Graham stopped just before entering the building, craning his neck to examine its massive height and width. “What is this place?” He took a step, still staring up at the building. He’d no’ enter it until he learned more. “And I dinna play. I’m no’ a bairn.” He’d follow her to hell and back. That he already knew. But she’d best be clear and ken him for the man that he was.
“Bairn,” Lilia repeated, frowning as she bounced her fine round butt back against the glass door and held it open even wider. Her brows arched with recognition. “Oh, don’t get all huffy. I call it ‘play’ for lack of a better word.” She rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb toward the darker interior of the building. “I’m betting once you see what I’m talking about, you’ll want to join in. Come on”—her wicked smile returned—“trust me.”
Something about the way she looked when she said those words made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight on end. Aye, but I must admit she makes m’heart pound a wee bit harder. He’d trust her, all right…and that would more than likely be his undoing. He waved her forward. “Lead on, dear lass. Lead on.”
Lilia hitched the wide black strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and spun into the room. “Alberti—over here!” She waved across the great tomb of the place, toward a brightly lit patch of the room farther down the way. Her call echoed up into the heights of the massive beams arched across the ceiling.
God’s beard. Graham stared at the size of the wide beams marching down the sides of the building then curving overhead like the skeleton of a great ship turned upside down. What the hell kind of forge had produced such monstrous pieces of metal? ’Twould take all the smithies in Scotland to hammer out such lengths. His steps pinged and echoed as they walked across the gleaming floor—yellow and looking to be made of wood much akin to the floors in the man Alberti’s home—but how had they achieved such a shining finish?
“ ’Tis about time ye got here, man.” Angus came up behind him, clapping him on the shoulder as he lunged forward with what looked to be a small sword that had never been sharpened. “They want us to help them practice for their wee competition.” Angus stepped back, waggled a bushy brow, then took battle ready stance. “Mistress Vivienne wishes t’learn some of our moooves.”
“What the hell is wrong wi’ ye, man?” Angus was actin’ the fool. “And ye sound like a Highland cow.” Graham took a step back and frowned up and down at Angus’s odd-looking, skintight apparel. “And what the hell are ye wearin’?” He’d left the man to himself but a few hours and he looked as though he’d stuffed his body into a wee lass’s stockings; and he was talking as daft as old Herschel whenever he came down from his mountain after samplin’ the wild herbs.
“These should fit you, my fine man.” Alberti held out a thin pile of neatly folded clothing. “Luckily, one of my taller clients changed his mind after ordering them and I graciously agreed to add them back into my shop’s inventory.” He waited, lifting the stack of black, silky-looking material a bit higher and closer to Graham.
Graham stared down at the clothes then glanced over at Angus, who immediately grinned and smoothed his hand across his barrel chest, proudly patting his own bright blue shirt that would damn near glow in the dark.
“I thank ye.” At least the clothing Alberti offered him wasna colored as though woven for a whore. He dropped the silky pile to the floor, peeled his shirt off over his head, then started to unzip his jeans.
Alarm filled Alberti’s face. “No, no, no!” He scooped the clothes up from the floor, shoved them against Graham’s chest, and turned him toward a stone block wall inset with two shining steel doors. One door had a bright white glyph of a figure in a kilt. The other door had a similar white representation of a figure with no kilt. Alberti pointed to the door with the kiltless glyph. “Through that door is the men’s shower room. You can change in there.”
Men’s shower room. What the hell is a men’s shower room? Graham shrugged. Must be yet another strange facet of this time. As Graham headed that way, the door bearing the simple picture of the kilted figure swung open and Lilia stepped out.
Graham halted, swallowing hard as every nerve ending flashed hot and ready. God a’mighty. What the hell was the woman wearin’? ’Twas more revealing than her clothing on the night they met.
Thick-soled black boots encased her feet and she held one of the dull-edged swords in each hand. Her plump, generous breasts shimmered and strained against the bit of silk binding them, accentuating the bare come to me curve of her waist. Holy Mother o’ God. Her fine arse, round and full, perfect for filling a man’s hands as he buried himself in her heat, swayed and bounced with a mouth-watering wiggle with every step she took. Her blond hair was swept up into a high golden braid that swung back and forth like a gleaming pendulum marking time.
Graham struggled to generate the least bit of wetness back into his suddenly parched mouth. The woman nary needed a sword to stop an enemy. The mere sight of her in that shining black cloth encasing her curves like a second skin was enough to bring any man to his knees and have him begging for mercy—and more.
Lilia pointed one of her swords back at the steel doors. “Hurry and get changed. We’re going to practice in the ring for a bit and then we’ll go out back and work with the horses.” A relaxed smile lit her face as she slid her swords into the sheaths hanging from a bit of strapping hugging low about her fine hips.
Lore a’mighty. I’d give anything to be that bit o’ cloth.
Lilia scrubbed her hands together then clapped them. “Hurry and get changed. When we’re finished working out, I’ve got another surprise for you. I really think you’re gonna like it.”
“Aye.” Graham nodded with a tense jerk. He dare say no more lest he shock the lass with talk of what he truly wished she’d give him. The word “like” wouldna begin to cover it. He forced his gaze away from her delectable curves and walked stiffly to the shower room.
He pushed through the door. The darkened room immediately flooded with bright light. “Sons a bitches!” Graham tensed. What strange magic lit the flameless torches without even touching the wee switch embedded in the wall? The more he discovered the ways of this time, the less comfortable he felt in this worrisome place.
“Mistress Vivienne said ye might need a bit a help with the clothes.” Angus shoved through the door after him, grinning as he folded his arms across his chest and looked around the room. “Can ye imagine the stonemasons it must ha’ took to chip out all these wee squares?”
Graham dumped the clothes atop the long wooden bench balanced atop evenly spaced sets of steel poles embedded in the floor. “I dinna give a rat’s arse about the buildin’ of this strange place.” He shucked his jeans into a pile at his feet then picked up the silky black trews and the strange tunic fitted with narrow straps at the shoulders rather than respectable sleeves. His biggest concern at this particular moment was stuffing his rock-hard cock into the thin bit of silk and putting it on display. He wasna ashamed of his man parts but he didna wish to parade around like a stag rutting for a mate. That wouldna do at all when it came to making the proper impression on the fine Mistress Lilia and wooing her into being his wife.
“Think of Mother Sinclair.” Angus leaned back against one of the many gleaming white basins jutting out from one wall. “That’ll take the bone outta yer willy.”
The mere mention of Mother Sinclair was as effective as a heavy dousing of icy loch water. “Aye…now the problem is keepin’ the bone outta me willy.” Graham yanked on the skintight trews, huffing as he strained to pull them up his muscular legs. “Hell’s balls…these damn things are so swivin’ tight, my cock willna have room t’raise its head.”
Angus yanked down at his own crotch as he squatted up and down. “Nay. The things give. Ye best keep the old woman in yer mind. When Mistress Vivienne took to bouncing about in her wee lovely tights, my cock had no problem at all lifting his head to pay her proper respect.” His eyes widened a bit, then he twisted about and
picked up something from the steel shelf mounted above the ceramic basins. “I nearly forgot. Here.” He held out a milky white object with black edging that covered the palm of his hand.
“What the hell is that?” Graham took the strange oblong bowl and studied it.
“Yer codpiece.” Angus thumped on his own crotch. “The man Alberti said t’wear the wee bowl to help protect yer parts lest a sword goes astray.”
Graham squeezed the cushioned rim of the odd apparatus, then ran his fingertips around the slitted openings running the length of the cup. “A codpiece?”
“Aye.” Angus winked as one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Or d’ye need a much smaller one?”
Sliding the cup down the front of his pants, Graham rolled his eyes as he shifted the piece firmly into place. He’d no’ lower himself to such a discussion with the irritating numpty. He smoothed the tight shirt down across his chest, then sat on the bench and put on his boots. “See to it that ye control yer swordplay so ye dinna hurt the women.” He stamped his feet down harder in his heavy boots as he stood and flexed to settle the strange clothing more comfortably in place. “If ye make the mistake of gettin’ too rough with my Lilia—ye’ll no’ be needin’ a codpiece after I’m done wi’ ye.”
Chapter 11
“Holy shit,” Vivienne said in a voice filled with such awe, there was no doubt the term was meant as the highest possible compliment.
Lilia turned and immediately forgot to breathe. “Holy shit” didn’t begin to cover it.
The formfitting workout gear accentuated every lickable ripple of Graham’s muscular body that his silk T-shirt and jeans had failed to properly display. The bright floodlights lighting the practice arena reflected off the material stretched tight across his wide chest. The electric glow shimmied down his laddered abs, gleaming across his bulging thighs and all the delicious bumps and grooves in between. Every move Graham made flexed in a sensual come and getcha some of this kind of way.
“This place has never seen a man like that.” Vivienne gently nudged her. “Close yer mouth, lovie. Ye’ve got a wee bit a drool runnin’ down yer chin.”
Lilia slammed her jaws shut and swallowed hard. Dammit. She squirmed in place, painfully aware that her hardened nipples were dangerously close to slicing through her sports bra. She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin as Graham and Angus came to a stop in front of them. “Are you ready?”
“More than ready, lass.” The twinkle in Graham’s deep gray eyes left no doubt that he was in no way referring to swordplay. The tilt of his head, the way he leaned forward with a knowing smile—Graham was ready all right.
“Uhm…yeah.” Lilia backed up a step and motioned toward a roped-off area without taking her folded arms away from her chest. “Vivienne and I have already stretched and warmed up. Why don’t you and Angus demonstrate some of your techniques and then we’ll pair up and try them out.”
Graham gallantly bowed then swaggered over to the dueling arena and stepped over the ropes. He tossed one of the practice swords to the side and motioned Angus forward with the other one. “I prefer one sword. A fine shield would pair well with it but I can make do without one.”
Awesome. She’d been struggling with wielding a shield for ages. Maybe Graham could show her what she was doing wrong. Lilia held up a finger. “Hang on a minute.” Her pinging nipples would just have to get over themselves. She trotted over to the long, broad storage chest along the far wall and hefted up the heavy lid. She’d never quite been able to get down good moves with a sword and a shield. Maybe concentrating on what Graham could teach her would keep her mind off the other moves she felt certain Graham would be more than happy to share.
Lilia tucked four practice shields under one arm, let the lid to the storage chest drop, then hurried back to the roped-off mat. “These are a lot lighter than the ones used in competition but if you could show me what to do, I know I can adapt to the heavier model.”
“Aye, lass, come t’me.” Graham smiled, waving her forward while at the same time pointing for Angus to leave the ring. “I’ll have ye handlin’ a shield with ease in no time a’tall.”
Lilia stopped just outside the ropes, glancing first at retreating Angus then back to Graham. A disturbingly delicious mixture of hell yes and oh shit shifted her heart rate to pounding level as Graham held out his hand again and repeated, “Come t’me.”
“I meant you and Angus could show me.” Dammit. If her voice squeaked any higher, she’d sound just like that billion-dollar cartoon mouse. Lilia cleared her throat. This was ridiculous. She was the self-ordained queen of playing with fire and not getting burned. Emotions and trust stayed on lockdown—especially after making the mistake of trusting David to the point where he’d nearly financially destroyed her. Only Alberti and Vivienne could be trusted. I don’t make the same mistakes twice. “Why don’t you and Angus demonstrate?” There. That sounded much better.
“Och no, lass.” Graham’s smile showed no mercy. He slowly moved forward as though stalking her. “Ye’ll learn much better firsthand.”
Lilia flexed both hands and rolled her shoulders. Fine. I can do this. Time to engage cold, calculating ice princess and shut out the dangers of the emotional world. Besides—once she immersed herself into the physical strains of learning the battle, she’d be fine. Working out until she collapsed had saved her empathetic ass on more than one occasion.
Turning to Vivienne, she held up her right hand. “Sword.”
Vivienne lobbed the weapon across the broad expanse of floor as she’d done a thousand times during Highland competitions and medieval reenactments.
Lilia easily caught the sword, then slid between the ropes into the matted arena in one fluid movement. Straightening, she settled her footing, faced Graham, and nearly burst out laughing.
A mixed look of shock, disbelief, and open admiration filled the man’s face. For some inexplicable reason, Graham’s expression filled her with the warmest sense of happy she’d felt in quite some time. He admired her. Excitement released a wave of pleasant fluttering through her middle. She’d bet money if someone pressed their ear to her side, they’d swear she was purring. She looped her hand through the two leather straps in back of the shield and raised her sword. “I’m ready.”
Graham blinked as though struggling to awaken from a trance. “Nay. Yer no’ ready.” He scrubbed his fingers through the dark reddish-gold mat of neatly cropped beard outlining his jaw as he approached her. He pulled the shield to one side, lifted her arm, and frowned down at the hand she’d latched through the straps. He tapped a finger against the inside of her forearm between the two loops of the shield. “Ye’ll no’ be able to properly shield yer body with a hold such as this and ye could verra well break the small of yer arm with the first good strike from the enemy.” He wobbled the shield back and forth, twisting her arm in the process. “When ye dinna have the one handle properly balanced in the center of the disc and covered by a weighted boss, it takes a great deal of strength to control the heft of the shield. Ye’ll find yerself fighting the weapon rather than fighting yer foe.”
In one brief explanation, Graham had nailed down exactly why she hated using a shield. Lilia slid her arm out of the loops and tossed the practice disc to the hard arena floor outside the ring. She pointed at it then nodded to Alberti. “I know we can’t have new shields before next weekend but maybe you could find some like Graham described and he can teach us all how to use them in time for the big meet later this fall.”
“Absolutely.” Alberti gathered up the practice shields and stacked them against the bleachers. “We’ll donate these to the Beaver Scouts. I’m sure those innovative young lads will derive a good use for them.” He bent and retrieved an additional sword, then tossed it into the ring. “Now, let’s see a bit of swordplay. We’ve a reputation to keep and you’ve got a title to defend.”
Lilia scooped up the second sword, rotating the weight of both weapons in her hands at a slow, fami
liar turn. Now, this is more like it. She turned and faced Graham. “Do you want another sword or are you okay with your one to my two?”
One of Graham’s brows arched a bit higher, directly parallel with the lifted side of his moustache hiked above his patronizing grin. “Whate’er ye think, lassie.” His grin blossomed into a full-blown smirk. “Whate’er ye think.”
Good. You’re underestimating this little blonde. Fatal mistake, handsome. Lilia settled easily into sparring mode. More than one male competitor had lost to her with just such thinking. Ever so slowly, Lilia circled to the left each time Graham inched to the right. Clockwise. Good. I like clockwise.
Keeping her knees bent and ready to spring at a moment’s notice, Lilia kept her gaze locked on Graham’s eyes. Most opponents telegraphed their moves with their eyes and Graham seemed to be no different.
He lunged forward, sword raised, a smug look on his face.
Lilia easily spun beneath his reach, then swatted his ass with the flat of her sword as she circled behind him and danced to the opposite side of the ring. Graham was holding back. If she wanted a good workout, she was going to have to get his ego engaged.
“God’s beard, Graham. I canna believe ye let a wee slip of a lass smack yer arse for ye.” Angus clapped and crowed, then hopped to a higher level of seats in the bleachers. “The MacKenna shall hear of this, I grant ye that.”
Graham rolled his shoulders and resettled the sword in his right hand as he paced around the opposite corner of the ring. Ignoring Angus’s catcalls, he started circling her again. This time the placating smile was gone—replaced by a steely, slightly perturbed look of determination.
Good. Now that I’ve got your attention—time to play. Lilia charged forward, swords raised, a screeching battle cry ripping free of her throat as she bent her knees and lunged.
Graham’s eyes flared wider. At the last possible minute, he lifted his sword and muscled down to deflect her attack.
Blades crossed around his, Lilia locked both arms and shifted her weight. With a hard, well-practiced turn of her wrists, she sent Graham’s sword flying out of the ring. She tucked and rolled, twisted around, and whacked him across the ass again. “Come on, Graham. You’re not even trying.”
My Seductive Highlander Page 10