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Briar realized then that it was interest, excitement. He found her behavior curious, but he was enjoying it. Well she would show him!
Briar made a lunge at him, never intending to connect. He froze, eyes widening with surprise.
“You are bold, demoiselle.”
“I will fight you if I must.” She waved the sword blade in front of his nose, but he didn’t even flinch.
“You will not hurt me.”
He said it with such surety her temper boiled.
“You are wrong! I am more than happy to slice you end to end, de Vessey!”
He grinned. His eyes gleamed. There was no hiding their expression now. She was challenging his male strength and superiority, and he liked it. Jesu! He liked it…
Her concentration slipped, and before she knew it he had snaked out his hand and covered hers; they gripped the sword hilt together. His grip was relentless. He smiled into her eyes and slowly, with little effort, he pushed the sword away and down. Briar’s muscles strained against him, arms shaking, but it was no use. The blade tilted until it pointed harmlessly to the ground.
That deep voice murmured in her ear.
“I have enough bruises for now, demoiselle. I beg you will not hurt me.”
He was laughing at her! But Briar had felt his strength, and knew in her fury that he was barely exerting himself, while she was pushing against him with all her might. Time for another approach.
With a shrug of her shoulder, Briar let herself relax, the sword loose in her fingers.
“I did not want to hurt you,” she retorted.
He grinned at her like a boy, and she saw in his eyes that he really was enjoying himself. But not in the manner she had expected. He wanted to kiss her. And more. I want you. She could see it in his eyes. The need thrummed in him, making his body hard, and starting an answering need in her. Her skin heated, her breasts tightened, and that place between her legs ached. And all that from just being close to him! Warily, for her own protection, Briar backed away from him…and put her bare foot into a bowl of breakfast.
The mushy grain squished up between her toes, like warm, soft mud. With a gasp of disgust, Briar leapt forward, and straight into his arms. Ivo caught hold of her, his surprised gaze meeting hers. And then surprise turned to laughter as he realized what had happened, and the laughter burst from him.
Angry and embarrassed, Briar pulled away.
“You are an oaf,” she hissed furiously. “Fight me, you coward! We will see who is the winner here.”
Ivo wiped his eyes. He shouldn’t have laughed. He knew it. But she had looked so funny, standing there with her foot in the bowl. So sweetly funny. Laughter threatened again, but he held it back, and cleared his throat. When he looked up, the younger sister, Mary, was watching him, face slack in amazement. Did men not laugh in her life? Or had the humor simply been beaten out of the Kenton sisters?
Abruptly Ivo lost the urge to laugh. “Briar,” he began, trying for patience, “dress yourself, or do you wish me to carry you off in your shift?”
“I wish nothing of the sort!” she told him furiously. She had that small sword in her hands, and Ivo silently cursed himself for not removing it from her when he had the chance. And she was thrusting it at him, as if she fully intended to fight him.
The blade did look sharp and well polished, despite its lack of size. She had obviously been taught to use it, but would she? Even when she was in a temper, like now? Would she really hurt him? Ivo did not think so, but as his own temper flared up, he decided that if she wanted to play at soldier, then he would oblige.
Slowly, watching her eyes, he drew his own sword from its scabbard.
A flicker of unease lit the hazel of her eyes, a moment of doubt, but she subdued it, adjusting and tightening her grip on her weapon. Aye, she was brave. Foolish, mayhap, but no coward, he would give her that. Did she really think to best a man like him, who had been fighting mock battles since he was eight? And with that puny weapon? He was a big man, and his weapon reflected it. With intimidating ease, he raised his own sword in front of him, and the firelight caused the green stone eyes of the griffin to gleam and the mighty blade to catch fire.
Briar held her ground, but now he could see the tremor in her hands. Slowly, giving her plenty of time, he brought his blade down in a sweeping arc, and she stopped him. He could have sliced right through her blocking movement—he was bigger and heavier—but he didn’t, instead swinging his blade to her other side and allowing her to block him there, too.
She smiled, pleased with her small victories. Quickly, she swung at his right, stepping in close. Ivo blocked now, needing to retreat so that he could wield his larger weapon in the small space. The clang of steel was loud. Briar came on, striking out at him again and again. Ivo defended, and with each stroke his admiration for her tactics and her skill grew. Aye, she was good, but not good enough to best him.
Time she realized it.
So quickly she had no chance to stop him, Ivo brought his sword up with a numbing blow, knocking her blade away from him. He reached out, and snatched her weapon from her. He had tossed it aside, far into the shadows, before she could even catch her breath.
She was shocked and dismayed, and mayhap a little humiliated. He had won. But to his surprise, Ivo did not enjoy a sense of victory. He did not like to see her beaten, despite knowing it had needed to be done. Aye, he preferred to allow her her victories over him. But in this matter he could not give way, not even in a mock battle. If Ivo was to be Briar’s protector, then she must trust in his ability to fight for her. And win.
“I suppose you will run me through now, de Vessey.”
