Sam stayed sitting in the dirt, muttering something under his breath.
“What was that?” Thomas said.
Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Nothing, Captain.”
Thomas fixed him with a look.
Sam swallowed and said, “Only, it’s not fair that I have to train with someone who’s always going to win. Darcy’s half a head taller than me, and we all know he’s good with a staff.”
Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, you’re not going to bloody well learn anything fighting someone who’s no good, are you? The whole point of this is for you to be able to beat your opponent, no matter if he’s bigger than you. Besides, if someone’s threatening His Majesty, it’s not like you can say, ‘Excuse me, but can you please send an assassin who’s more my size?’ is it? You need to be prepared for anything.”
Sam’s face, already pink from exertion, flushed darker red. “Oh.” He ducked his head and stared fixedly at his boots, but the tips of his ears were still visible and they fairly glowed.
Seeing the slump of Sam’s shoulders, Thomas sighed and lowered himself to the ground so he was sitting cross-leggednext to Sam. He reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, it took a lot longer for him to bring you down this time, right?”
“I s’pose,” Sam muttered, drawing patterns in the dirt with a fingertip.
“There you go. That proves you’re getting better. It won’t be long before you’re the one putting someone on their arse.”
Sam raised his head. “You really think I could beat someone? Even if they’re bigger than me?” There was naked hope in his voice.
“Course you can, if you set your mind to the task and pay attention.” Thomas stood and extended a hand. Sam took it and pulled himself up. Bending over, Thomas picked up Sam’s staff and handed it to him. “Start trusting your instincts. Watch Darcy’s feet, see if you can tell when he’s planning to attack. And remember, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Sam nodded, taking his staff and squaring his shoulders. Thomas stood back, leaning against the wooden railings as the two young guards started circling each other. In all likelihood Sam would get his arse handed to him again, but he was still trying and that was the important thing.
“My money’s on the little one,” a voice said close to his ear.
Thomas whirled to find the duke standing beside him with his elbows propped on the railings. He sucked in a sharp breath. Thomas was stealthy, but it seemed he had nothing on the duke. “Where did you come from? Your Grace,” he added hastily.
The duke gave a lazy shrug. “I was bored, so I thought I’d come and watch.” He nodded at some of the men who had stripped out of their shirts and were now bare chested, their muscles glistening with sweat in the afternoon sunlight. “It’s quite the view.”
Thomas generally tried not to pay any mind to how his men looked shirtless, and he certainly wasn’t going to comment on it.As their captain, it wasn’t proper. “What makes you think Sam will win, Your Grace?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Look at the set of his shoulders,” the duke said. “He’s decided he’s got something to prove.”
“Darcy’s bigger and more experienced, though,” Thomas said.
“Doesn’t matter. That one is prepared to do whatever it takes.”
The clatter of timber drew Thomas’s attention back to Sam and Darcy, and damned if the duke wasn’t right. There was a determined glint in Sam’s eye and a confidence to his movements that hadn’t been there before. He was intent and focussed as he successfully dodged out of the way whenever Darcy swung his staff, and as Thomas watched he darted forward and, with a well-placed blow, knocked Darcy’s staff from his hands. While Darcy was still staring in dismay at his empty palms, Sam tackled him to the ground and straddled him, pinning him in place.
Sam sat there with his chest heaving, grinning from ear to ear. “I won, sir!”
“I told you, Thomas,” the duke said. “Never underestimate a desperate man.”
A tendril of warmth curled in Thomas’s belly at the duke finally remembering his name. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Can you call me Evan?” the duke said. “Trying to keep all these titles straight makes my head hurt.”
“I really shouldn’t,” Thomas said. “It’s not proper.”
“But I’ve asked so nicely,” Evan said, his expression turning wicked. “Besides, when has anything about me been proper?”
Thomas laughed despite himself. “I’ll try, Your Gra—Evan.” He rolled the name around on his tongue. It felt strange but not bad—more like he was tasting a forbidden treat, one that he might get addicted to if he wasn’t careful.
Evan beamed at him and the sunlight caught the green of his eyes, making them sparkle like the water in the harbour on a summer’s day. Then his smile shifted and became teasing as his gaze lingered on Thomas’s mouth, and just like on a summer’s day, Thomas felt his skin heat under Evan’s stare.
“Excuse me, Captain?” Sam said from where he was still straddling Darcy. Darcy didn’t seem to mind, and Thomas wondered idly if they were more than friends. “I was wondering if you wanted us to go again,” Sam said. He ran a hand over his sweaty brow and through his hair, making it stick up in damp tufts. He’d fought hard, and Thomas decided that he deserved a reward.
