Читать книгу Butterfly Swords - Jeannie Lin, Jeannie Lin - Страница 9

Ailey woke with the first hint of daylight, blinking up at the sky in disbelief. It took a moment before she had enough command of her muscles to sit up. Though she couldn’t see any stones now, she had sworn there were a thousand of them beneath her during the night. All digging sharply into the parts of her that were most sore. It was better to wake up on the cold, bare earth than shackled in Li Tao’s wedding bed, but she didn’t want to think of how many more days and nights there were between here and the capital. She had journeyed for over a week by palanquin, escorted by the wedding party. Now she was alone.

Not completely alone.

Ryam slept beside her with his arms huddled over his chest, his chin tucked close. His sword still lay between them and the heady scent of his skin permeated the wool around her. The boyish look of him in sleep sparked some nurturing instinct. She untangled herself from his cloak to lay it gingerly over him. The material barely covered the expanse of his torso. With a muffled grunt, his long fingers curled around the wool to pull it up around him.

Fearsome warrior indeed.

Now that she was more accustomed to him, his features didn’t appear so harsh. She could even see how his strangeness might be considered handsome … if one looked long enough. She turned away as a disturbing awareness fluttered in her chest. Best to let him sleep.

The atmosphere hung damp and heavy, and a sheen of morning dew covered the grass. She stood and raised her arms over her head, letting the blood flow through her languid muscles. The stir of the breeze between the branches greeted her from the woods. A whooping call of a bird in the distance was the only sign of any living creature other than the two of them.

She had only told him part of the truth about her family the night before. Ryam was an outsider who wasn’t likely to have any ties to their enemies. She couldn’t tell who was loyal any more. She lifted her swords and paced towards the centre of the clearing. Restlessly, her right arm directed its blade in an attack pattern. Perhaps she could think of a way to persuade the foreign swordsman to stay with her. The left blade followed out of habit, echoing the same precise movements.

If she was at home, Grandmother would be watching over her as she went through her daily practice. Her grip remained easy as she let the butterfly swords circle in front of her. She tried to conjure Grandmother’s voice. Better. Now again. The familiar exercise held no comfort. She might never see her grandmother or the rest of her family again.

All her life, she’d dreamed she would leave one day to marry. Part of her had always dreaded that moment, but only with the usual sadness of any daughter leaving the comfort of childhood behind. She never imagined she’d defy her betrothal to flee back home.

It was shameful. Dishonourable. The echo of her parents’ disapproval resounded deep within her, louder than any true sound could ever be.

But how could she marry a murderer? Old Wu had told her that her brother Ming Han’s death wasn’t an accident. Li Tao was the one responsible.

‘What is that you’re doing?’

Ryam’s presence broke through her sorrow, shattering the stillness like a pebble tossed into a pond. He stood outside of arm’s reach and his gaze followed the path of her swords.

She stared at her hands as if they were no longer her own. ‘First sword form,’ she replied, at a loss.

Had he been watching her? She had been going through the motions to try to focus her thoughts. Her technique must have been unforgivable—what a strange thought to have at that moment! Her pulse hammered under his scrutiny. She was used to Grandmother watching her with the eyes of a hawk. This was so very different.

‘I was … I was practising.’

‘This is how you practise?’

He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head as he circled her. The intensity of his gaze flooded her with heat. It was a wonder she didn’t cut herself with her own swords.

‘All those elaborate patterns,’ he murmured. ‘Does that help in fights?’

‘In combat, your body falls into what it has done a thousand times before. A perfect harmony between instinct and thought.’

Her throat felt dry as she recited the words. Her elder brothers were commonly praised for their skill, but never before had a man shown such interest in her. She drew out an intricate pattern with the tip of one sword in three neat swipes, as if wielding a calligraphy brush. It gave her something to do as he stepped closer. All of the air around her seemed to rush towards him whenever he drew near.

‘Your brothers taught you this?’ he asked.

‘My grandmother.’

His laughter filled the clearing. ‘Your grandmother?’

‘Grandmother was a master.’

The next pass of her sword sliced a scant inch in front of him, taunting. He stood his ground and his smile widened.

‘So do you want to try it?’

Her swords froze. ‘Try it?’

‘My barbaric head bashing against that beautiful sword work of yours.’

A duel. Her heart was already pounding with the promise of it.

‘No,’ she replied.

‘No?’

‘You are far more experienced than I am.’

The meaning had been clear in her head as she spoke the words, yet another, more suggestive meaning loomed between them. A well of heat rose up her neck. She blamed this barbarian language.

He placed a hand to his chest with mock passion. ‘But you got the better of me yesterday when I was drugged. Don’t I deserve a chance to redeem myself?’

She was certain there was something not quite proper about a strange man offering to spar with her the day after they met. Yet this foreigner treated her with such directness and familiarity, like her brothers. He continued to taunt her with laughter shining in his eyes and the curve of his mouth hinted at an irresistible wickedness. Her stomach knotted in response.

In truth, not like her brothers at all.

‘I should get some advantage since you are so …’ she looked him up and down ‘… big.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

With a household of five brothers she knew how to pick her battles. Ryam had had more training than she and his sword could cut her in half, but its weight would slow him down. And the terms were yet to be negotiated. With a good plan, she could defeat Fourth Brother and occasionally, even Third Brother.

‘I attack first. Ten attempts. You can only defend,’ she proposed.

‘You do this often, don’t you?’

His irises shifted to storm grey, the laughter in them transforming into something dark and unknown. He held her gaze while the woods faded around her.

‘What do you say to a wager?’ He unsheathed his sword in a seductive whisper of steel. ‘If I win, you give me a kiss.’

Barbaric. But she saw her opening.

‘If I win, you take me to Changan.’

He let her heart beat on for ever before answering.

‘Agreed.’

Her palms began to sweat, and a fever rose beneath her skin. Up until then, she truly believed she could defeat him. She had been running strategies through her head, but suddenly she found herself staring at the rough stubble over his jaw and wondering if it would tickle. It was the sort of daydream that would send Grandmother’s bamboo switch stinging over her knuckles. The sort of thought that would have Mother beseeching their ancestors to bring her back to sanity.

‘After the first round—’ She ran her tongue over her lips. For all her negotiation, she had the sinking feeling this duel had slipped out of her grasp. ‘If you do not defeat me after ten attempts, you should honourably forfeit.’

‘Of course. Twenty moves?’ he asked softly.

Deep breaths, she reminded herself. Mind, breath, body. ‘Or first blood.’

He raised his sword in salute. The smile remained on his face as he backed away, setting the starting distance.

Ryam couldn’t resist the promise of a kiss to keep him company on the cold journey back to the frontier. It might even be worth the risk of facing imperial soldiers again—not that he intended to lose.

Ailey stood across from him, poised and still. She shook the hair from her eyes with a slight toss of her head and her braid whipped over her shoulder. When she focused again on him, the young woman disappeared and a warrior stood in her place.

The fight started here, at the moment of decision, long before his sword ever reached striking distance. Ailey radiated more determination than many a seasoned fighter. She bowed formally, bending slightly at the waist with her eyes trained on him. He considered, for a brief moment, whether Ailey had been bluffing all along.

‘Ready?’ he murmured.

She flew at him.

In a flash of silver, the butterfly swords cut tight lines through the air. He deflected in two sharp clashes of steel, surprised by the strength behind the attack.

‘I thought this was a friendly match—’

The next swipe of her blade whistled by his throat.

Ailey pushed inside his defence without fear, without caution. For a second she darted within arm’s reach. He considered simply grabbing her and wrestling her to the ground. Pin her beneath him. The image lingered dangerously. Definitely not honourable.

He had to jump back to avoid her knee as she drove it upwards.

‘I can’t take you to Changan if you kill me.’

He twisted her next attack aside only to have her spring back, eyes dark with intent, a hint of green sparking within them. She left no room, no time to recover. His heart pumped hard as instinct took hold of him. According to her rules, he could only defend and not attack. He side-stepped and angled the strikes away. Ailey knew what she was doing, keeping him close so he couldn’t use his reach against her. She danced around him with deadly elegance, matching him toe to toe. The rhythm of it almost sexual.

Better than sexual.

‘Ten,’ he announced.

‘Show me what you have,’ she retorted. The fight had sparked quite a fire in her.

Once the rules changed, he expected her to go on the defensive and hold out for the forfeit, but that wasn’t her way. She kept at him, carving up the space around him until they were breathing hard. Precise angles, perfect placement. There was considerable training there. Discipline. But he could read by the clean control of her patterns that she had never been forced to use these skills where there were no rules.

He brought the hilt down against her wrist and followed it up with a wide arc of his blade that sent her stumbling backwards. Brute force over grace. This was his fight now.

She dodged away to search for an opening. He left none. The next chain of attacks crowded her against a tree. The force of each block resonated through her. He lifted his arms and brought his sword down, forcing her to cross blades with him. Metal grated in a harsh shriek of sound. It was a blow that could cleave through armour if he hadn’t held back.

Their blades locked and she braced against his strength, her arms straining under the pressure. Her chest heaved with each breath, lips parting, and her skin glowed with the exertion. Beyond lovely.

He looked down upon her as she struggled. ‘You’re good—for a girl.’

‘How very clever,’ she snapped.

She kicked at his knee and attempted to slip away. He allowed her to advance. Unable to resist the slightest opening, she cut at his shoulder. At the last moment he stepped aside and grabbed her wrist, pinning her arms against one another. With a gasp, she dropped her swords.

He grinned. ‘Surrender.’

Her eyes narrowed defiantly.

‘I don’t even need my sword any more.’ He stabbed the point of his weapon into the ground and left it standing. ‘You know, it would serve you to be more cautious, being half my size.’

‘I am not—’ she twisted in his grasp like a rabbit in a snare ‘—half your size. Let go.’

He relaxed his hold and she stepped back, massaging her wrists. The exhilaration of the fight throbbed in his veins.

‘We agreed to some terms, I recall,’ he said.

Her lips pressed together in what was suspiciously close to a pout. ‘I honour my bets.’

He moved in to claim his prize and she went completely still. Changan or no Changan, he would still be risking life and limb to get her back to civilisation. He at least deserved one kiss for it. Her mouth parted in silent invitation and her hands curled uncertainly by her sides. He revelled in the soft catch in her breath as he leaned closer. Then he stopped just shy of her. Her eyes clouded with the unspoken question.

His mouth curved into a smile. ‘The deal was you were supposed to give me a kiss.’

Every muscle within her pulled tight, poised on a knife’s edge of anticipation as she stared at his mouth. He had planned this. His eyes flickered with amusement, reflecting sunlight and shade. The rough beard on his chin gave him a wild, dangerous look. Stiffly, she lifted herself onto her toes, bracing a hand against his shoulders. He was steel beneath her grasp.

Did he have to watch her so intently?

She closed her eyes. It was the only way she would have the courage to do this. Still he waited. It would be a brief meeting of lips. Nothing to be afraid of. If only her heart would remember to keep beating. Holding her breath, she let her lips brush over his. It was the first time she’d ever kissed a man and her mind raced with it. She hardly had a sense of his mouth at all, though the shock of the single touch rushed like liquid fire to her toes.

Her part of the bargain was fulfilled. It could be done and over right then. Recklessly, after a moment’s hesitation, she touched her lips once again to him. This time she lingered, exploring the feel of him little by little. His mouth was warm and smooth and wonderful, all of it new and unexpected. He still hadn’t moved, even though her knees threatened to crumble and her heart beat like a thunder drum. Finally he responded with the barest hint of pressure. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers. Without thinking, she let her fingers dig into the sleek muscle of his arms. A low, husky sound rumbled in his throat before he wrapped his arms around her.

Heaven and earth. She hadn’t been kissing him at all. The thin ribbon of resistance uncoiled within her as he took control of the kiss. His stubble scraped against her mouth, raking a raw path of sensation through her. She could do nothing but melt against him, clutching the front of his tunic to stay on her feet.

A delicious heat radiated from him. His hands sank low against the small of her back to draw her close as he teased her mouth open. His breath mingled with hers for one anguished second before his tongue slipped past her lips to taste her in a slow, indulgent caress. A sigh of surrender escaped from her lips, a sound she hadn’t imagined she was capable of uttering.

His hands slipped from her abruptly and she opened her eyes to see his gaze fixed on her.

‘Well,’ he breathed, ‘you do honour your bets.’

Though he no longer touched her, it was as if the kiss hadn’t ended. He was still so close, filling every sense and thought. She stumbled as she tried to step away and he caught her, a knowing smile playing over his mouth. Her balance was impeccable. She never lost her footing like that, just standing there. His grip tightened briefly before he let her go. Even that tiny, innocent touch filled her with renewed longing.

In a daze, she bent to pick up her fallen swords. Her pulse throbbed as if she had run a li without stopping. In her head she was still running, flying fast.

‘Now that our bargain is settled …’ she began hoarsely ‘… we should be going.’

To her horror her hands would not stop shaking. Brushing past him, she gathered up her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder. ‘You said the next town was hours from here?’

He collected his sword while a slow grin spread over his face. She couldn’t look at him without conjuring the feel and the taste of him. Head down, she ploughed through the tall grass.

‘A good match,’ she attempted.

He caught up to her easily with his long stride. ‘Yes, quite good,’ he replied, the tone rife with meaning.

Her cheeks burned hot as she forced her gaze on the road ahead. She could barely tell day from night, couldn’t give her own name if asked.

She had to get home and denounce Li Tao. Warn her father. She had thought of nothing else since her escape, until this blue-eyed barbarian had appeared. It was fortunate they were parting when they reached town. When he wasn’t looking she pressed her fingers over her lips, which were still swollen from that first kiss.

She was outmatched, much more outmatched than when they had crossed swords.