by Maria Ling
"So that was your reason," she said lightly. "I thought you were only in it for the exercise."
Guillaume shot her a grin, feral with jagged teeth as broken as her own. "You know me well already."
Matilda could hear her brother laugh at her, all the way from home. He'd betted her six good horses she'd end up married to a rival knight. Matilda was determined not to give him the satisfaction of victory.
And she didn't want to settle, not with any man. Just travel and fight, until she grew old and weary, or her injuries too grave. She wasn't the domestic type, never had been. And she refused to be any man's pawn.
Which, to be fair, her brother had never forced her into. Just took her in for training, same as any other squire, once she'd convinced him it was what she really wanted to do. Gave her two horses with tack and armour for her knighting, along with her sword and spurs. Told her to make her own way on the circuit, and not rely on him to provide for her any further.
She had done so ever since. Wrote to him about it. Sent the odd gift, in token of gratitude and by way of return payment. Because he could have made a profit selling her off for marriage to some man of use to himself, but instead he let her choose her own path in life. With luck, he'd profit enough from her fighting not to regret it.
Though if she were to marry, she'd need his permission. Best make sure she fell for an unexceptionable man of good family, if so.
Which Guillaume was. Not that it mattered. Because they'd never be on such terms.
She cast another surreptitious glance across. A ragged face, broken too many times for perfect beauty, lit by friendship as he watched the horse. Which studied him with bland curiosity, bent an ear to the occasional mutter of praise, tossed its head in affirmation. Matilda smiled at that, the beast was a good one, and a fair judge of character too. The only man she'd ever known it take against was the one who later tried to strangle her when she refused his advances. She'd never broken a man's skull with greater relish.
Guillaume's hand rested on the wooden board before her. Clean nails, rough skin smoothed with whipped grease and faintly rose-scented. A scatter of dark hair towards the wrist. Fine-woven linen peeked out from under the soft wool tunic, which was faded green in colour and belted at the waist. Quality stitching and fine materials, he had wealth but didn't show it. Maybe he'd known thieves and robbers too.
The horse snorted, then leaned over to nuzzle Guillaume's face. Which caused another stab through Matilda's chest, of jealousy this time. That gesture was for her alone.
"Beautiful creature," Guillaume muttered, and stroked the glossy neck with a light touch. "Who did you win this one off?"
"I didn't," Matilda admitted. "My brother gave him to me. He's a love." Fair guide to men, too, but she didn't mention that. She was thankful, intensely, that he was trained as a riding hack and not a battle horse. That way she couldn't lose him on the field.
"Take a look at mine." Guillaume led her down the stalls to the big brute she remembered from their last encounter. "Watch yourself, though. He bites. Only strangers."
"That's useful." She kept her distance, admired the sheer power that stood docile and contained before her. Recalled the lash of those hooves, this beast could kill with no trouble at all. But it had spared her, on command or out of reticence, she didn't know which. Not because she was a woman. Or so she hoped.
She wandered over to the next stall. Her own warhorse glanced up, gave a snort of delight, and reached its head over for a scratch. She rubbed her blunt nails through the stubby coat, noted with relief and approval that he was in as good condition as he'd ever been in her own care.
"I didn't sell him," Guillaume said. "Or the armour, either. Thought maybe you'd like the chance to win them back."
She cast him a sidelong look, half suspicious. "I already told you once. Don't give me quarter."
"I'm not offering them for free," Guillaume said. "Just mentioning that they're still in my keeping. If you fancy trying out that tilt of yours again."
"Only on you." Which wasn't what she'd meant to say, it came out far too much like flirtation. She expected him to laugh now, or get ideas and try to paw at her.
Guillaume did neither. He just stilled where he stood, and watched her intently. "I'd be honoured."
He sounded as if he meant it. Which pleased her, more than she dared to contemplate.
Matilda shook herself. "I'd better go. Alan will be looking for me." Which was half true. He fancied himself her protector, but it had been a while since he was foolish enough to attempt to control her movements. Even so, she didn't want him brawling with Guillaume. His jaw had only just healed.
"I dare say," Guillaume agreed. The scowl was back, as if mere mention of Alan irked him. Which made no sense, he'd been the victor, all the resentment should be on Alan's side. But she'd long since given up on tracking male hostilities, there was never any sound reason behind them that she could discern.
"You'll ride with us, I suppose," Matilda threw out. "Since we're headed the same way. A larger company may travel in greater safety."
Guillaume shrugged. "I like a fight."
"So do I. All the same, though -- " She couldn't admit she craved his presence. But to her horror, she realised that she did.
He consulted his horse, which dipped one ear and gave Matilda a suspicious glare. "Perhaps," he said.
"It doesn't matter." Matilda quelled a flush of embarrassed disappointment. She turned away with a shrug.
"I should like to ride with you," Guillaume said, so quietly that she might have imagined it. She affected not to hear him, just in case she had. Strode out of the stable, and went in search of her own men.
***
CHAPTER 4
They were here. Still on good terms, though it had been touch and go at times. Guillaume had kept his temper on a vicious short rein, barely spoken a word beyond courtesy, not dealt out a single blow. He frothed with suppressed emotion now, any bastard who got in his way on the battlefield had better be shriven beforehand.
But they had travelled together, or at least their parties rode mostly as one. Matilda chatted with Alan, flirted with Geoffrey, swapped points of technique with Roland. Spoke with Leofe, even, in low and level tones, two women making quiet observations about the people and countryside around them. While Guillaume rode in stony silence, determined not to give way to a single snarl.
It had worked. Probably. At least Matilda had ridden alongside him from time to time, made the odd contentless remark, taken little heed of his answers. Which probably hadn't been much worth listening to, either. Unless they happened upon a topic that interested them both, then they talked like old acquaintances, openly and with ease. Until they caught the other's eye, and faltered, and fell silent again.
A strange discomfort, this. He wasn't used to it, didn't know how to name it. Not the insistent urge of passion, he knew that well enough, hot and fierce when roused, but soon sated. He did desire her, more and more as the days drifted by, but it wasn't that.
He couldn't bear to be a stranger. Wanted that same ease she had with Alan. The right to touch her, also, to be near her, to address her without formality. Though he wouldn't make such paltry use of it, if so.
This was the point, always, where he began to lose himself in daydreams. Ever headier and more unlikely, but pleasurable during the moments when she was not near him.
Like now, on their arrival at the next tourney site. Geoffrey, oozing charm, had secured them a favourable spot. Roland saw to the horses while Alan handled the carts. Guillaume contended himself with snarling at a couple of rival knights who attempted to claim friendship with Matilda, but who failed to notice the chill that grew in her eyes the moment they approached. She'd turned to Geoffrey, demonstratively, who led her aside while Guillaume stepped in to block their way -- and to see them off, after an exchange of curt civilities and the hope of meeting in combat the next morning.
She'd gone into her own tent now, it was as well. Guillaume positi
oned his own a step down from hers, noted the guards she set front and back, added a couple from his own attendants. Exchanged a significant glance with Geoffrey, who took up position by Guillaume, with Alan and Roland on the other side of her. She'd be well guarded, at least.
He'd never thought of such things. Never had cause to. But his blood boiled now, and he vowed to be less oblivious in future.
It occurred to him that she might want other women near her. She travelled without any, that struck him now as strange. Leofe had a maid with her, always. The women fighters he'd known kept a pair of maids each. But Matilda managed all things alone, and surrounded herself with men and boys.
She might not thank him for asking. But he'd suggest it, anyway. If it earned him fist to the face, he had his answer.
Guillaume walked towards her tent. Was on the point of giving his name to the guard outside, when he heard Alan's voice murmur from within. That was one man he'd seen enough of for a while. Guillaume swung on his heel and stalked away again. What little he had to say would keep until Matilda was at leisure to hear him.
***
"You shouldn't encourage him," Alan said. He'd taken it on himself to supervise the unloading of her belongings, which explained why nothing had been arranged the way she preferred. And why her squire and page scurried about with lowered heads, avoiding her eye.
"Encourage who?" Matilda snapped. She wasn't in the mood to be instructed. And if he said the least word about Guillaume --
"Geoffrey. He might get ideas."
Matilda shrugged. Let him think as he chose about that. "It would be a good match."
Alan waited until the boys were safe out of the tent. Then said in a low voice: "Not for me."
"In what way?" Matilda frowned at the disarray that surrounded her. She could move things herself, of course, but that would set a poor example. And the boys weren't to be harangued for following a knight's instructions. Especially one who was close kin to herself.
"You know the answer to that."
Matilda turned the frown towards Alan, who watched her with too intent a gaze. Almost as if he imagined that the two of them were...
Oh no. Not that. Not him.
"Don't be silly." She grabbed an article at random and thrust it into place. Tried to compose herself, to think quickly. This she hadn't trained for, hadn't prepared for it at all. Him of all people. She'd thought he knew her; she'd imagined him to be her friend.
"Matilda." He took a step closer, caught her arm. "I think we'd do well together. You could even continue with tourneys for a while. If you wanted. As long as you promise me you'll be careful."
Matilda shook herself loose. "Don't try it," she warned. "I'm a knight, same as you. I'll do battle as I please."
"I don't question your skill," Alan said. "Believe me, I know and respect it. But you are also a woman. You have the same longings as any other woman. Family, children, a settled home. I can give you those. Indeed, I would love to give you those."
He really didn't know her at all. "That's not what I want out of life."
"Of course it is." He sounded as if he was talking to a child. "It's what every woman wants."
"Not this one." It was the truth. She'd never leaned that way. Didn't want to be responsible for innocent souls, hated the thought of settling anywhere. Just wanted to travel and fight, and live her life as she chose.
She thought of Guillaume, with a sudden ache of longing. Wished he was here, to spot her dismay with that quick understanding of his, move to rid her of this unexpected tormentor. He'd handled those knights with aplomb, she owed him thanks for that. It was ill done of her to desert him, to walk off with Geoffrey and leave Guillaume to deal with them, but she'd had one of those moments when she simply could not stand to be harassed. Hearing him close off their approach behind her was an immense relief. She'd thank him for it, later.
If he was here now, she'd offload Alan onto him. It would be so much easier than dealing with this herself. But the easy path wasn't for her, she knew that already. Better to face things with her own strength, which she could always count on and which never failed her.
"I can't answer for other women," she said. "But what I want to do is fight. Nothing else."
Though it wasn't entirely true, and deep down she knew it. Because she kept seeing Guillaume in her mind, felt his presence warm and strong beside her. Yearned to turn towards him, lean into his arms and give way to the passion that whirred through her body whenever he came near.
But she couldn't. Had sworn not to. And he didn't want her, anyway. Barely spoke to her all the long ride here, though she'd made efforts enough to engage him.
"I'm not minded to marry," she said. And then, because it was Alan and she cared for him as for a brother: "I'm sorry."
"So am I," Alan murmured, in a voice that shook with hurt and disappointment. He swung around and stalked out of the tent, without troubling to say goodbye.
***
Guillaume caught up with Matilda by the food stalls, where they shared a loaf and a bowl of stew and he spat out his question without getting punched in return.
"Thanks for your concern," Matilda said. "But no. I don't need women around me."
"Don't care for them?" Guillaume asked. He liked their company, himself. Especially after he'd won his bouts. Though that purpose wouldn't do for Matilda... He shook himself out of another threatened daydream.
Matilda shrugged. "I said farewell to a woman's life a long time ago. Don't particularly want to be reminded of it now."
"Even so," Guillaume persisted. "Being surrounded by men and boys... God knows mine get on my nerves often enough."
Matilda laughed outright. He thrilled to that sound, open and fearless and fierce. "I didn't say they don't annoy me. But I doubt I'm in worse danger than I've already prepared for -- and if I am, I doubt a woman like Leofe or her maid will do me much good."
There was that. "Ready for tomorrow?" he asked, because if that was her view then the matter was closed and he had nothing further to urge.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She flashed him a warning look. "Not a word about liniments."
Guillaume laughed, too -- so unusual an event that several other knights turned to stare. "I hope we fight on the same side. Those bruises you gave me ache yet."
"Good." She chewed for a moment, then admitted: "So do mine."
They grinned at each other, the odd tension between them momentarily forgotten. "I'll fight with or against you," Guillaume said. "Either way, equally gladly. Just so long as you are there." And it came over him again, that strange sensation, a fizz in his veins and sparkle in his lungs. As if he wanted nothing more than to remain here in this moment, on a tourney site just like hundreds of others he'd known, brilliant and beautiful because he was on it with her.
Her smile faded, and her eyes grew wide with wonder. He leaned over, about to kiss her -- and was saved from that appalling act of impropriety by a sudden slap on the back and a cheerful if somewhat drunken salutation from an old rival. Who knew Matilda also, and greeted her with the delight of a long-lost brother unexpectedly arriving home.
They spoke for a while, before their mutual friend moved off to claim Geoffrey and Roland as well, leaving Guillaume and Matilda to swap smiles and reminiscences on the walk back to the tents.
Once there, wrapped in twilight, he bowed and meant to walk on -- but instead wandered inside with her, accepted a cup of well-honeyed wine from the page, took a seat when bidden. Glanced around, found he liked the neat and orderly arrangement of things. Matilda moved around, shunted a few things from one place to another, muttered something he did not hear. He watched her move, admired the strength of her figure and the play of candlelight over the skin of her face and hands.
"Leave," Matilda told the page, who withdrew outside. Which meant the two of them were alone, here in her tent, shielded by thick cloth from prying eyes.
He could kiss her, Guillaume thought. Ached to do it. Just that, and nothing mo
re.
Still he resisted. It would earn him a blow or worse, he didn't doubt, and he would deserve that. But no threat of bruising would have held him back. It was disgust at the thought of her regarding him as yet another importunate lout, who hounded her for a woman's charm instead of respecting her as a knight. While he saw both in her. A lady knight, magnificent and strong.
She turned then, met his eye, stood quite still. He rose without thinking, and crossed the short distance between them. Laid his hands against her shoulders, leaned to kiss her at last. Met lips to lips and mouth to mouth, and tasted her as he'd longed to do ever since that ill-fated banquet.
Her tongue was sweet and rich with honeyed wine, and her breasts lay soft against his chest, and her arms moved to embrace him. Desire flared up within him, hot as flame. He'd held himself so hard, these past days, he barely knew how to ease his grip. But his body broke free of discipline, pressed hard against her and tugged her close, caressed the curves that lay under her dress. He could take her now, bring both of them to the heights of pleasure, and never let her go.
Matilda pulled away. He didn't let her, held her hard and followed her mouth with his, until she bit him and brought him to sense. Guillaume released her then, rage and frustration frothing inside him.
"I can't," Matilda said. "I don't want a husband."
"Who said anything about a husband?" Guillaume snarled.
They stared at each other. An odd gleam came and went in her eyes. "Not you, evidently. Ought I to be offended?"
"If you wish." His tongue was bleeding, he could taste the iron of it. Not for the first time, and she'd been within her rights. But God, the woman kissed like the fall of angels. "I desire you. More than -- " No, she wouldn't want to hear about that. It was no fair comparison in any case. Other women paled into ghosts beside her.
"I'm a fighter," Matilda said. "That's all I've ever wanted to be. Not a mother, nor a wife."