Chapter 9 #2
“Good. Wait but a moment, lads, and I’ll go back to the yard with you. You can watch and learn another stroke or two while I join Sir Alban and the others in the sparring,” Gray said, laughing when the boys whooped with pleasure and raced a little ways off to battle again with their sticks.
After gathering the last of their equipment, Gray glanced at Catherine with an expression that made her go weak in the knees. “’Tis a disappointment, my lady, but it seems we must resume your lessons later.”
She nodded and dropped her gaze, trying not to grin like a fool. Taking the tackle box from him, she said, “’Tis time for me to return to the castle anyway. I need to overlook the weavers and view their work, though they’ve made much progress in their skills these past weeks.”
“The result of your apt guidance, no doubt,” Gray said, his gaze warm on her. They began to walk, the boys shouting and playing on the path ahead of them. “You’ll meet with me after the noon meal, then? The village fair begins today, and I’d like you to accompany me and the others to it.”
“Aye.” She still smiled, filled with pleasure at the thought of spending the entire afternoon with him.
Hurrying to keep up, she kept pace with him and the boys as they headed back to the castle, laughing at their antics and thrilling to the feel of the wind in her hair.
It whipped in wild gusts round her legs, making her scarlet gown snap and flutter like the pennants atop Ravenslock’s massive towers.
The early morning sun shone down, lighting the autumn air, it seemed, to shimmering gold, and all was right with the world for this brief moment. The afternoon promised more of the same. More happiness and sweet memories to sustain her through the dark days ahead.
But she’d try not to think of the future now.
It would come soon enough, she knew, for her decision had been made.
Soon she’d take action to bring Eduard’s evil plotting to its end.
She had to, for with every day that passed, every moment that brought Eduard’s return here closer, the danger to her children seemed more real.
Aye, soon she’d see this nightmare to its end, only it would not be in the way that Eduard had planned.
Not like that at all. Because she’d decided that she only had one real choice in this matter, though its outcome frightened her almost as much as the thought of murdering Gray had.
In truth, her heart nearly stilled from fear when she allowed herself to think on it…
For she’d decided that her only real hope lay in telling Gray the truth.
Gray wiped the sweat from his eyes and continued his methodical strokes, relaxing as he moved through a sparring sequence with one of the younger knights.
Derrik was developing well. The young knight’s stamina had improved since the last time Gray worked the men.
Still, this exercise had proved more of a show for Gray than a challenge to his abilities.
“Break!”
Alban’s shouted command caused them to cease and back away from each other.
Gray was surprised at the call to halt, but he knew Alban must have good reason.
’Twas true that young Derrik looked as if he needed a respite.
As he took a long pull from his water skin, Gray saw Alban approach.
By the swagger in his friend’s step, Gray knew he had something brewing.
As soon as Alban spoke, he knew what it was.
“You look a little winded, Gray.” Alban obviously tried to look concerned, leaning in as if to avoid anyone else hearing his comment. “Could it be that the rumors are false? Might a simple mortal frame compass the famed warrior of steel?”
Tossing the water skin back to his squire, Gray raised his brow. “I don’t know what wind’s been blowing in your ears, old man, but ’tis not my labored breathing you heard.”
“If you say so.” Alban shrugged, playing his role to the hilt.
“But I only called break to spare you the indignity of suffering a cut at the hands of a new blood. ’Twas a foregone conclusion, the way you huffed and puffed through that last set.
” He looked hurt. “It wouldn’t be amiss, you know, to show a little appreciation for my quick thinking. ”
Grinning now, Gray leaned on his sword. “I’ll appreciate you more when you lift your blade and get to work with your arms instead of your mouth. ’Tis tedious to hear you keep braying like an ass on a barren field.”
Shouting a laugh echoed by the boys surrounding them, Alban caught the sword Gray tossed to him and moved to the center of the yard, shifting his weight back and forth. “A challenge from my old friend? I’d hoped your creaky bones would be up to it. Come, then, let us begin!”
“At your service.” Gray smiled again and took his stance opposite him.
He kept his gaze fixed on Alban, calling out to the young men, who were gathered in a circle around them, “Observe this set well, lads. ’Tis a prime example of how to out-thrust your opponent and keep him controlled on the field. ”
Alban grinned. “Or a lesson in how quickly the tables can turn when you think you’re in control.”
The young knights tightened their position around Gray and Alban, jostling each other for a better view.
Humming excitement swelled in the yard, and Gray felt the familiar pulse of it in his blood, heightened by the knowledge that this fighting would be less in earnest and more in fun.
He and Alban circled each other; he swung his blade in two half-arcs, laughing when Alban swirled his blade over his head in kind, nodding in mock court fashion.
They stopped, and all went still for a single, energy-charged instant; then with a roar, they leapt at each other. Metal clanged on metal as they came together, falling into a pattern of sparring that by now seemed as familiar as breathing, thanks to so many years of training with each other.
They fought hard, and Gray pressed forward, using his height to full advantage. Alban only stood a few inches shorter, but it was enough to make a difference in the angle of his thrusts. Gray slashed and met each of Alban’s strokes, throwing his weight into the blows he dealt with his blade.
But Alban moved quickly, his smaller build allowing him freer movement through the series of strokes.
He charged Gray several times, trying to knock him off balance with the leverage of surprise.
If it wasn’t for the extreme concentration required in displaying skills like this, Gray felt sure that at least one of Alban’s efforts would have resulted in success.
After a few minutes, the sword began to feel heavy in Gray’s grip. Still he swung and dodged, and Alban did the same. Neither gave ground as each worked his advantage; the area was silent except for the harsh rasp of breathing and the grating, metallic sounds of their blades.
“Care you to give, old man?” Alban called to Gray, feinting to the left to avoid a powerful blow that might have cut his shield in half had he stood still.
“Nay!” Gray laughed, swinging and ducking himself to avoid Alban’s parry. “Not until one of us falls down or bleeds.”
“A show of blood, eh? I’ll try to arrange it!”
Grinning, Gray doubled his efforts, allowing the white heat of battle to take over, masking the pain weighing down his sword arm and dulling the ache in his shoulders, back and legs. He drove forward, his press finally successful in forcing Alban back a step. Then three more.
A few more paces and he’d be pushed out of the circle, which would be as good as a victory. Just two steps, now…
A flash of scarlet moved at the edge of Gray’s vision, up on the ramparts of the castle.
At the same time, a gust of wind whipped through the yard, causing a billowing curtain of golden-brown hair to float above the scarlet figure.
Gray’s heart skipped a beat. ’Twas Elise, leaning on the stonework as she watched their sparring.
She looked concerned, and warmth filled his breast to know that she was worried about—
Pain sliced Gray’s arm, just above his elbow, and his breath hissed in with the flow of anger that followed it. His gaze snapped back to Alban. His friend’s eyes were wide with amazement, his sword held frozen in position. All was silent.
“Blood!” Alban suddenly called, a mischievous twinkle replacing the shock that had initially filled his gaze. He danced around in a little circle, strutting and hooting, much to the laughter of the knights in training.
“Bloody hell,” Gray growled, examining the cut to his arm. But Alban’s capers soon drew a grin from him as well. “Gloat all you want, friend,” Gray said. “’Tis but a scratch. Less deadly than what I might earn from a fishwife’s nails.”
“Still so cocky?” Alban reached for his water skin as he handed his blade to his squire. “See you, lads,” he called loudly, gesturing around them, “Distractions can prove deadly on the field. Particularly those of the feminine kind.”
Alban’s gaze lifted to the ramparts, and two score eyes followed the path of his vision until all of the young knights were staring up at Elise, still perched at the crenellation, watching them.
When Gray met her gaze, a bewitching blush covered her cheeks, visible even at this distance.
He smiled and gave her a flourishing bow before her lashes fluttered down, and she scooted out of sight.
“Women make men’s legs weak, lads. Remember that at your next tournament.”
Alban’s statement dragged Gray’s attention back to the yard, and he walked up to his friend, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him cough.
“Aye, you’re right, Alban. Distractions may be deadly—but pray don’t forget that without a distraction this day, you wouldn’t have had a prayer at defeating me. ”
The boys all laughed again, spreading to gather up their equipment, before they all headed back to the castle for a change of clothing and the noon meal.
But Gray’s mind really wasn’t on their friendly banter. It kept drifting to more country matters, thoughts awash with scarlet linen and billowing silken tresses—and he found himself glancing often up to the ramparts as they went, hoping for another glimpse of the tempting angel who was his wife.