Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy #3)(55)

“Where is your sword?” he asked impatiently.

His mood was black. He’d be unrelenting today. She wanted to groan but bit her lip.

“Gannon is fetching it.”

Caelen cast an impatient glance over his shoulder and then turned back to her.

“We’ll practice hand to hand until he arrives. If you lose your sword in battle, you must rely on your wits and your hand-to-hand skills to remain alive.”

She looked warily at the glint in his eye. He was spoiling for a fight today, but she didn’t want to give him one. He’d crush her like a bug.

She nearly wilted in relief when Gannon strode up and handed her the sword. Caelen looked faintly disappointed.

“Don’t disappoint me today,” Gannon muttered before he retreated.

“I’ll try my best,” Rionna said with heavy sarcasm.

As soon as her hand curled around the hilt, she let out a yell and charged. Surprise glinted in Caelen’s eyes a mere second before blistering satisfaction set in.

He met her attack and she was jarred to her toes when she blocked his forceful swing. Her teeth threatened to vibrate right out of her head.

For several minutes they fought furiously, but her strength quickly flagged. Every movement was like slogging through mud and her arms grew heavier with each passing second.

She was forced back when he advanced, circling his sword around his head and cutting in a downward slash. She blocked and then took another step back as her sword dipped precariously.

The tip swung down and dug into the earth. Her vision blurred and she gripped the hilt with both hands and hung on to keep from falling. Caelen’s look of surprise and then worry faded in and out of her sight as blackness crept in.

She sank to her knees, still gripping the sword, and then pitched sideways, hitting the snow as she lost consciousness.

Caelen reached her at the same time as Gannon. Both men went to their knees, and Caelen reached underneath her to pick her up before the dampness seeped into her clothing.

His heart thundered, pounding against his chest like a mace. Had he injured her? Had he in some way hit her with his sword? Surely he would have realized it.

He’d lost his concentration at a time when he could least afford it. He was sparring with his wife, not a warrior of equal size and strength. He’d been thinking of his difficulties with the men and how to remedy it, instead of taking care and ensuring that no harm came to his wife.

He gathered her close, holding her tightly to his chest, as he ran through the snow toward the entrance to the keep. He ignored the startled shouts around him and bounded up the stairs, Gannon hot on his heels.

He burst into his chamber and carefully laid Rionna on the bed. Then he began a thorough examination from head to toe, looking for any sign of injury. What he found baffled him.

There wasn’t a single mark on the lass. No blood. No bruises. No reason whatsoever for her to have lost consciousness.

It appeared that she had simply fainted. Was she ill?

“Send for Sarah,” Caelen ordered Gannon. “And tell her to hurry.”

When Gannon had gone, Caelen touched Rionna’s pale cheek and cursed under his breath. He should have never allowed this foolishness.

“Rionna. Rionna, lass, wake up.”

She didn’t stir and he became even more worried. What if she were gravely ill? She was a stubborn lass. It would be just like her not to say anything.

He looked up in relief when he heard a noise in the hall. Sarah hurried in, followed by Neda, who served as their healer.

“What happened, Laird?” Neda asked.

Caelen stood so that the women could crowd in around Rionna to examine her. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “We were sparring and she fainted. I can find no sign of injury.”

Sarah made a shooing gesture in Caelen’s direction. “Wait in the hall, Laird. Give us some breathing room. We’ll see to the lass. I suspect ’tis not a serious matter. She’s been tired of late.”

Caelen frowned and reluctantly allowed Gannon to herd him outside the chamber. He hadn’t noticed that Rionna had been tired. Guilt crowded his mind. He woke her early each morn with his demands and kept her up late into the night. He hadn’t considered the toll on her. She’d become a need he couldn’t explain.

He woke beside her, needing her, wanting her so badly that ’twas no longer desire that motivated him. It was a bone-deep need to possess her, to imprint her on his skin.

And at the end of the day, he was eager and impatient to retire to their bedchamber where they took turns being the aggressor. His favorite times were when she climbed astride him, as determined to have him as he was her.

He was possessive, aye, but so was she. He’d decided he liked it very much.

“What can be keeping them?” Caelen bit out as he paced back and forth in front of the door.

“It’s only been a few moments,” Gannon said. “I’m sure the lass is fine. She might have a touch of upset. Perhaps ’twas something she ate.”

“Sarah said she’d been tired of late. Why didn’t I notice this?”

“You’ve been busy training the men. It doesn’t leave a lot of room to notice much else. She’s a sturdy lass. I’ve no doubt she’ll be up and kicking your arse again in short order.”

Caelen scowled and shook his head but before he could give voice to the fact that he had no intention of accommodating her swordplay any longer, the door opened and Sarah poked her head out.