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Twenty-one
“Sword!” Dristan shouted at Riorden as yet another blade was tossed into his eagerly waiting fingers. Never taking his eyes off his two opponents, he swung both blades now gripped firmly in each hand. Now this was a challenge he would prefer instead of that sulking bit of a female who confused his thoughts at all hours of the day.
“Mon ami, I believe you have grown weak since you have tended your young mademoiselle,” Nathaniel taunted, assessing his lord for where he might strike to win a victory in his name.
“You would have thought he would have learned a thing or two from Fletcher’s sire,” Rolf added with a gleam in his eye whilst he also swung his blade. “Mayhap he must needs return to the duties of squire!”
“’Twould be fitting, since he cannot remember to don his armor or even chain mail,” mocked Morgan. “Just look at him, strutting about the lists, bare chested as he is.”
“Don your armor, my lord, or the castle whores will be of no use to any of us but you,” ridiculed Taegan. “’Tis no wonder they laze about lusting after such as he.”
Raucous laughter filled the lists from Dristan’s guard, along with a number of silly giggles from those same lusty wenches who dared much to be in the lists just to gaze upon him as he trained.
The men had all halted their own individual training to watch the spectacle and skill of Dristan hefting two blades at once. The whores only licked their lips with hope that he would take notice of them and have him beckon unto at least one of them to share an evening of delight in his arms. Much to their dismay, he was too preoccupied with the task at hand and that was to relieve the garrison knights of their swords and perchance a bit of pride in their own worth. There could be no doubt, to those who viewed his performance, that he demonstrated his superior prowess and ability with his weapons. Even Ian and those of Amiria’s guard appeared impressed upon the site afore their eyes.
“A wager! Aye! A wager, Rolf will be the first to find his sorry arse in the dirt,” Turquine forecast whilst he continued watching his three companions fight. His grin only broadened from the glare tossed in his direction from Rolf, who advanced on the field again towards his target. “Come now . . . surely one of you will take my bet, or are you all cowards?”
A groan went up in the air from those on the sidelines as they watched Turquine’s prediction come to pass afore any coins could exchange hands. Nathaniel closely followed with a grunt of pain as he, too, landed on his backside.
Dristan looked over at his men, giving them a silent demand to join him. Ulrick took up the challenge next. He let down the visor on his helmet and Drake followed closely on his heels. ’Twas an impressive site as Dristan engaged another two opponents. On and on, he continued his assault with sure steady strokes, taking on one of his guard after another, including dispatching Ian and his men. ’Twas not ’til he was left standing alone on the field that he stabbed both blades into the dusty earth in front of him as he looked to see who he could take on next. ’Twas a good day’s training, but he was ready for more as he had hardly worked up a sweat of much merit to his thinking.
“Perchance, now that you have had a small warm up, you would care to take on someone more experienced to challenge you,” Bertram called confidently.
Dristan laughed. “Well come hither if you dare, Sir Bertram, and let us see what skill you have this day. I shall endeavor to give you aid by only using one blade, if you think it shall help with your feeble attempts to actually heft your sword upright.”
“No need. I will not be coddled like some babe!” Bertram called, advancing to the center of the field.
Once more the sound of steel connecting with steel rang out in the air, surrounding the two men, who stood toe to toe in combat. Bertram gave an impressive effort as Dristan labored at least slightly harder to keep him at bay and at arm’s length.
’Twas only when a slighter figure dressed in armor, with her long red braid swinging behind her to and fro, came into the corner of his vision that Dristan faltered in his stance. One sword went flying as ’twas torn from his grasp. He hissed seconds later, feeling a nick from Bertram’s blade skimming across his arm. Merde,that woman will be the death of me, he thought.
He watched Bertram back off a pace or two, aghast that he had actually somehow managed to penetrate his liege’s defenses and draw blood that seeped down his arm.
“My lord I−,” Bertram began appalled at what he had inadvertently done, which was no small feat.
Any further words of apology were silenced and Dristan waved off his efforts, as the mistake was of his own making. As her liege lord and soon to be husband, he assumed Amiria would obey him and stay off the lists, remaining in her chamber as he had commanded. His stupidity knew no bounds for ’twas obvious by her determined stride as she advanced towards him that he was to suffer a lifelong battle of keeping the upper hand where she was concerned. By the look upon her face, her Scottish pride was in full fury mode. She stopped afore him and gazed at him with blazing violet eyes. God, what a beauty, he thought silently.
“Where is it you vile excuse for a man?” she said and made to give his chest a shove to drive home the depth and point of her anger. She became further annoyed when he did not budge even an inch. He folded his arms over his massive chest and began to smile.
“My lady,” he replied casually.
“Do not belittle me with useless titles. I am certainly not yours!”
“You are mistaken if you think differently, Amiria,” Dristan replied for her ears alone.
“How could you take that which is mine to protect myself . . . my sword of all things?” she yelled furiously.
“You have no further need to carry a blade, as you now have me to protect you. Do you not agree ’tis only fitting I should do so, given the status of our new relationship?” he asked smartly.
“You had no right to take my blade, Dristan!” Amiria retorted hotly between clenched teeth, ignoring the gasps heard around her when she addressed him so informally.
Seeing the men listening intently to their conversation, he made light of the situation for their benefit since he would not have them think he had become soft, as he dismissed her words. “What is it you want of me that you interrupt my men’s training? Do you not perchance have something to sew to keep you occupied ’til you can attend me this eve?” he joked more loudly than he intended, as his men joined in with their own laughter. He did not miss the quick look of hurt that flashed in her eyes afore it quickly transformed into hot blazing ferocity.
A snarl erupted from Amiria’s lips. She threw her helmet onto the ground and swirled around to look upon her men, who stood nearby. She noticed Devon and advanced on him, since he was shorter than the rest of her guard. Amiria held out her hand and waited for her guardsman to release his blade over to her.
“I beg o’ thee milady, dinnae ask such o’ me,” he pleaded, crossing himself furiously and glancing back and forth between his lady and his lord.
Amiria only continued her grim assessment of Devon and once more thrust out her hand in a silent command. ’Twas only with the greatest reluctance when he finally placed his own sword within her reach.
Turning, she marched her way back to Dristan and he knew from her expression she was not pleased he had just ridiculed her in front of the entire garrison. As if to prove her point that she was more than worthy to guard his back instead of whiling away her hours at stitchery, she lifted her blade. Dristan should not have been surprised to see her determination to swing the weapon towards his head. Only at the last minute did Dristan react as he brought up his own whilst the two swords met with a thunderous clash.
’Twas at that precise moment, that God above voiced his displeasure at the two opponents and rain began to pour down from the heavens. Lightening lit the sky and ’twas not long afterwards that the once dry ground began to turn to mud as the two strong willed people continued to hack away at one another.
Dristan made a motion of his hand, dismissing the garrison to seek shelter. Sheer rage drove Amiria to the brink of exhaustion as she lifted her sword time and time again. She would not yield to him nor concede defeat, but neither would he. He continued to marvel on how well his soon to be bride was handling the blade she held and looked forward to when he would present her with the sword he was having forged for her.
On and on, they engaged one another in a fight that was more than just the raising of swords. Their footwork remained sure despite the mud that would have made the ground tremendously slippery to a novice swordsman. After a few more jabbing efforts on her part, Dristan could surmise Amiria began to tire and made the decision for her that she would fight no more this day.
He achieved his objective of maneuvering her during their sword play from the lists to the inner bailey. She was so determined to win their match that he knew she had no inkling as to her whereabouts. A quick glance into the courtyard showed that most had stopped on their way to find cover from the storm to watch the exhibition afore them. Others hid in the shadows of the buildings to watch in fascination their display, whilst buckets of rain fell from the sky.
Dristan gazed at his lady, who still met his sword stroke for stroke and had to admit that for a woman of such small physique, she had held her own against him better than most young lads her age would have done whether they had been ill recently or not. Impressed with her skill, a smile of pleasure escaped him that this woman would be his wife. He had met his match and with Amiria at his side, he would never be bored.
Amiria witnessed the gleam in Dristan’s eyes whilst the memory of their time within his chamber flashed unexpectedly across her mind. She watched him advance as his sword swung out as if to proclaim its master would not be defeated. Transfixed on the movement of his blade, she came to realize too late ’twas just another ruse to the unknowing opponent to become distracted whilst the blade flashed afore her with lightning speed. Her hand numb, she watched in dismay when her blade went sailing up into the air.
He came to her in all his manly glory and crushed her to him in a massive embrace. They stared into one another’s eyes, both breathing heavily. Trying to catch her breath, he did not seem to mind her armor digging into his flesh. Afore she knew his ploy, his head swooped down and claimed her lips in a fierce and hungry kiss. ’Twas almost as if he rewarded her for a job well done, when his mouth became possessive and demanding, she yielded to him.
Her resolve to remain angry crashed down around her, much like the tempest swirling furiously above their heads. His grip tightened around her waist, and then she knew no more other than the intoxicating headiness she felt as the magic of him left her wonderstruck. Her ability to think clearly became dull, including everything around her, but him. All Amiria could manage to ponder was how he continued to delve into her weakening senses, leaving her mesmerized whilst she was effortlessly lifted and carried into the keep.
She clung to him never wanting to let go. One moment she was outside with the rain pelting down upon her head and the next the door to his chamber slammed shut with the bolt thrown into place. She knew not how he had divested her of her armor and garments so quickly, but ceased to worry about aught else but the man who caressed her hot skin. Instead, she lovingly wrapped her arms around his neck, welcoming him whilst she was pressed down upon the feathery mattress of the bed.
The storm pressed on around them, but they cared not what was happening to the world outside the chamber. For them, nothing existed but this moment in time as they took the remainder of the afternoon to while away the hours in a diversion known only to lovers. If there was cause for regret, which surely there would be, they would come face to face with that misfortune another day.
Hugh sulked out of the darken passageway and glared at the door closing upon the woman he wanted for his very own. Cursing, he made his way to the garrison hall and his quarters. Taking parchment and ink, he set to scribbling a message to his cousin, even though his writing was hardly legible. Sprinkling sand on the document to dry the ink, he blew the granules away, folded it, and dripped hot wax upon the edge, placing an unrecognizable seal in its place. None other than Gilbert would identify it belonging to him. A small coin was pressed into the hands of his most reliable servant, ensuring his missive would reach its intended destination.
His patience at an end, he leaned back in his chair with a grim smile, knowing soon he would have all he desired.
