Come to think of it, Tav had noticed the bookshop was looking a bit different. The coffee was certainly better, and it seemed to be busier when he’d walked by this weekend. And hadn’t Portia asked him if she could borrow some of his armor?
“She’s a good one indeed,” Cheryl said pointedly, then elbowed Tav. She always got a bit feisty on exhibition days. “I have to go kick Kevyn’s arse for the crowd now. Don’t forget to come over and fight the bloke from Skymead Armory afterward. Maybe it’ll help you work off that foul mood.”
Sisters-in-law weren’t so bad, Tav supposed.
“Aye, I’ve got to return to my stall,” Mary said. “I was just doing a round, trying to entice people to check out my wares since I don’t have anyone so interesting as you do to lure them in. Later, Tavish!”
Tav made his way around the crowd, feeling the lure that Mary had spoken of as Portia came into his line of sight again. He stepped beside her quietly as she fielded a question about whether fencing or longsword was better for beginners.
“Ah, here we have the chivalrous Sir Tavish, who can tell you more about Bodotria’s lessons.” Portia’s eyes glinted up at him, and her smile was a thing to behold.
She’s enjoying herself.
How many times had he seen that smile fade away after she deflected one of his barbs? Tav’s chest suddenly felt tight, as if his brigandine had shrunk a size.
He remembered that last awful year of marriage with Greer, where neither of them could say the right thing to one another, and every time he’d tried to she’d replied with something caustic or biting, or worse, with indifference.
“Oh, another sword? Wow, looks sharp. I’m off to the office then, as one of us has to be responsible.”
It was a terrible feeling, and though he’d had some more than pleasant interactions with Portia, she’d had to be on the defensive since day one—well, after her initial attack, that is, though even that had been in the service of defending another. It was a stressful way to live, and he knew it.
“Thank you for doing such a fantastic job holding down the fort while I was away performing my knightly duties, Maid Freckles,” he said grandly, bowing to her before turning to the crowd. “Maid Freckles is American, but she has a vast knowledge of Scottish arms and history. We’re very lucky to have her sharing her talents with us for a few months.”
He glanced at her and wished he hadn’t because the shocked pleasure on her face showed him just how much of a knob he’d been for the past few weeks.
“My pleasure, Sir Tavish,” she replied politely with a deep curtsy that nearly interrupted the blood flow to his brain. The rare late spring sunlight highlighted her collarbones and décolletage—her freckles were not restricted to the spray across her nose and cheekbones.
“Is this the result of the apprentice search?” someone in the crowd asked. Tav’s eyes jerked from Portia’s collarbones to a lean, bearded man holding an expensive camera.
“Aye,” he answered carefully.
“Grand!” The man smiled. “I’m from the Bodotria Eagle, the paper that first covered your search for an apprentice.”
“Oh, that’s how I found out about it!” Portia beamed at the reporter, and Tav watched the man’s expression brighten. “My twin sister runs a website, GirlsWithGlasses dot com—that’s GirlsWithGlasses dot com, easy to remember, right? She posted a link to the article in your paper and sent it to me to apply, and here I am.”
“Really?” Tav and the man asked at the same time.
“Yes.” Portia kept her gaze on Tav. “You never asked me how I found you, so I never said anything. I told Jamie though, and Cheryl, since she’s a fan of the site.”
“And you have a twin? And here I was thinking one of you was more than enough trouble.” Tav was joking, but some of the light faded from Portia’s eyes and her smile sagged a bit.
“Oh, she’s nothing like me. Reggie is the good twin.”
She chuckled, but after having seen what Portia looked like when she was actually having fun, he could tell that she was faking it. He thought about how vulnerable she had been, sitting across from him and telling him she needed this apprenticeship, and how his careless words had hit her much harder than he’d intended over the weeks. He had to stop being so careless, dammit.
“Portia—”
“Do you mind if I snap a photo of you two?” the reporter butted in. “Our readers just loved that story and I know they’ll be thrilled to have a follow-up.”
“Oh, of course!” Portia was suddenly bright again, though it still seemed a bit forced. She wrapped one arm around Tav’s waist and brandished a dagger with the other.
He didn’t move. “Erm.”
She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes serious and her brows raised as if she were waiting on something from him. Tav stared.
“Pull out your sword,” she commanded and Tav was certain it was the sexiest thing a woman had ever uttered to him. He did as he was told, carefully, and held it out in front of him as if warding off attackers. She leaned up on her tiptoes, arms holding him more tightly for balance and somehow unaware that her breasts were pressing into his side.
“Turn it so people can see the craftsmanship,” she whispered into his ear. “This is a marketing opportunity. Show that ornate hilt!”
Portia dropped back onto the soles of her boots. Her arm around his waist pulled him closer and he draped his one free arm over her shoulder for lack of anything better to do with it. He tried to smile, but he was sure it was more of a grimace. She was so close, and so soft, and there was that lovely scent of hers again. Plus, she was holding a deadly weapon and her stance wasn’t half bad.
Fuuuuuck, this was a miserable pleasure—learning the feel of her curves pressed against him. Now that his body knew, it wouldn’t soon forget.
The photographer snapped away while grinning from ear to ear, then lowered his camera. “Perfect. Thanks!”
He walked away, already reviewing the images on the digital viewing screen, and Portia released Tav and moved away without a word, tending to the customers as he stood, suddenly too warm in his fighting gear. A few customer’s swarmed around, asking about Tav’s sword and purchasing items and signing up for lessons.
Eventually Kevyn and Cheryl jogged up to the booth.
“Oy! Time for your match with Master Bob!”
Portia whirled around. “Are you going to fight?”
Tav shouldn’t have felt a surge of cockiness at the interest in her expression, but he did. It wasn’t as if he was battling for honor or anything—it was an exhibition. Still . . . He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword in what he knew was a dramatic pose. She’d called him Sir Tavish and he was playing the part. That was it. “Aye, lass.”
Portia glanced at the products on the table and frowned a bit. “Break a leg!”
“If you want to go watch, I can take over for a bit,” Kevyn offered.
Cheryl slipped an arm through Portia’s. “Yes, come watch! Let’s see if Master Bob can get Tav on his knees as quickly as you did!”
Tav shot Cheryl a look, but he was the only one aware her words had more than one meaning.
They made their way to the small clearing where the martial arts exhibition was taking place. A crowd had gathered, and Bob was already in the middle, waving his ridiculous sword around. The older man was a bit of a show-off for Tavish’s tastes, but he was good at what he did and at playing up the theatrical side of their profession.
“McKenzie!” Bob bellowed, pointing his sword in Tav’s direction as he caught sight of him. “Keeping an opponent waiting is an insult, laddie.”
“OMG, I need to get video of this.”
Tav glanced over to find Portia tugging her cell phone out from between her breasts.
“You keep things in there?” he asked in a choked voice, trying not to look there in front of the crowd. He was so taken aback that he couldn’t even be annoyed about her wanting to record him.
“Yes.” She was busy navigating to her camera app. “Most women’s clothing doesn’t have pockets. Titty pockets are a functional adaptation.”