lay against the ferns. She could only be hurt by rejection if she allowed herself to care. The problem was that she did care about Simon and about helping the Templars rid themselves of their enemy. Would he make her a knight as he'd promised? Or would he reject her in the end as her father always had?
Her mind raced with unanswered questions. Silently, she slipped out of the shelter. She grasped her sword, and securing it about her waist, made her way to the grassy field a hundred paces to the left. She needed to do something to clear her mind and bring the exhaustion her body needed if she were to dream as Simon had asked.
If only she could find sleep.
She drew her sword from her scabbard and balanced it in her hand. She gripped the hilt, feeling the grooves of the metal beneath her palm. It felt right having a sword in her hand. Natural.
Despite the darkness, her gaze drifted to where she knew Rosslyn Castle sat. She was a woman warrior. Why could her father not accept that? Simon had accepted her … eventually. He had accepted her quite readily when he'd thought she was a boy. He'd sparred with her and taught her many things. Until he'd discovered her secret.
That's when everything had changed between them.
Brianna concentrated on the blade in her hand. She drew a deep breath and felt the sword as though it were an extension of her arm. She brought the blade up in a slow, controlled movement, then down, releasing her breath as she did.
Breathing helped to center her as her blade came up, then down, over and over again in a punishing routine she'd developed for herself. She had to keep herself strong and keep her skills sharp, even if she hadn't had any use for them since her return from Teba.
From the shadows at the edge of the field, Simon watched the woman before him as she put her lean muscular body through the primal steps of a dance. Her battle dance. Despite the fact she wore heavy skirts now instead of breeches, he'd seen such movements before. Her lithe movements had captivated him as much then as they did now. Brianna, the woman, the warrior, and if he were honest with himself, his equal on the battlefield.
Simon narrowed his gaze upon her as she danced in and out of the moonlight, bringing her blade up with a swift, sure stroke, then down with the same proficiency. The simple cut of her dress did nothing to hide the curves hidden beneath. The fabric fluttered with each step, only to hug her body with each turn. He stared at her, transfixed. How could he have ever thought she was a boy?
Simon closed his eyes, bracing against the onslaught of emotion flooding him. Deep within himself he must have known the he was a she, for he had been attracted to her from the beginning. And yet he had not realized her deception on some level as well. The first time he'd touched her and a strange spark had passed between them, he'd thought he was going mad. Perhaps he'd taken too many blows to the head.
He had tried explaining his need to be near the new knight "Brendan" as his own desire to train the lad in the ways of the Templars. And when he'd discovered her deception, he had to admit his first thought had been that of gratitude a moment before the rage set in.
He'd been as angry at her as many of the other knights had been. They had wanted to abandon her in Spain, but he couldn't do that. He'd seen a raw vulnerability in her eyes that he'd connected with even then.
That vulnerability was back in her eyes now. Her concentration focused on her movements and on her technique. With all her efforts elsewhere, her guard had dropped, leaving her exposed. And along with the vulnerability he also saw hurt and betrayal. By her father?
"Simon?"
The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie. "I did not mean to disturb you. I saw you slip from the camp and wanted to make certain you were well." What was it about her father that disturbed her so?
She lowered her sword and he could see her chest rise and fall
Her mind raced with unanswered questions. Silently, she slipped out of the shelter. She grasped her sword, and securing it about her waist, made her way to the grassy field a hundred paces to the left. She needed to do something to clear her mind and bring the exhaustion her body needed if she were to dream as Simon had asked.
If only she could find sleep.
She drew her sword from her scabbard and balanced it in her hand. She gripped the hilt, feeling the grooves of the metal beneath her palm. It felt right having a sword in her hand. Natural.
Despite the darkness, her gaze drifted to where she knew Rosslyn Castle sat. She was a woman warrior. Why could her father not accept that? Simon had accepted her … eventually. He had accepted her quite readily when he'd thought she was a boy. He'd sparred with her and taught her many things. Until he'd discovered her secret.
That's when everything had changed between them.
Brianna concentrated on the blade in her hand. She drew a deep breath and felt the sword as though it were an extension of her arm. She brought the blade up in a slow, controlled movement, then down, releasing her breath as she did.
Breathing helped to center her as her blade came up, then down, over and over again in a punishing routine she'd developed for herself. She had to keep herself strong and keep her skills sharp, even if she hadn't had any use for them since her return from Teba.
From the shadows at the edge of the field, Simon watched the woman before him as she put her lean muscular body through the primal steps of a dance. Her battle dance. Despite the fact she wore heavy skirts now instead of breeches, he'd seen such movements before. Her lithe movements had captivated him as much then as they did now. Brianna, the woman, the warrior, and if he were honest with himself, his equal on the battlefield.
Simon narrowed his gaze upon her as she danced in and out of the moonlight, bringing her blade up with a swift, sure stroke, then down with the same proficiency. The simple cut of her dress did nothing to hide the curves hidden beneath. The fabric fluttered with each step, only to hug her body with each turn. He stared at her, transfixed. How could he have ever thought she was a boy?
Simon closed his eyes, bracing against the onslaught of emotion flooding him. Deep within himself he must have known the he was a she, for he had been attracted to her from the beginning. And yet he had not realized her deception on some level as well. The first time he'd touched her and a strange spark had passed between them, he'd thought he was going mad. Perhaps he'd taken too many blows to the head.
He had tried explaining his need to be near the new knight "Brendan" as his own desire to train the lad in the ways of the Templars. And when he'd discovered her deception, he had to admit his first thought had been that of gratitude a moment before the rage set in.
He'd been as angry at her as many of the other knights had been. They had wanted to abandon her in Spain, but he couldn't do that. He'd seen a raw vulnerability in her eyes that he'd connected with even then.
That vulnerability was back in her eyes now. Her concentration focused on her movements and on her technique. With all her efforts elsewhere, her guard had dropped, leaving her exposed. And along with the vulnerability he also saw hurt and betrayal. By her father?
"Simon?"
The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie. "I did not mean to disturb you. I saw you slip from the camp and wanted to make certain you were well." What was it about her father that disturbed her so?
She lowered her sword and he could see her chest rise and fall
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