Page 85 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“Nekara will be pleased,” Kiya said and stayed by her side.

Dakan entered the circle. His stony expression was different from his rage last night, but it simmered below the surface. Jonathan could feel the vibrations in his own body. A tensing of his muscles. The quickening of his breath.

His opponent was younger than he had looked in the firelight. Nineteen or twenty at most. Jonathan would need to pace himself or he would run out of stamina first. He was a few inches taller, though, and had the advantage of a longer reach.

Menar looked at the younger man and scoffed, then handed Jonathan a staff and short sword for the scabbard that was strapped around his waist.

“Not sharp for battle, but draws first blood.”

Jonathan sheathed the sword. “Any last advice?”

“Do not die.” Menar slapped him on the shoulder.

“Brilliant. Thanks.”

Menar laughed and joined the ladies on the sidelines.

An older man stepped into the circle to address the audience. Menar had explained earlier that one of the elders would state the rules. When he said Dakan’s name, the warrior threw his head back and roared. The crowd cheered. Dakan ran around the circle, beating his fist against his chest, riling up the audience even more.

When he stopped in front of Jonathan and spat on his boots, Jonathan didn’t flinch. He might have to lose to this arrogant arse, but Dakan would get the fight he was spoiling to have.

“Well, that was just rude,” Evangeline said, nearly making Jonathan break into a smile.

The elder spoke sharply to Dakan, and he retreated to his side of the ring. A hush descended over the crowd. The elder looked at Jonathan, then turned to Dakan as he raised his fist in the air. The morning chill dissipated. Faces blurred into the background.

“Vahk!”

Dakan bolted toward Jonathan with his staff raised. Jonathan weaved left. The weapon whooshed past his shoulder. He spun and flicked his own staff across the back of the other man’s thighs. The crowd laughed, and Dakan howled in rage.

Jonathan shrugged. “That’s for spitting on my boots.”

Dakan shifted his feet, swinging the staff in an arc. Jonathan dropped to the ground as it whipped over his head. He hopped to his feet in time to block another axing chop. The crack of wood against wood echoed through the air. The crowd murmured their approval.

Dakan glanced at Jonathan’s lower leg a fraction of a second before jabbing the staff at his ankle. Jonathan jumped aside and stomped it. The tip splintered.

Fire flared in Dakan’s eyes. He flung the staff aside and jerked his sword from its sheath. Jonathan leapt back as Evangeline yelled, “Watch out!”

He threw his staff aside and gripped the hilt of his sword. Dakan charged him, but Jonathan moved at the last second. He danced around the circle while Dakan attacked over and over, blocking most swings or ducking.

Beads of sweat ran down Jonathan’s face. He swiped them away with the back of his sleeve. Dakan was breathing hard.

Jonathan attacked, swinging his sword wildly. Dakan stumbled back, but he met every hit. Metal clanged against metal. A low rumble traveled through the crowd.

Dakan’s footwork grew sluggish; his attacks were less powerful. Jonathan’s heart was pounding in his ears. He met Evangeline’s gaze. She inclined her head.

Now.

He retreated, allowing his opponent to go on the offensive. This time when Dakan swung for his middle, Jonathan didn’t jump back far enough. The tip of the blade sliced through his shirt. Fire streaked across his abdomen, and he hissed.

Dakan stooped over, hands resting on his thighs as he panted.

“Jonathan!” Evangeline rushed into the ring.

He looked down. Red was soaking through his dingy shirt, spreading.

Dakan thrust his sword overhead and bellowed in victory. The crowd cheered, surging forward to surround him. When they lifted him on their shoulders and carried him away, Evangeline ran to Jonathan’s side.

“Let me see.”