“So ye must aim for the slits of the armor. Like I said, for the eyes, throat, nose, groin, and knee. The solar plexus will be unreachable if they are in armor. Aye?”
The blood drained from Kate’s face. Was she seriously going to stab a human? On the other hand, some of those humans had no problem slapping her and almost raping her.
“The trick I’m goin’ to show ye will be useful if yer enemy doesna have the armor, aye?”
Kate nodded, her hands shaking.
“If they grab yer wrist, remember the ‘rule of thumb.’ Rotate yer arm in the direction of the enemy’s thumb. Then pull yer arm back and ye’ll be free. Let’s try.”
Ian grasped Kate’s wrist, but, panicked, she forgot what direction to turn it.
“Here.” Ian gestured to Kate’s left.
“Oh.” She rotated her arm, feeling awkward and useless.
“Good. Now pull it.”
She pulled and freed her hand.
“Good,” Ian said. “Dinna fash yerself. Ye wilna become a warrior in one evening. But ye will learn some movements to help ye.”
“Okay.”
They continued training, and Ian showed her how she could hit the attacker with her elbow if they were on her side and how to hit them with her forehead and then into their solar plexus if they were in front of her.
“Ye need to bend yer knees like that, then put yer free arm vertically, like that, in front of yer body to protect the vital organs. Also, ye’ll be able to move more.” He jumped back and to the side to demonstrate.
“Ye remember the weak points: throat, eyes, groin?”
He bent his knees and stabbed upwards from a crouched position. He made her try it. Her whole being protested against hurting another person.
They would come after you. Or worse, after Ian. Be strong.
Kate repeated the moves diligently, praying that she wouldn’t need to use them. Ian showed her what to do if someone kicked her, if someone launched at her, if someone stabbed at her from above.
By the time they finished Kate was exhausted, not just from the physical exercise but from the mental images of what those stabs, kicks, and cuts would mean.
Potentially, taking someone’s life.
But no matter how gruesome the prospect of that was, Kate would breathe easier knowing there was something she could do to defend herself, so that Ian wouldn’t put himself at risk worrying about her. And maybe to defend Ian if she had to.
Chapter 24
An icy splash of water hit Ian in the face, together with the pungent scent of the sea. The cold drops cut across his burning skin, and he opened his eyes to the gray sky. He lay wrapped in furs and blankets. The floor beneath him sank and rose, over and over. Around him, men sat among barrels watching the coast.
His chest hurt, torn apart.
He was going to be sold into slavery, Ian realized.
He was going to kill many, many men to survive. They were going to make a monster out of him.
No.
He had to stop them before they got to the shore.
He stretched his arms with an effort, pain piercing him, but the tangle of blankets and furs kept him in place like a cocoon. He wriggled, suppressing groans of agony. The dressing on his chest slipped away, and the rough wool of the blanket rubbed against the wound. It felt as if swarms of furious hornets stung him in the chest.
But it was the pain that gave him strength and set him free.
He roared and tore the cocoon off. The men looked at him, surprised.
But he didn’t need to concern himself with them.
Just the captain.
Ian stood in the bottom of the ship. The angry sea pushed and played with the vessel. Ian held on to the main mast and saw the captain.
He was at the bow, staring, waiting. On weak legs, Ian made his way through the sacks, the caskets, and the barrels. Through other slaves who lay helpless.
If he could only kill that captain, just that one person, he’d never go to Baghdad, he’d never be a cold-blooded killer. And once he met Kate, he could just be happy with her.
If he only killed this one person, his life would be completely different.
The ship careened left, then right, splashes of seawater shocking him.
“Ye bastart,” Ian spat, balancing on the escaping floor. “Ye wilna take me to slavery.”
The captain removed his dagger, the same dagger Ian had given Kate.
“I will kill ye, even though I’m unarmed.”
He roared and launched himself. The dagger swooshed past his side. Ian blocked the captain’s hand and kicked the man to the floor. The dagger fell and slid across the ship towards the center. Ian straddled the captain and wrapped his fingers around the man’s throat.
The captain’s neck was surprisingly thin, the skin soft. His fingers tightened around it and he pressed. The captain’s eyes bulged.
“Ian,” he choked. “Ian…”
The beard disappeared. The gray hair replaced by long, silky golden tresses. Red, weathered skin turned fair and smooth.
“Ian,” Kate’s voice croaked. “Stop. Wake up.”
He blinked.
And he was no longer in the sea. No longer on the ship. The cloth of a small tent was on both sides of him. The light of the fire outside played against it.
His hands weren’t wrapped around the captain’s throat. He was strangling Kate.
With an appalled expression, Ian loomed over her. He withdrew his hands and rolled off her.
“Katie.” He knelt before her. “Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, are ye all right?”
Her throat tight, the horror of suffocating chilling her body, she crawled back into the other corner of the tent, as far away as possible. Her neck and throat hurt, feeling raw and bruised. She rubbed her neck.
“I’m okay,” she croaked. “What was that? Did you have a nightmare?”
He looked so lost and forlorn. But it didn’t diminish the very real death she’d seen before her when he’d suddenly rolled on top of her with a wild stare and clasped his strong hands
