“What’s my weakness, Breena?” he asked, his voice less instructional but low and husky.
Their gazes clashed.
“I can’t see any.”
“Then you’re wrong. I’m tall, so that leaves my legs exposed. I’m big, so once I’m off balance…that’s a disaster. And I’m a man.”
Deliciously so.
“And all men are vulnerable in one spot. Do you know what that is?”
She shook her head.
“Between my legs.”
She knew what lay between his legs. Couldn’t miss the hard male flesh as he stood watching her dress two days ago at the lake. Stood guard, more like. Flashes of what she’d seen stole in her mind at the most inappropriate of times, and refused to be driven out.
“A knee or a good swift kick will bring most men down, and give you a chance to escape. And, Breena?”
“Yes?”
“Trust me, do not wait to see if he falls. Just get out of there.”
This mysterious place on a man was growing more and more interesting.
“But most men are protective of that area. You’ll really only get just one chance at him, so make it count. Connect.”
A twig snapped, and Breena turned her head. Bernt and Torben were crouched behind a bolder, watching them.
“It looks like we have some company,” she remarked with a grin.
Osborn rubbed the back of his neck. “Judging by the sun, they’ve been there for some time.”
Breena glanced at him in surprise.
“You must always be aware of your surroundings. What’s hiding in the distance. Who’s hiding. Where the ground is loose and rocky. Your position to the sun. An opponent with bright sunlight in his face is at a disadvantage. You can lose your footing easily on an uneven field. The time and place of the fight is almost as important as your weapon and skill.”
She’d never doubt her magic again. Her powers had provided quite a warrior.
“What about our two spectators?” she asked, angling her head in the boys’ direction.
His face turned grim, and his shoulders slumped as if weighted.
“How old were you when, uh, you became responsible for them?” she asked.
“Fifteen, maybe fourteen. It seems like a different life—” his voice was a tired sigh “—the childhood I had was something distant. As if it didn’t happen, and was just a story like those stories you enjoy telling.”
When her brothers turned fifteen, the king rode with them daily, supervised their study in the classroom and on the mock battlefield. What kind of men would her brothers have turned out to be without the guidance of their parents? Her heart constricted for little Micah. Still so young, and with no one. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
She had to get to him. Find him soon.
Breena remembered why her magic drew Osborn to her, as well. He definitely needed her, and so did his brothers.
“Maybe you can ask them to join us,” she suggested, her voice light as a gentle wind, so her proposal wouldn’t seem so monumental.
Osborn stared at her for a few moments, but his thoughts were not on her. With another of those heavy sighs, he whistled. The two boys stood, appearing plenty guilty and a little worried.
“Do you want to learn how to fight?” he asked.
Two heads nodded enthusiastically.
“Grab a stick.”
Bernt gave her a tentative smile when he stepped beside her, stick in hand. “Thanks,” he whispered.
“He knew it was time. He just needed a push.”
“If the courtly manners class is over, we’ll go back to sword fighting,” Osborn called loudly.
There. That’s how she remembered her brothers teasing and talking with each other. It was good to hear, and her heart lightened for the first time.
THAT EVENING, OSBORN LED three exhausted would-be warriors back to the cottage. The night air had turned chilly on their walk, and once inside Breena removed the protective metal screen on the hearth, stirred the embers and added a log. Then she sank onto the rug before the fireplace, closing her eyes as she went.
Even Bernt and Toren stumbled to the bedroom, too tired to eat—an occurrence he’d never seen once since his brothers entered their second decade of life. They were on their own, but Breena…that was a different matter. She was unused to this kind of physical activity, and while he knew he must push her, she didn’t have to suffer.
With quiet steps, Osborn crossed to the kitchen and began cutting up an apple. He grabbed a piece of the dark rye bread he’d bought at one of the village booths after Breena had remarked that the wares smelled particularly delightful.
Breena lay in a ball on the rug, a strand of her blond hair across her cheek. Dirt smudged her forehead, and her soft skin was pink from her exertion of the past several hours.
And he’d never seen anything more desirable.
The mystical woman who floated into dreams as he slumbered was ethereal and perfect.
The Breena in real life was far from perfect. Her nails were ragged from her wandering in the wilderness. Her palms growing callused from her work with a stick and finally a sword. And although he knew she was raised to be a gentle lady, he suspected a temper, only needing an excuse to flare, lurked beneath the surface…?.
Osborn wanted to give her that excuse. To be exactly who she was meant to be. And very definitely have the freedom of his body. Explore him until her curiosity ran out and his took over.
He’d spent hours of his daytime thinking on this woman who haunted his nights. Now, after meeting her and touching her supple skin, kissing her inviting lips and holding her welcoming curves against him, he knew she would torment him forever.
She burned to avenge her family. In many ways, she was not unlike him. Only the thought of killing the butchers of his family kept him sane. That and knowing he must keep his brothers alive.
Was he doing the right thing in training her?
He didn’t even have to search for the answer. It was a quick no. He thought of his mother and his little sister. If they had been the ones to escape and were alone and doing whatever it was they could to see another day, he’d hope someone would help them. Breena needed his help, and all Osborn knew how to do was fight. So he had to train her.
He slid down next to Breena on the floor. The rug was more comfortable than he’d expected and the fire warmed his cheeks. She stirred beside him, scooting closer to him in her sleep. Osborn gently shook her on the shoulder, and her eyelids fluttered open.
“I brought you something to eat.”
“Too tired,” she said, closing her eyes, and resting her head on his thigh. The berserkergang roused, but he willed himself not to react.
He smoothed the hair away from her face, not wanting to move, but knowing she had to take care of herself. “Eat just a few bites. Tomorrow will be even harder, and you’ll need to keep up your strength. Come on, I’ll feed you.”
With a groan, Breena pushed herself into a sitting position. She stretched out beside him touching hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. He felt his body harden at her touch. She smelled of warm breezes and hard work. The scent was heady.
Osborn reached for a bit of apple. “Open.”
Breena dutifully opened her mouth. The first time she didn’t argue. Or raise some kind of a counterpoint. Or make some kind of difficult suggestion.
She doesn’t challenge you when she’s in your arms.
Oh, yes, she did. It was just a different kind. One he relished.
He managed to get three more bites fed to Breena, then her eyes drooped again, and he knew her body demanded sleep over food. Her head slumped on his shoulder. He shifted his arm to get her into a more comfortable position, and she snuggled close against him.