A shiver passing over her skin, she savored his deep voice pronouncing her name. “As do I.”

His gaze intensified upon her, becoming as hot as a blue flame. He had given her interested looks before, but never one so breath-stealing. She felt near paralyzed. Captivated. But quickly tore her gaze away, her heart thudding loudly. She must protect herself, and him. This delicious enticement could only be destructive. As she had expected, talking to him caused her to want to draw closer to him.

He cleared his throat. “Have you a weapon?” he asked.

Chapter Three

When Keegan’s eyes met Seona’s this time, the heated passion was banked, and he seemed most solemn. Why had he asked her if she had a weapon?

“Nay,” she said, darting a glance toward her aunt. Her back was turned, and she was still conversing with the guard.

“Lady Isobel carries a dagger with her, and you should as well,” Keegan said. “You need to be able to defend yourself should—God forbid—something happen to me and the other men.”

Seona did not even want to consider such a horrid situation. “You and the other men are strong warriors and guards. I’m certain you will fight off any enemies.”

“Aye. I do hope so. But should you ever find yourself alone, ’haps after you return home, you need to know how to fight off an outlaw.” His gaze serious, he gave a slight frown. “Come. I want to give you something.” He turned sideways and offered his elbow.

“Where?” She sent another quick glance toward her aunt. The guard was giving Aunt Patience something to drink in a wooden cup.

“Just over here,” Keegan said. “’Tis in my pack.”

“Very well.” She curled her hand around his elbow. Just above it, her fingers stroked over the bulging muscle of his upper arm. The times he’d escorted her to the high table, when she’d been at Dunnakeil, were the highlights of her days. His hard, well-developed arm muscles were pleasing to her and, she had to admit, exciting.

Just as she did now, she’d always wondered what his arms would look like and feel like bare. And his chest. She felt overwarm of a sudden, but restrained the urge to fan herself. As well, a fluttering sensation overtook her stomach.

They approached his horse and his belongings on the ground. He bent and took a small dagger in a sheath from his pack. “I want to give you this, Lady Seona. I’ll teach you how to use it.”

“Oh heavens,” she whispered. His deadly serious demeanor chilled her heated skin. ’Twas no wonder he was such a skilled guard. “I thank you, but I’m not certain I will be a good warrior.”

“You’ve already proven you have a warrior’s instincts.” Keegan allowed a small grin to sneak out and she relaxed a bit. “Now you but need the skills. Besides, I’m not expecting you to be a fully-fledged warrior. ’Tis but for self-defense. I’m surprised your father or some other man in your family did not teach you. Do you have a brother?”

“Nay.” Her father would never want her to know how to wield a blade. Likely, he would fear she would use it on him.

“You can carry this small sgian dubh on the inside of your forearm, beneath your sleeve,” Keegan said. “And I’ll show you how to draw it quickly.”

“Very well. I shall try.”

Keegan was right. She must learn how to protect herself, should the need arise. Aside from that, she relished the notion of spending a few minutes with him for knife-wielding instruction.

She glanced back to see that the clansmen had set up another tent, this one for the chief, between where she stood and the rest of their party, giving her and Keegan a bit more privacy. No one seemed to pay them any mind, and her aunt was still focusing all her attention on the handsome guard.

Keegan motioned her to a flat grassy area in front of the horses and small trees. She moved to where he indicated, her attention shifting to the gleaming basket-hilt of the broadsword at his hip. A foot-long dirk hung on his other side, and she wondered if he had more weapons hidden beneath his clothing.

“If you will raise your sleeve, I’ll show you how to put the sheath on,” he said.

Her face heating, she untied the cuff of her sleeve and raised it a bit to expose her forearm. Aunt Patience would think it unseemly for her to bare her forearm to a man, but he was trying to help her.

He placed the sheathed knife against the inside of her forearm and pulled the straps around.

“Och, you have wee arms. I’m not certain this will fit unless I alter it,” Keegan said, eying the sheath. After removing it and kneeling, he took out the knife and worked on the leather, punching a new hole in both of the straps.

She stood two feet away and glanced back to see if she’d been discovered yet. No one was within sight.

Keegan stood. “Now, let’s try this again.” He held the sheath against her arm and secured the straps, which were much like small belt buckles. “There now.” He smiled at his handiwork.

“It fits perfectly,” she said, examining the sheath. The well-worn leather felt foreign against the sensitive skin of her inner forearm. “But I cannot possibly take your treasured knife and sheath.”

He waved a hand. “’Tis one I wore as a lad and too small for me now anyway. I was but using it for backup.”

She was stunned. He was willing to give her a weapon from his youth? There was no telling how many years he had worn this sheath on his arm. It made her feel closer to him. She caressed the nut-brown leather, tracing the worn Celtic knot pattern, then stroked her fingertips over the decorative handle of the knife, featuring a stag.

“Did you carve this?” she asked.

“Nay, my da did. ’Tis from the antler of a stag the former chief killed over twenty summers ago. I was a wee lad then, but I remember them returning from stalking deer. Everyone was excited and happy about the successful hunt.”

Though she had never talked with his father, Conall MacKay, beyond a greeting, she’d often seen him at Dunnakeil and knew him to be a friendly, hearty and boisterous man, quick with a laugh but also quick to defend those he loved.

“The knife is beautiful.” She was touched by his generosity, but he seemed unaffected that he was giving away personal items he must have treasured for many years. Or was he merely hiding his emotions? His eyes held no regret, only affection, when he observed her. He made her feel as if… she was special.

She swallowed hard and lowered her gaze. No one had ever made her feel special before. No one had ever cared whether she could defend herself or not.

“I’ve always wanted a weapon,” she confessed.

“In truth?”

She nodded, remembering how she used to dream of having a weapon with which to defend herself and her sister during her father’s violent rants. Such a thought was blasphemous, she knew, considering she was not honoring her father. But she had never done anything to deserve his wrath, nor had her sister or their poor mother.

“Why?” Keegan asked.

She could not tell him the truth and instead shrugged. “I admire those who are good fighters.”

“Well, mayhap you will be a good fighter when I’m through with you.” Keegan smiled.

Heavens! Did he expect her to spar as the men did during practice?

“The first thing you need to learn is how to draw the sgian quickly.” He moved his right hand near his left wrist and, within a blink of an eye, he held a knife in his hand. “Did you see how I did that?”

“Nay.” He’d drawn the knife so swiftly, ’twas but a blur.

Keegan returned his knife to its sheath on his left arm, then pulled back his other sleeve to reveal another on the right forearm. “I never want to be without a knife.”

“I see.”

“Watch. I’ll do it slowly so you can see what I’m doing.” He gradually moved his right hand toward his left. His fingertips slipped toward the inside of his wrist and tugged the handle. The knife slid out and he palmed the hilt. With the next demonstration, he repeated the movements a bit faster, but still not with the speed he’d first used.