Page 27 of Wicked Passions

“I said,” she repeated, challenging Alastair with a haughty raised eyebrow, “let us dance. Callum, I hope you are watching carefully, for I am about to show you how to manage a devilish beast with a burr in his paw.”

The squire scowled and took up his stance. Then he lunged.

Isla delicately sidestepped, easily deflecting his blade with her own. But Alastair wasn’t a fool, and when he turned, he attempted to deceive her with a false cut left before thrusting right. She nodded in approval even as a simple flick of her wrist turned the attack away, her blood heating at the familiar and arousing sound of steel kissing steel. “Better.”

“Don’t you dare be kind,” he snarled. “Pity me at your peril.”

In response, she pointed her sword tip directly at his throat. “I pity no one on the battlefield.”

Again and again, the squire lunged and retreated. What he lacked in honed skill was bolstered by a power she knew all too well: pure stubborn hurt. Alastair had the heart of an ox and would keep trying until injury or his legs collapsed. Each time she parried his blade, and when he began to tire, she performed a downward cut followed by a straight thrust that would have gutted him had she not halted the movement.

Alastair took a shuddering breath, pausing to dash a shirtsleeve against his damp forehead. “I should thank you for allowing my innards to remain beneath skin.”

Isla inclined her head then turned to Callum. “An important lesson. The only place for a wide arc or flourish in swordplay is on the stage with a wooden weapon. On the battlefield they leave your chest and belly exposed for a death thrust. Understand?”

“Yes, lady.”

At last, Alastair became more watchful, using his advantage in height and reach with an admirable downward thrust.

“Ah,” she said as she deflected the blow, her sword shuddering at the impact. “Now you are thinking like a fighter. But still too slow, beast. You wish to conquer me? Move swiftly.”

The angry hurt eased from his face. Now, his eyes glittered like sapphires, a wicked grin lifting his lips as they circled each other. “You invite a conquering, Isla?”

“And what if I did?” she shot back, forcing him to retreat and defend against a flurry of slashing blows before stepping out of his reach. “What if my desire to conquer halts at the bedchamber door, where instead I wish to surrender and be conquered most thoroughly…by not one man, but two?”

Alastair stumbled, his sword clattering to the floor.

Isla winced, not at the sound but at her recklessness. How often had Sir Lachlan scolded her for making her move too soon? Ugh. She’d been so caught in the thrilling dance of learning an opponent, the rasping shriek of clashing blades, the heady scent of sporting sweat and leashed power, that she’d blurted words that could never be unsaid.

She sheathed her sword and leaned it against the wall. “I mean…er—”

“I feel like I’ve learned a great deal today, watching a master swordfighter at her work,” said Callum, clasping his hands. “Telling me is one thing. But you showed me, and I am most grateful. I believe you deserve…a reward.”

“Oh?” she said huskily, her nipples hardening to a point that made the linen binding unbearable.

“I believe the bargain was a sword lesson for a pleasure lesson, Alastair?”

“Aye. And as the lady is the victor, she must decide her spoils.”

Pure excitement swirled. In a world where she often had no choice at all, how marvelous it was to have a voice in her own destiny. And each time, these two men made her feel safe; to explore and learn, to speak openly of her needs and desires, all while remaining free from retribution or unwanted attention.

“I should like kisses,” she said slowly.

“Where?” asked Callum casually, as though they discussed a cloudy sky rather than where on her naked body she wished to have his mouth.

“My lips. My nipples. Oh, and my pearl stroked with two fingers. Also…”

Alastair raised an eyebrow. “Also?”

She folded her arms. “I am the victor, am I not?”

“Aye. Tell us plainly, then.”

“Before…you talked of me on my hands and knees, your fingers tangled in my hair and your thumb in my arse. I should like to know what that feels like.”

There was a brief silence.

Then Alastair’s gaze scorched her from head to foot. “As you desire.”