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Cathy looked up at him, surprised that he was standing in the doorway. Their eyes met for a moment. She was so beautiful he stopped breathing.

But she was not his and never would be.

Before she could ask anything, he turned and walked away.

In the darkening woods, he soon caught two rabbits. He dressed them and took them in for Cathy to put in the stew. The scent in the hut was mouthwatering, and he watched Cathy’s face brighten as she threw herbs in the cauldron.

“There was even salt down there,” she said. “Very crude salt with a bit of dirt, but still.” Her eyes fell on the game. “Oh! Two. Put them in, please.”

When he did as she asked, she said. “All right, now all that’s left is for us to wait.”

Andor looked around. “Please tell me Thor left us a cask of mead in that cellar.”

“Mead? The honey beer? Ah right, that’s what you guys drink. No, unfortunately, no alcohol. Wouldn’t mind a drink, though. But I was thinking, while we wait for food, how about you show me some sword moves?”

Andor chuckled. It was a good way to distract him from the close, warm space, the bed, and her.

“Get your sword,” he said and walked out.

Outside, the night had settled around them, and it was dark—which was good, at least, because it was unlikely they would be spotted from the road.

Andor unsheathed his sword and stood holding it with both hands at shoulder level. Memories of Hvaldalen rushed at him: the green hills, giant mountains, dark forests, and the still mirror of the fjord curving around them. He remembered when his father, Jarl Thorn, taught him sword-fighting for the first time. His younger brother, Bari, who had been only five winters old then, watched him with fascination. Bari had not been a healthy child and had died a few moons later because of a winter fever. The memory carved a hollow feeling in Andor’s chest—of the brother he had never seen grow up, of the home that had burned because of him and stood now empty, charred, and abandoned.

What would his father have said to him?

He would be ashamed of his son running away. He would be ashamed of the son who had failed to protect his woman and his people.

No. Away. He had to get away from those ghosts. He needed to lose himself in action again.

“Stand like this,” he said to Cathy. “Left foot ahead, right foot behind. Hips straight and facing me. Take the sword to your right shoulder, and hold it straight like so. This is a basic movement, a simple strike from above. Bring your sword forward to protect yourself from an unexpected counterattack.”

He demonstrated the action and watched Cathy repeat his movements. He gave an approving nod when she did as he said.

“Step a little to your right so that you are out of your enemy’s line of attack. Now bring down the blade in a straight line and hit your opponent.”

He lowered the sword and touched her gently on her shoulder. She performed the attack.

“Good. You have strong arms and a long reach, and, therefore, an advantage against many people who are short. Now repeat the movement.”

Cathy stepped to her right and swung down the sword without bringing her arms forward enough, which he pointed out to her. He made her repeat the movement several times, each time enjoying the gracefulness of her body, which was beautiful to see but would not do her any favors in battle.

“You are too gentle,” he said. “This is not yoga.”

“Well—”

“No. You must not be afraid to hurt your enemy. This is about life and death.”

The thought of someone much stronger and more skilled than her coming at her made his skin chill.

“Repeat, with more strength, more anger.”

She did, over and over, and he watched her, corrected her. But she continued making the same mistake.

He moved to stand behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and almost drew his hands back from the jolt that ran through him like a wave of heat. Her hips were both firm and soft and nicely rounded. She tensed under his palms and stopped breathing.

He licked his suddenly dry lips and pressed into her hips slightly to guide them to a straight position. “Like so,” he said. He should remove his hands. Now. “Now bring the sword forward.”

She did. She should tell him to take his hands off her.