden space between them.
Arianna realized, with a flutter both frightening and sweet, that she wanted to know what would happen if he ever stopped stepping back.
The next evening, Arianna walked the long stone corridors of Castle McGuire. Torches flickered along the walls, casting wavering shadows that seemed to dance with her thoughts.
I wonder what Ian will teach me next?
