9. Laurel #4
He was dressed in solid black leather from head to toe, the dark material stretched tight across his broad shoulders and powerful arms. His mouth was set in an unfriendly grimace, and the shadow along his jaw showed that he hadn’t shaved in several days, just the way I liked.
With his dark hair, massive build, and expression that warned people away before they came close, he looked every bit like someone who would be the Sheriff of Nottingham.
My heart gave a flutter.
Baron looked around the field and he made eye contact with me where I was standing near the edge, hands on the ropes around the arena. I couldn’t help it. I smiled and gave him a quick wink.
Baron’s expression didn’t change. He stared forward again as though I were nothing more than another face in the crowd.
I grinned. He was a good actor.
The tournament director gathered all the contestants and explained the rules of the bouts about to take place, from no fatal blows to no permanent damage. Any man who yielded, fell, or lost his weapon would be declared defeated, that sort of thing.
Once the director was done speaking, the first match began.
Baron wasn’t in that round, but he stared intently at both men.
I knew what he was doing. He was analyzing every habit and weaknesses of both competitors for reference later on.
Some people inhaled deeply a second before attacking.
Others shifted their weight before a feint or dropped their shoulder before a heavy strike.
The men in the arena first were two squires, and their swordplay was mediocre at best. They whacked at each other for a few minutes with more enthusiasm than skill.
One stumbled and the other took advantage and knocked his sword aside, then the victor was allowed to sit while the next pair entered the sparring area.
I watched each match with vivid interest. I had always found it mesmerizing to study the different styles and techniques people used. Some fought with brute strength, trying to end the match quickly. Others circled and waited, letting their opponents tire themselves out.
“So, Isabella,” a voice said behind me, “you enjoy watching this sort of event?”
I glanced over my shoulder.
Leopold had returned. I had wondered how long he would stay away. Men like him could never seem to bear the thought of a woman who was not madly in love with them.
“Yes, my lord. And yourself?”
“Sometimes.” Leopold lifted his chin slightly.
“I prefer to participate more than watch.” He snapped his fingers for a servant and asked for chairs to be brought.
The servant who hurried toward us was Walter, the one who was well known for always wearing gloves no matter how hot the weather.
He dipped his head politely, then vanished into the crowd and returned a moment later carrying two seats.
“A seat, my lady?” Leopold asked, gesturing grandly to the chair as though he had carved it himself.
“Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”
I sat carefully, trying not to let the corset dig any farther into my ribs. Leopold took the chair beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine when he settled in. I shifted the smallest amount away and pretended to be absorbed in the match.
Two men clashed in the ring, both much better than the squires from before. Their swords met with sharp clangs that carried over the field while dust rose around their boots. One circled left while the other kept his shield angled low, waiting for an opening.
“I prefer the javelin, myself,” Leopold announced.
“Do you?”
“Oh yes. I might have competed in tournaments if I wasn’t so busy managing the treasury. It’s a very important responsibility.” He paused, then added, “Our family is immensely wealthy.” He paused, as if expecting me to fall all over him because he had money.
If only he knew how many immensely wealthy people I had robbed in my lifetime.
“I’ve found that it isn’t how much money someone has that matters so much as what they do with their wealth,” I commented lightly.
“We build a great many churches,” Leopold said swiftly. “And we distribute supplies to the needy.”
“Those are noble causes,” I remarked.
Beside me, Leopold shifted in his chair. His fingers tapped a few times against his knee before he stilled them. He was beginning to grow frustrated with my lack of enthusiasm.
Good. Now he just needed a nudge in the right direction.
“Are you friends with King John?” I asked, careful to emphasize the title.
“Yes.”
I finally turned to face him full-on. “Well, I am glad to hear of someone who supports him. Everyone seems to be on his brother Richard’s side. They just don’t understand, do they?”
Leopold brightened at once and he leaned forward. “Yes. Exactly. I fully support John. He is a much better choice between the two of them, isn’t he?”
“Absolutely.” I bestowed a dazzling smile on him. “I’m glad you can see the truth past all the lies people spread.”
Leopold sat a little straighter, his chest lifting beneath his fine coat. I turned my attention back to the tournament before he could enjoy himself too much.
Baron was about to take his first turn. He stepped into the ring and swung his massive sword in a few easy circles.
A murmur moved through the crowd around us.
“That’s the new sheriff,” Someone whispered.
“Yes, that’s Blackwell’s boy.”
Several girls near the rope barrier leaned closer, their voices dropping into breathless giggles as they took in Baron’s broad shoulders and the way the black leather fitted across his powerful frame.
“Impressive man, that one,” I observed, nodding toward Baron.
Leopold frowned. “He looks mean.”
“He probably is,” I responded. “He is the Sheriff of Nottingham, after all. I wouldn’t ever want to make him angry.”
“I can’t imagine anyone would ever be angry with you.” Leopold’s voice turned smooth again. “You’re too pretty.”
“Oh, I wish no one ever got angry with me.” I released a gusty sigh and let my shoulders droop. “But unfortunately, servants tend to be blamed for everything. The head housekeeper is very strict with us.”
On the field, Baron raised his sword in salute to his opponent, a stocky knight with a broad chest and a round buckler strapped to his arm. Baron’s own shield was a large black kite shield with the Nottingham coat of arms painted on the front.
The signal was given.
The knight came forward first, quick for a man of his size, and Baron met him without retreating.
Their swords struck, metal ringing against metal.
The knight pressed hard, trying to force Baron back, but Baron absorbed each blow and returned many of his own.
He blocked every advance, letting the knight spend his strength then attacked back, each strike landing with enough force to make the knight stagger.
The knight’s boots dug into the dirt as he tried to hold his ground, but Baron drove him back step by step.
I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
“You probably could do with a night off from all that work, couldn’t you?” Leopold hinted.
“I do get one night in ten off,” I said.
The crowd had begun chanting, clapping in rhythm with each of Baron’s blows that struck the knight’s shield.
“Do you have tonight off?” Leopold asked.
“All day today and tonight,” I answered cheerfully, still watching Baron. “The older servants said they wanted the youth to enjoy themselves. Some of my friends and I are going to go to the dance together.”
“You aren’t accompanying anyone in particular?”
I didn’t answer.
On the field, the knight’s sword slipped low and Baron caught the opening at once. His blade struck hard against the knight’s weapon, knocking it wide, and in the next breath Baron stepped in and forced him down. The knight dropped his sword and fell to one knee.
The crowd erupted and Baron raised his arms in triumph. I applauded wildly along with everyone else and Baron glanced once toward me before taking his place at the winner’s bench.
The tournament director paired Baron as part of the first set of opponents for the second round, which I felt was unfair.
The crowd surrounding me seemed to agree.
A few people grumbled under their breath, and one man behind me muttered that the sheriff should have had time to recover like everyone else.
Everyone else had received ample time to rest, but Baron was going straight from one match to the next.
I sat forward, my fingers curling around the edge of my chair. I knew Baron was strong, but even strong men got tired. A careless mistake after a hard match could cost him, but his next opponent was the winning squire from the very first duel and the entire bout lasted about ten seconds.
The squire advanced with a half-hearted thrust, and Baron’s sword smashed against his opponent’s blade with such force that the squire’s weapon flew clean from his hand and landed several feet away in the grass.
The squire yelped, stumbled backward, then curled into a ball with his arms over his head.