LITMIR.BIZ

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the wood, finding the balance point.

      It was the first time she’d practised with the weapon. Even touching it bothered her, and she half-wished she’d chosen another weapon.

      Memories crashed through her, of the suffering in Murtagh’s eyes when the spear had taken him. It had been hours until he’d died, and never would she forget the horror of helplessness. Or the blood upon her hands and this weapon that had cut his life short.

      Hot tears burned in her eyes, and she wondered how she ever thought she would have the strength to avenge his death. She couldn’t even touch the spear without weeping.

      You’ve gone weak, her mind taunted. You can’t do this.

      Her hand dug into the wood, and she sighted another tree as her target, pulling her arm back in preparation.

      ‘So this is how Irish women spend their time?’ came a male voice.

      The spear fell from her hands, clattering upon the frozen ground as she spun. ‘I told you I didn’t need your protection.’

      ‘Anyone could see you trying to hide a spear,’ he pointed out. ‘You didn’t conceal it very well.’

      ‘It’s not your concern.’ She steadied her voice, trying to hide her shaken feelings.

      ‘I wondered why you would bring it so far from the castle grounds,’ he continued on. ‘Were you trying to learn how to use it?’

      She remained silent. Please go away.

      But instead, the Spaniard reached down for the fallen weapon, testing its weight in one hand. ‘This spear is not meant to be thrown,’ he told her. Turning the shaft into a vertical position, he took her hand and guided it on to the wood.

      She studied his features, noting the light chainmail armour he wore and the strength of his stance. There was none of the easy-going nature of her husband, nor the light teasing she was accustomed to. Instead, he remained stoic, rather like a block of stone. His dark eyes narrowed upon her, as if questioning her purpose.

      With his hand upon hers, he guided the spear to just below his chest. ‘This is a spear meant for close contact. You wait until the enemy is close enough, and thrust it upward.’

      The tip of the spear rested upon his chainmail armour, and she saw the intensity in his dark eyes. Standing so near to him, she murmured, ‘Not into his heart?’

      ‘The tip would get deflected by his ribs if you miss. It’s too great of a risk.’

      ‘I’ll remember that.’ Slowly, she drew the spear back and nodded for him to leave.

      He ignored her dismissal. ‘Who is threatening you, belleza?’ His tone held warmth, but beneath it lay strength and determination.

      ‘There is no threat to me. And even if there was, I would not ask for your help.’ She set the weapon down and withdrew her knife. Grasping an evergreen branch, she sawed at it, pretending she didn’t care what he did now. Yet, she was fully aware of his presence.

      The hairs on the back of her neck tingled from his proximity. When he moved beside her, the top of her head barely reached his chin. Her eyes rested squarely upon his chest, and she chided herself for noticing the way his armour moulded to it like a second skin.

      ‘Even so, I’ll stay.’ His voice held a deep timbre that made her suppress a shiver. When he moved beside her, he watched her work for a moment. ‘Your blade is dull,’ he remarked. ‘Use mine.’

      His hand brushed against hers, and he gave her a knife with an ivory hilt. She held it for a moment, and said, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbelievably persistent?’

      ‘My sister. But usually she calls me overprotective.’ He reached out for a pine branch and waited for her to cut it. When she tried his knife, the blade sliced through the slender branch easily. He took it and put it within her basket. ‘You’ll want to fill this before you return. So they won’t suspect.’

      She reached for another branch and cut several in silence. The Spaniard took them from her, one by one. Though he said nothing more, Brianna felt the need to fill up the silence. ‘You travelled a long way for your sister.’

      ‘Adriana and I have always been close.’ In his voice, she heard the affection, but a moment later, he added, ‘I had to be sure Liam was worthy of being her husband.’

      ‘My cousin will be king one day. There is no one more worthy than he.’ She gathered a pile of branches and returned his knife.

      ‘What of your own husband?’ he asked. ‘If your uncle is king, then was he—’

      ‘I don’t want to talk about Murtagh.’ The hurt was still fresh within her, and she had no desire to explain why she had wed the miller’s son. Her husband had been hardworking and honest, although her family had not been pleased by her choice to wed him. Her father had not forbidden it, but neither had he approved of the match.

      ‘Forgive me if I brought up bad memories.’ He used the knife to detach another branch, adding it to her basket. ‘It was curiosity, nothing more.’

      She bit her lower lip, realising how snappish she’d sounded. ‘It was a year ago today that he died.’

      Arturo stopped cutting the branch, the knife still partially embedded in the wood. ‘You made the wrong choice to come here.’

      She sent him a questioning look, not understanding, and he added, ‘On the one-year anniversary of my wife’s death, I drank myself unconscious.’

      A hint of a smile tugged at her. ‘And was it a wise choice?’

      ‘I didn’t think so the next morn. But at the time, it made it easier to bear.’ He reached down and lifted up the basket of branches. ‘It’s not easy to let go of someone you loved.’

      ‘No.’ In truth, she felt as if she were betraying Murtagh, just by talking to the handsome stranger. But in his eyes, she saw the reflection of her own grief. Without knowing why, she confessed, ‘Murtagh was killed by the Lochlannach. With that spear.’

      ‘My wife died in childbirth.’ Though his words were spoken without emotion, she saw the flash of pain on his face.

      ‘And the baby?’ she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

      He stood so still, she knew the answer before he spoke it. Quietly, he shook his head.

      The echo of emptiness resonated within her, and she heard herself asking, ‘Did you love her?’

      ‘Very much.’

      ‘Then why would you follow me here?’ she blurted out.

      Arturo reached out for the spear and handed it to her. ‘I remember the grieving and the loneliness. When I look at you, I see myself as I was, a few years ago. I thought you might want a friend who understands.’

      The air turned cooler and snow began to fall around them. It dusted his hair and cheeks, while all around them it swirled in a blinding dance.

      ‘All I want is someone to teach me how to fight,’ she said at last.

      His gaze narrowed. ‘For what purpose?’

      ‘To kill the man who took my husband’s life.’ She took the basket from him, sending him a challenge of her own. ‘Go ahead and tell me how foolish that is.’

      Instead, he shook his head. ‘It’s not foolish at all. You’re angry.’

      ‘Yes.’ She gripped the spear, feeling the rush of injustice filling her up inside. ‘When I first lost him, I spent months weeping. I could hardly get through the days. And now, I feel this rage every time I think of the Lochlannach who killed him.’

      ‘Killing him won’t bring back your husband.’

      ‘It would make me feel better.’ She let out a

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