Chapter Sixteen #3
“That was not something I’d considered,” Caroline replied with a grimace, “though I probably should have, given how strong the paternal bloodlines are.” She rested a hand on her stomach, silently begging the babe within to grow to a manageable size before he made his appearance.
“My thoughts precisely.”
“Three rounds—”
“One!” Caroline interrupted Gideon. “One round, only. Less opportunity for injury.”
“One round,” Gideon agreed begrudgingly. “Winner announced by submission or rendering his opponent unable to continue.”
“Unable to continue?” Emily squealed.
“Unconscious—not death,” Oliver clarified for her.
“That does not reassure me.”
“It will be fine, Angel,” he said to Emily.
Gnawing on her lip, Emily finally nodded in agreement.
“Ready?” asked Gideon.
The men began to crouch and circle, arms raised in similar fashions, intelligent eyes darting for openings.
Then, with explosive speed and force, the men began to grapple.
Caroline’s heart nearly burst through her ribcage as the men grunted and strained.
Powerful muscles bunched and flexed. Chunks of grass and dirt were torn up beneath their bare feet.
She fought the urge to cover her eyes; the sight was as beautiful as it was terrifying.
These were men of warrior stock. She could well imagine them fighting alongside their ancestors as they guarded this very castle from invaders.
Hands slipped on sweat-slicked flesh. Gritted teeth gnashed as limits were pressed.
Gideon’s heel slipped, and the men went down in a rolling, tumbling heap.
Caroline clapped her hand over her mouth as the men flipped positions.
Oliver was on top, then Gideon, then Oliver again.
Legs lashed about a torso and, with the dirt flying, it was nearly impossible to discern who was who until they stilled.
Eventually, Oliver held Gideon’s arm pinned behind his back.
Caroline thought the match would be declared over, but Gideon never conceded.
He fought with all his might until he was able to gain enough purchase to wrench his arm free and roll beneath his brother.
Exhibiting surprising flexibility, Gideon flung up a leg and twisted, catching Oliver about the middle and dropping him to his back.
They were locked together in combat, these two men with near identical physical builds and capabilities; however, the match went to Gideon when he began to bend Oliver’s leg at an awkward angle.
He tapped Gideon’s shoulder and was immediately released.
Both men collapsed to the ground, chests heaving, skin glistening in the afternoon light as they stared up at the blazing summer sun.
The women rushed over to them. “Any injuries?” Caroline asked, half afraid of the answer. Both dark heads shook.
“None,” panted Gideon.
“Then what do you call this?” she asked, touching a long red scrape on her husband’s arm.
“A minor flesh wound.”
“Indeed,” she replied. She was close enough now that she could see the pale marks on Oliver’s torso from injuries long healed. Were all of them earned in his youth on the streets? What hell must he have lived through?
Emily knelt beside her husband and pushed his damp hair back from his face. “You did well.”
“I feel brilliant,” he replied, chest heaving, but already beginning to slow to a more normal pace. His eyes glittered with excitement. “I haven’t experienced that type of exertion in ages.”
She gave him a small smile. “And you will be sore tomorrow to prove it. Come on, let’s get you standing and into a bath.”
“I’ll send some liniment to your bedchamber,” said Gideon as he sat up. “It will help with any soreness.”
Oliver inclined his head in thanks and he held his hand out to Gideon. After a moment, he allowed Oliver to pull him to his feet. A moment of mutual respect and understanding passed between them before Oliver allowed Emily to guide him away to gather his clothing and wash.
“I still do not see how that was necessary,” Caroline groused as she, too, began to retrieve her husband’s discarded clothing.
“No congratulations for the conquering hero, then?” Gideon asked, arms held out as if waiting for her to rain kisses and praise upon his person. She decided not to share her suspicions that Oliver had allowed Gideon to triumph.
“You wish for me to congratulate you for behaving like a child?” she scoffed. Gideon caught her about the waist and she fought half-heartedly to free herself. “Leave off! You smell horrendous.”
“Does that mean you will not join me for a bath?” He raised a suggestive brow that melted her insides and halted her protests.
“We will see about that…” she trailed off and slipped free from his arms to retrieve his cravat from where it had been draped over a bush. “Was your wrestling everything you’d hoped for?” She hadn’t expected the somewhat wistful look she saw on his face when she turned back to him.
“Actually, it was. I never had a playmate growing up; I was never able to form that bond with anyone. By the time I met Kempton and the others at school, our lives were too regimented. We found our fair share of trouble, but never anything brothers might when they grew up together. Imagine how different my life might have been had Oliver and I been children together—especially as close in age as we are. For the first time, I feel like I have family—or at least what I’d always imagined having one might be.
” It made an odd sort of sense to Caroline.
She may not have understood the act of wrestling itself, but the process—the bonding it symbolized—had a much deeper meaning than proving who was stronger or faster or the better fighter.
She took Gideon’s hand and brought his scraped knuckles to her cheek and pressed them there, not caring if it left her streaked in filth. “I am happy you have had this time to get to know Oliver, and I am even happier that you two are beginning to develop a relationship. He is your family.”
“As are you,” he said and pulled her close once more. “As is this baby,” he added, placing a protective hand over her abdomen that appeared to be expanding by the day.
“And you will always have us.” Caroline stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.