“Is it because I told ye I didn’t want to be yer leman?” She stepped closer. “I don’t want to be a leman. I enjoy being a warrior, but we could still be together. And if we are discreet, no one will ever know.”
She reached for him, but he shook his head. Her hand paused midair, and her fingers curled inward to the safety of her palm as her arm lowered.
“It isna that.” He sighed. “I have to wed. Someone who will help my clan.”
Her stare hardened. “Is this where ye ask me to be yer mistress?”
“Nay,” he replied vehemently. “I wouldna ever ask that of ye. Nor can I allow what is happening between us to go on knowing I couldna give ye all of me, that I would eventually have to take a wife.”
“Eventually,” she repeated. “But not now?”
He nodded.
“What if it is years away?” she asked. “Will ye live like a monk?”
“I dinna think I’m the monk type.” He tried to give a smile, but it broke under the weight of his responsibility.
“So ye would find others to slake yer lust…” She swallowed and looked angrily away. “But not me?”
The pain in his chest burned like the heart of a fire, and her words were the air blowing upon it, making it glow with heat.
“I canna trust myself with ye,” he said.
She lifted her head. “I don’t know what that means.”
He took her face in his hands, marveling at the silkiness of her skin, the fierce determination glittering in her lovely pale blue eyes and that sweet, sweet scent he wanted to lose himself in. He memorized every delicate freckle that dotted the bridge of her nose and the shape of her delicious mouth.
“I dinna think I could have ye without losing my heart,” he admitted.
Tears swelled in her eyes. “So ye’d rather not have me at all?”
“I’m so sorry, my Kinsey.” He brushed his thumb over her chin. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not yer Kinsey.” She stepped away, withdrawing from his touch, then stiffly turned from him and departed his tent.
He released a long, slow exhale, not that it made him feel a bit better.
There.
It was done.
Except even if it was the right thing to do, it felt so horribly wrong. The ache in his chest widened, splitting into a chasm in his heart.
He had lost Kinsey forever.
* * *
Sieges proved to be exceedingly dull. One had little to do but sit and wait. And think.
The latter was what brought Kinsey the greatest torment. The thinking.
Her mind tangled with her heart and somehow left her stomach twisting with an anxious unease she did not like. It took the flavor from food and stretched minutes into hours. Nothing could abate the ache lodged in her chest.
In the drag of days that followed, the remainder of the king’s armies slowly trickled in after having many successful raids. Their stories left a foul taste in her mouth, and she turned a deaf ear to them, preferring her own company or that of the men of her own army.
Her melancholy only grew worse, no matter how much she tried to force herself to distraction. She practiced archery but found her mind still prodding at the wound of rejection. She’d even tried her hand at learning how to fight with a sword, a poor decision if ever there was one, for it attracted William’s attention.
He watched her as she swung the ungainly weapon, sweat damp on her brow despite the November chill. They all repeated the same lunge and thrust move over and over, but his focus remained locked on her. At least, until he strode toward the group, heading directly for her.
The slam of her heart echoed in her ears and practically rattled her ribs. Not that she gave him any indication she’d even noticed him.
She continued on as if he didn’t exist, as if he were not shattering her entire world with his impending presence. Her hands locked more tightly on the hilt in an attempt to still their trembling, and her gaze trained on an invisible enemy.
“Ye’re using too much force,” he said.
She steeled herself for his presence and turned to face him. The pain in her chest squeezed into an agony that almost robbed her of breath.
She tilted her head at an angle, feigning a disinterest she did not think she could ever feel. “I beg yer pardon?”
“If ye fight against the weight, ye’ll tire too quickly.” He withdrew his sword as though it weighed nothing. “Use the heft of the blade to help yer attack.”
His blade swooped through the air, sailing downward with ease. During practice, he’d pushed up his sleeves, and the muscles along his forearms flexed beneath his sun-golden skin. Powerful, masculine strength that had once held her through the night, which had once so lovingly touched her in the most intimate places.
She shoved the thought violently away, but its sting was not as easily removed.
Mimicking his motions, she swung the blade up and let its bulk drag it downward.
He nodded. “Aye. ’Tis much better. This time, tighten yer grip on yer hilt.” He lifted his weapon in demonstration.
She tried to copy him, but he shook his head.
“May I?” He stepped closer, and all the air around Kinsey sucked away, leaving her head spinning.
If she declined, he would know the emotions roiling inside her. Despite her desire not to, she nodded her head.
He came behind her, and that familiar, spicy scent of him splashed over the wound inside her chest like the sharpest vinegar. His hands reached over hers, repositioning them on the hilt.
Mayhap it was her imagination, but his touch was tender. The way it had been under different circumstances.
He spoke as he instructed her, but she did not hear his words. Instead, their conversation played out in her mind.
I canna trust myself with ye.
I dinna think I could have ye without losing my heart.
A knot swelled at the back of her throat.
“Kinsey.”
She looked up at
