"Ye're nae ready for an actual attack. I'm goin' easy," Murdoch grunted as she twirled toward him with another failed blow.
"Stop goin' easy! It willnae beeasywhen yerfamilyis here tae kill me," Morag snarled.
Murdoch's expression darkened and he threw himself forward, swiping hard. Morag gasped as the sword swung easily past her useless parry, and it stopped just at the edge of her neck. Murdoch held it there, glaring coldly at her, his blade a breath from her throat.
"Be careful what ye say," he warned.
Her pulse was thumping and her knuckles were white around her sword's hilt, but she did not pull back from her taunt. Ducking out of the way of his blade, she danced backward and declared, "Ye're a coward. A coward! Who kent that the great Murdoch Campbell could be brought tae his knees by a woman!"
"If I were a coward I'd kill ye now for yer insolence!" Murdoch snapped back. "Perhaps aCampbellwould, but ye've ruined that already, havenae ye? Aye, I'm afraid—afraid of hurtin' ye. Afraid that if I push too hard, ye'll bleed out before the sun rises."
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Morag stared into his eyes and saw someone she hadn't seen before. This man wasn't the liar and the spy she had been sent to discover. He wasn't Murdoch Campbell, the bloodthirsty son of the equally bloodthirsty laird. This was someone different, someone gentle and kind, someone entirely different.
A memory forced its way into her mind, ringing in her ears.
The maid, Kenna, chatted eagerly with her warrior sister, Slaine, while Morag passed them on her way to find Rolland.
"The brother sounds wonderful," Kenna gushed. "Christopher. She says he's too serious but has the kindest heart she's ever kent. Do ye think she'll introduce me?"
"Keep dreamin'," Slaine teased. "Besides, we've all seen the way ye look at the village boys when they visit."
"Nae as easily as Rolland has with—oh, good day, Miss Caindach. Forgive us for gettin' in the way."
Morag had swept past them, furious at the implication of Rolland's affection, but all she could think of now were the words Elsie had claimed about her brother. Too serious, but also too kind.
Something stirred within her, so violently that her careful armor threatened to crack. She could not allow that, nor could she allow the way her nerves pushed at her to reach out, to findout if it was truly Murdoch or Christopher who stood before her now. She could not allow herself to care. Morag pushed the feeling down, locking it away in the deepest part of herself, bringing the coldness back to protect her.
"If ye dinnae help me, I'll tell everyone what I ken. I'll tell themeverythin'!" she threatened.
Murdoch's eyes widened, and Morag flinched when she saw the lost look of hurt that flashed across his face. Before the guilt could overwhelm her, though, Murdoch's mask returned fully and he growled out a frustrated curse.
"Fine. Ye want me full power? Prepare yerself," he snarled, then threw himself forward.
His attacks were fast and fierce, and Morag caught a few tiny cuts across her shoulders before she was able to raise her own sword to parry. As he set upon her with a relentless volley, he shouted instructions.
Move this way. Control your breathing. Brace yourself.
She followed every one of his orders religiously, putting everything she had into defending against his attacks, looking for any opening to attack back. He gave her none; true to his word, he was relentless in his fighting, but with his instructions, Morag was at last able to match his rhythm.
The deadly beat grew furious and fast, and though Morag fought back awkwardly, she found a new kind of power drawing into her limbs with every step. Her years of being silenced and underestimated sang through her veins, and she moved with renewed determination, fighting as hard as her untrained body would allow. Her arms stung from many tiny cuts, but she ignored them, driving herself forward more and more, refusing to back down.
The sun was rising when her body finally failed and her arms sagged from the weight of the weapon. Her knees gave out, andMurdoch's arms were there, catching her carefully and gently removing the sword from her hands.
"We've got tae stop makin' a habit of this," he said as he helped her back to her feet.
Morag glanced up tiredly to respond with a wicked retort, but the words died on her lips as she saw how close they were standing. His hands were on her waist, keeping her steady, and her own hands rested on his chest for balance. They were both breathing hard, and as their eyes met, something shivered in the air.
Heat rose between them and within her own blood as she remembered the last time they'd stood this close together, their breath mingling, their skin touching. Her body yearned to be pulled closer, their lips to find each other's again, the echo of the kiss overwhelming her. It would be so, so easy to close the gap. So easy to find out how it felt to kiss him properly and to be kissed in return without the threat of danger right around the corner.
Instead, she pushed back, breaking the embrace and metaphorically dumping coldness upon the rising flame. She turned her back so that he could not see her face.
"We're done for the night. We only have a few hours left tae rest before the rest of the castle wakes. I suggest ye use them."
Murdoch made a small sound that was probably an affirmation. He moved to put the swords back on the rack, and Morag tracked him with her eyes, though when he looked back, she quickly looked away again.
"I'll meet ye here at midnight again. Dinnae leave me waitin'," Morag said, her throat tight.
"I wouldnae dream of it," Murdoch said hoarsely.
