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Fool. What a fool. And she—a truth-searching, soul-seeking, loins-heating vixen. She should be stopped. She’d never win the deal anyway.

“I will show you,” Andor said. “Do not dare to manipulate me like that. Be ready. Protect yourself.”

He launched at her and she parried, his sword sliding away from her. He came again and again, metal ringing against metal, but she deflected him every time with surprising strength. She attacked him, and he staggered back. She would have unarmed him if he had not held his sword with enough strength.

“Arghh!” she yelled as she came at him now with full force, her face distorted with battle fury.

A Valkyrie.

She could take him. The ghosts banged and shouted against the door.

If only you kept your promise, we would be alive. You might have a son by now. You could hold your wife in your arms. Your father would never have allowed this to happen. He always put his people before his own selfishness.

No.

Silence!

Andor could not allow her to win. If he talked to her, the ghosts would be out in the open.

Fear, guilt, shame came howling—to protect him, to haunt him, to keep him down.

He roared and attacked from the side.

When his blade met the resistance of her flesh, he stopped and withdrew right away. He was not fighting an enemy. He was fighting the woman he—

Loved.

She screamed and fell to her knees.

Andor tossed aside his sword and rushed to her, fighting her arms away to look at what he had done to her.

“Get away!” she yelled. “Get your hands off me.”

He knelt by her side, watching helplessly as she pulled away her cloak and lifted her tunic to look at her side. There was a shallow slash against the lower, softer side of her waist. The wound was clean and not deep.

“That does not need to be sutured,” Andor said, his hands itching to bandage it. The wound was bleeding, but it was not a threat to her life…unless she got a rot-wound. Still, guilt weighed on him and tore his chest apart. “Let me bandage it, at least.”

“No, stay away from me,” she said, furious. “Let me bandage it, at least,” she mocked.

She pushed down the tunic and belted it.

“Congratulations.” She stood and picked up her sword. “You won. Rejoice in being a cowardly jerk, running away from the life you could have. We will remain silent until we reach York and then part ways forever. I shouldn’t have involved myself with you anyway. I can’t believe I betrayed Brad with you. Forgot about him because of you while he is lying in a hospital bed, about to wake up at any moment. He deserves better than this. I’ll go clean this. Do not dare follow me.”

With that, she snatched up her hat, which had fallen off during their fight, and walked into the woods.

Andor watched her leave. Should he go after her? Talk about it?

No. He had just silenced the ghosts. Even they could not stand seeing him harm her like that.

His feet were frozen to the ground, and his heart beat against his ear drums. And for the first time in his life, Andor felt like a coward.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The sun was setting when Cathy started to make her way back to the camp.

She couldn’t stand being near Andor until she’d had time to calm down. She had cleaned the wound with icy cold water from the stream and done yoga and meditation despite her side aching. Andor had actually hurt her. If his blade had cut any deeper, she would have been in serious trouble. She’d thought they’d only train, not try to kill each other.

Why had he done that? Did he want to make a point that he couldn’t give a shit about her and that he could even harm her?