Captive Embraces by Fern Michaels

midsection.
    Sirena brought up her arm and flexed her knees, slashing again at Caleb’s weapon. The blow nearly knocked the rapier from Caleb’s grip and he took a firmer hold on the hilt. Sirena’s strength surprised him and something in her eyes was unsettling. For a brief instant he wondered if she would have cut him with her first thrust had not the fencing tips been affixed.
    Caleb took the initiative, aiming for Sirena’s midsection. She parried, recovered and nimbly sidestepped as again her blade struck out. His arm flew backward and he was astounded at her agility.
    Caleb parried, feinted to the right and touched the tip of his weapon to her shoulder. “Touché!” he shouted exultantly.
    â€œSo, Caleb, the lessons you learned under your fencing instructors were not for naught. How nimbly you handle yourself,” she breathed heavily. “You are a greater challenge than I imagined.” Quickly, her rapier touched the hard flesh of his thigh and he jumped backward away from the pressure. “You still have difficulty with your concentration; someday it may mean the end of you.”
    Caleb’s eyes widened then narrowed. Something in the tone of Sirena’s voice and the wicked glare in her clear green eyes chilled his blood. Allowing her opponent no time to regain himself, Sirena plunged onward, driving Caleb back against the rail. Time and again the tip of her weapon sought his flesh, time and again he parried, eluding the dangerous thrusts.
    Fine beads of perspiration glistened on Sirena’s upper lip and it was evident to all who watched that she was hard pressed to see the contest to its finish. She moved with the grace of a cat, but to Caleb’s knowing eye she had become slower, out of practice. Her offensive tactics were contrived to conceal her deficiencies.
    For an instant Caleb considered allowing her this win. He felt it would abate some of her torment and perhaps restore her faith in herself. A small voice called to Caleb. Let her win, let her win. It’s what she wants, what she needs! Save her this disgrace before her crew.
    So totally against his principles were Caleb’s thoughts, that he rose to his own defense. His movements were those of a dancer, light and sure-footed. His motions were limited to protecting himself from her onslaught. He knew that at any time he could take her. The muscles in his back were bunched in anticipation. His blood ran fast, but his breathing remained light and unlabored. He had almost decided to give her a further advantage over him when he saw the smile on her face. Macabre! A grimace more than a smile. Deadly! A hatred burning from within. Caleb knew in that instant that Sirena was not seeing him, Caleb, within pointed range of her weapon. Her adversary was Regan.
    Sirena’s heart pounded within her breast. Her arm was heavy and becoming impossible to lift. The rapier which had once been an extension of her own limb had become awkward and alien to her. Still, she pushed Caleb backward. Her blade came up with lightning speed and slashed across Caleb’s chest. She did not take her eyes from him. She watched him feint from one side to the other, always staying out of reach. Only the clash of steel upon steel could be heard above her ragged breathing. She was out of condition and she knew it, and her possible failure drove her onward with a vengeance.
    The falling night lengthened the shadows, and in the half-light Caleb seemed to become Regan. Regan whom she hated; Regan whom she loved. Caleb’s costume enhanced the resemblance to his father: white shirt open to the waist, baring an expanse of bronze chest.
    Reckless fury overtook her, blocking out all reason. Beyond feeling, she took the advantage again, swiping at Caleb’s weapon, sending a jarring blow near the hilt where he gripped it, sending the rapier sailing across the deck.
    The silence of the onlookers was ominous, bated, waiting for