“Nay. I’m glad you told me,” she said quickly. “I’m glad… you trust me.” It meant more to her than she could express.

“’Tis true. I do trust you, Seona.” In the firelight, his blue eyes were sincere, yet a hint of his natural charm also slipped through, as if he might smile at any moment. But he didn’t.

“God forbid that something should happen to Dirk, but if it did, I know with certainty you would do the clan proud as their chief,” she said.

He bent his head in an abbreviated bow. “I thank you for your confidence.”

She wanted to touch him, to hold him. It meant the world to her that he’d told her about being named tanist before he’d told anyone else. She considered that an honor.

“I wish Da was here so I could tell him,” Keegan said.

“He will be proud when he learns of it.”

Keegan nodded. “Enough about me. I want you to practice the knife-fighting moves I told you about last time.”

“Very well.”

“Did you bring your knife?”

“Aye.”

“Well, I also brought this.” He withdrew a blunt wooden stick shaped like a small sgian dubh from his sporran. “I made it last night to help with our practice.”

“’Tis beautifully carved. Are you afraid I’ll stab you with the real thing?”

A tiny grin quirked his lips. “I don’t want you to hesitate.” He removed his sporran and sword baldric—she presumed because he wanted them out of the way while they practiced. “Have you ever stabbed anyone?” he asked.

“Of course not!”

“Well, to do it effectively, you have to put some muscle behind it.”

She would never have the muscle or strength he had. That was a certainty. “Show me.”

“Like I was telling you last time, if you are grabbed from behind, you’ll want to hold your sgian like this.” He held the knife with the fake blade pointing downward. “And when you have the opportunity, stab backward into his body.” Keegan thrust the knife blade behind himself toward an invisible attacker. “Now, you try it.” He handed her the carved wooden stick. “Face away from me so I can see your movements.”

Trying to imagine being in the grips of an outlaw, she drove the fake knife backward into thin air.

“Aye. Good. Now, I’m going to pretend to be an outlaw capturing you.”

Surprised by his words, she glanced around at him. He was going to grab her? Heavens! Her skin heated with anticipation. ’Tis only for practice, she told her wayward body.

He paused. “Are you in agreement?”

“Aye. I need the practice.”

“Don’t hurt me.” He grinned.

She lifted a brow and sent him a saucy look. “’Tis a risk you take if you assume the outlaw role.”

“Indeed.” His smile widened, but he didn’t move.

When she faced the opposite wall again, he stealthily moved in behind her, covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his other arm around both hers, trapping them. She was so stunned by his body heat, she couldn’t think or act for a moment. When he lifted her into the air in one second and turned with her, she was amazed at his strength.

Forcing her brain to function, she thrust the wooden knife backward toward him. She missed, but tried again. This time, she met resistance.

He grunted, then murmured in her ear, “Try it again. Harder.”

Saints! She didn’t want to hurt him. While it was true the wooden knife wouldn’t cut him, it might leave a bruise.

“Come now, lass. Show me what you’ve got,” he encouraged.

She shoved the fake knife backward again, driving it against what seemed to be his lower abdomen. ’Twas like trying to drive the stick into granite.

“Again. Harder,” he commanded.

She let loose and did it three more times.

Finally, he released her. “Well done.”

“Did I bruise you?” She glanced down at his trim waist.

“Nay. Don’t worry about me. I simply wanted you to know how it would feel if you stab a man, trying to make him release you. If you’d had a sharp blade, you would’ve done some damage.”

“I did hurt you, then?” She wanted to see if she had left horrible red marks on his bare skin. “You kept saying harder.”

“Seona.” He shook his head and took her hand. His warm fingers surrounded hers, filling her whole body with comfort. “Nay, you did not hurt me.” Taking the wooden knife, he stroked his thumb across her open palm, sending tingles up her arm. “Now, I want you to practice slashing. You would do this if the attacker is coming at you from the front. This will give you a little extra time to escape him.” He stepped back and swung the knife in a half circle at arm’s length. “If he is extending his hand to grab you, you may cut his hand or his arm. You try.”

She took the knife and mimicked his movements several times.

“You’re a quick learner,” Keegan said.

“’Tis because you are a gifted teacher.” Moving forward, she offered the wooden knife to him.

Instead of taking it, he encircled her hand with his larger one. A heated sensation poured from where he touched her. “And you are a beautiful, resilient woman who has bewitched me,” he murmured, his deep voice the most seductive sound she’d ever heard.

Her breath halted and she couldn’t think what to do or say next. The knife slipped from her fingers and thumped to the carpet. He ignored it and stared intently into her eyes.

What was he thinking? Would he kiss her? Her heartbeat accelerated in anticipation.

Slowly, he moved closer until they were standing toe to toe.

His eyes darkened, entrancing her.

He leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

She knew she shouldn’t allow him to kiss her, but how could she stop him when she craved him more than food when she was hungry? The months she’d secretly watched him across a crowded room had whetted her appetite.

And each time he kissed her, she understood more about what he wanted, how she should respond and kiss him in return. She opened her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. She’d never guessed she would be an enthusiast of carnal kisses. But when he brushed his tongue over hers, she wanted to do naught but eat him up. He tasted of whisky and man. Intoxicating.

She entangled her hands in his hair, loving the silky feel of it between her fingers.

He moaned, taking her mouth in another slow, luscious kiss and gently tugging her against him. His hard chest pressing against her breasts, even through their clothing, made her body sing with need.

She noticed something hard against the lower part of her belly. At first, she thought it was a weapon hilt, but then she realized it was that most male part of his body that she had glimpsed when he’d waded from the loch. Isobel had said a man’s shaft would become hard when his desires were aroused.

As a lady, she should be shocked. But she wasn’t. His arousal awoke something within her on a primal level. She loved knowing she affected him in such a way. She felt a liquid warmth in the lowest part of her belly. She didn’t understand it, but it was incredibly spellbinding.

His shaft nestled against her through his plaid and he groaned. Some part of her deep inside tingled and ached for him.

She craved his touch on every inch of her skin.

He tempted her. Captivated her. And made her want to do sinful things. This was why her aunt was such a ferocious chaperone, glaring at any man she deemed unsuitable who glanced her way.

But carnal relations outside of marriage had to be dangerous. ’Twas how bastards were conceived, she realized. Imagining having to face her father and tell him she was with child but unwed sent fear lancing through her. She turned her head aside, breaking the kiss.

“Damn,” Keegan whispered, his breathing more labored now than it had been when he’d rescued her from the horse days ago.

“Pray pardon,” she said, mortifying heat rushing over her skin.

“I’m the one who should apologize.” He drew in a deep breath. “I am sorry. I should not have.”