Chapter 7 #2
The crowd began to grumble. Merraid could see Gellir was intentionally holding back, afraid of hurting her.
Damn him. She was never going to lose this way. Not believably. She had to find a way to provoke him.
Throwing her shoulders back, she blew out a determined breath. “Is that all ye’ve got?” she scoffed. “I thought ye were the greatest warrior in the world!”
He didn’t take the bait. But she saw his jaw tense. “I haven’t yet begun.”
“What are ye waitin’ for?”
“Waiting for you to start.”
He meant it as an insult. But she was used to insults. Feiyan had taught her to weather slurs with calm composure.
They began circling again. This time, she took the offensive, advancing with a series of rapid diagonal slices. They were fast and showy, but light, not lethal. If any of them landed, there would be minimal damage.
He handily deflected them all and echoed her quip. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Merraid chuckled. This was going to take longer than she expected. “Hardly.”
He came at her almost before she could finish the word. Not with his sword, but with unexpected punches of his targe. He moved from right to left, back and forth, forcing her to retreat.
He might have ultimately pinned her against the fence. But she ducked under the last blow and rolled forward. When she came up, her sword was aimed at his unprotected side.
Resisting her natural stabbing instincts, she pretended to trip and stumbled onto her knees.
Somehow, he tripped over her. In the next moment, he fell onto his back.
The onlookers hooted in disapproval. No one liked to watch a pair of clumsy combatants.
Merraid swore under her breath. She’d hoped to make this a quick battle. The longer it took, the bigger the audience would be. She still intended to let Gellir win. But she didn’t want the entire clan to see her lose. She most especially didn’t want Lady Feiyan to witness her defeat and disgrace.
Gellir muttered a curse. Damn the lass. What was taking so long? He’d fought Merraid before. She was a competent warrior. She could have gotten the best of him several times now. Yet she’d tripped over her own feet, obliging him to commit his own blunder lest he put her at a disadvantage.
Losing intentionally was turning out to be far more difficult than winning.
He’d have to rile her up somehow. Goad her into more aggressive action that would make her victory believable.
He popped up to his feet and offered his hand to her.
She slapped it away and scrambled up by herself.
He murmured, “We don’t have to do this, Merraid. I have no wish to humiliate you in front of the whole clan.”
Her jaw tightened. “What makes ye think ye’ll win, sirrah?”
He shrugged. “’Tis inevitable. I’m a man. I’m stronger. Bigger. Swifter.”
That did it. Her eyes blazed. “Ye think so?”
She answered with a volley of attacks that were so fast and fierce, he barely had time to defend himself.
But when he finally found his footing again, he replied in kind.
His blade clanged against her targe a dozen times before she slipped out of his reach and spun round, smacking him on the arse with the flat of her blade.
The onlookers’ laughter made the blood rush in his ears. He meant to let Merraid win. He didn’t mean to let her embarrass him.
Two could play at that game. He swung high with his sword, forcing her to raise her shield. Then he swept his targe low, knocking her off her feet and onto her backside.
This time he joined in the crowd’s merriment.
He was still mid-laugh when she rocked back and sprang to her feet with acrobatic ease, giving him a hard shove that sent him staggering backwards.
Colliding with the fence kept him from falling. But when she rushed toward him—the point of her sword aimed at his heart—his eyes went wide. He was only narrowly able to deflect a skewering.
She crashed into him, and they grappled in that awkward position for a moment, too close for swordplay, before he was able to push her away.
He expelled a harsh breath. The pesky maidservant had tried to run him through. This was no friendly battle. It was clear now that Feiyan had molded Merraid into an expert warrior.
He still meant to throw the fight. He still meant to send a message to the men of the clan. But he certainly didn’t want to die for it.
Perhaps he didn’t have to temper his blows so much after all. He meant what he’d said. Men were naturally bigger and stronger. But they weren’t quite as conniving as women. If he wanted to avoid being slain, he’d have to use more clever tactics.
He faced Merraid again, who waited with her targe raised and sword ready. But before he could begin his next attack, he heard a bellow from the crowd.
“Hey now! What’s goin’ on here?”
It was Laird Dougal. The last man he wished to see.
“’Tis a friendly fight, my laird,” he called out in assurance.
“Does she know that?” Laird Dougal jested.
The onlookers chuckled, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Merraid’s gaze narrow.
No doubt she’d heard her share of jests about the lowly maidservant who thought she was a noble warrior.
It had to hurt, no matter how hardened she was to their ridicule.
Their scorn made him even more determined to let her win.
To her, he murmured, “Pay no heed to them. Don’t hold back. If I can’t defend myself, I don’t deserve the title of knight.”
She seemed empowered by his words. She straightened her shoulders and bent her knees in readiness.
They engaged again. This time he unleashed his full strength. Their swords clashed and sparked and clanged. With his long reach and superior power, he pressed her gradually back to the center of the field. He was in control now. Now he could manipulate the battle.
“Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch!”
He jerked in surprise. It was Feiyan. In a foul mood.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He was afraid of that. In his absence, he’d asked his cousin to keep Merraid safe. Now here he was, sparring with her himself.
“’Twas my challenge, m’lady,” Merraid called back.
“And you agreed?” Feiyan asked him in disapproval.
“I saw no harm in it,” he replied. It was true enough. He didn’t intend to hurt Merraid. He intended to lose.
Feiyan shook her head. “Try not to injure him, Merraid,” she called out. “He has brides to impress.”
Feiyan’s confidence in her skills should have pleased Merraid. But Merraid’s shoulders lowered, almost imperceptibly. Her feelings were clear. Gellir was an important noble with a bright future. Merraid was only a maidservant. What happened to her was of little consequence.
“To hell with my brides,” he murmured. “Let’s give them a show, shall we?”
“Nay, she’s right,” Merraid said. “I should never have asked ye to—”
Gellir didn’t let her finish. He lunged forward, swinging his blade in a low arc.
Quick on her feet, Merraid leaped up over the sword, spun in the air, and landed with a blind backward stab. He gasped and turned sideways. Her blade missed his belly by an inch.
She dove forward, rolling away from him.
He charged after her, raising his blade.
She whipped around and ran at him with the ferocity of a wild boar.
Fearful she might spit herself on his upraised sword, he lifted it out of the way. At the last moment, she slid into the dirt before him, skidding between his legs in a cloud of dust.
He pivoted to face her. To his surprise, she was already on her feet again, less than a foot in front of him.
Without warning, she punched him in the chin with her targe.
Hard.