She tried again, this time lowering her chin and throwing her whole shoulder into the blow. The motion nearly turned her sideways. She looked incredibly absurd and determined, and he found that annoyingly pleasing.
“I daenae sound like that, do I?” he asked, announcing his presence.
Violet jerked around so sharply that her loose hair slipped over one shoulder.
“Can people start announcing their presence around here?” she snapped, pressing one hand to her chest.
“Ye were training.”
“I waspreparing.”
Connor walked toward her, taking in her stance, her lifted chin, the way embarrassment had brought color to her face without driving her from the yard. He caught her wrist before she could decide whether to step back.
Violet stiffened. “Are ye going to begin every lesson by grabbing me?”
“The first rule ye need to ken,” Connor said, pulling her just close enough that she had to plant her feet. “Stop thinking and react to what yer senses tell ye.”
“I am thinking because ye keep grabbing me.”
“Good. Then think faster.”
He released her and stepped around behind her. She turned too quickly, her eyes going to his hands first and then his feet. At least she was watching more than his face now.
“A stronger man wants ye pulling away,” he said. “That gives him yer weight.”
“So I should walk into him?” she asked, suspicion plain in her voice.
He cocked his head, almost like he was considering the answer for quite a long minute. “Into the angle he doesnae expect.”
She looked down at her feet and then back at him. “That sounds like madness.”
“Aye. Effective madness.”
He reached for her wrist again, slower this time. She tensed before contact, and he tightened his grip.
“Look at me shoulder,” he said, “nae me hand. The hand lies late, but the shoulder… it tells ye sooner.”
Violet’s gaze lifted, focused and sharp, and Connor moved again. This time, she pulled straight back, but he easily held her still.
Her mouth flattened. “I dislike this lesson.”
“A lot of people dislike being wrong.”
“Do ye ken any other teaching style?”
“Aye,” Connor said, his tone casual. “Pain.”
She glared at him. “Charming.”
“Twist toward the thumb,” he said, turning her wrist just enough to show the weakness in his hold. “Daenae fight the whole hand. Find the gap.”
Violet tried again. This time, she twisted in the right direction, though she was too late. He corrected her elbow with two fingers and shifted her shoulder with his palm.
The action made her breath catch. He felt it and chose not to notice. That was difficult with her standing close enough for him to see the pulse beating at her throat and the stubborn set of her mouth.
“Again,” he instructed.
“Really?”
