by Linda Madl
Unbidden pictures flashed into his head. Leandra seated beside him in the great hall of Chycliff, where his father and mother once reigned. The sunlit orchard a-riot with blond, green-eyed children, their laughter tripping along on the breeze. The glimpse brought such astonishing sweetness to him that he could almost taste it.
"Think of her in your bed, Bernay. She must be a virgin. Ripe for the taking,” Leofric tempted softly. “So ready to learn whatever a man wants to teach her. I imagine you'd enjoy the instruction. Or have you taken care of that already?"
"Some knights are more honorable than others,” Garrett replied, although he didn't feel honorable at the moment. He'd already imagined her in his bed though such an idea was not to be contemplated. She was Reginald's betrothed.
He glared at Leofric wishing that he could deny that the image of his hands on her naked skin had ever slipped into his dreams at night and invaded his mind even during mundane exchanges with her. He saw her—long-limbed, smooth, and soft. She was pink and white with golden curls wreathing her face and fair downy ringlets adorning her femininity. In his mind's eye she sighed and moved responsively beneath his hands.
His hands. No one else's. Not Leofric's. God forgive him, not Reginald's.
Leofric edged forward in his chair. With a start Garrett realized he'd betrayed his thoughts.
"You want her. Fall in with me, Bernay.” Leofric eyed him intently, obviously thinking he could sway him. “I can give you all that you want."
Garrett shook his head.
"Why do you hesitate, man?” Leofric waved away imaginary objections. “Of course the treachery will cause a stir now. But the king is in France, unable to take any action. You of all men know how these infamies go. In a few years no one will remember or care what happened this night."
The insult was all Garrett needed. He lunged forward and grabbed Leofric by the throat. He dragged the man out from his chair and to his feet.
"They remember traitors, Casseldorne. I know. Everyone remembers. Be it clear now. I'm no traitor. Nor is the lady. Each of us has made pledges, spoken vows before the holy altar, and we will not betray those. Not for you. Not for anyone."
"You hypocrite!” Leofric pushed himself free of Garrett. Fury curled his lip and lit his eyes.
"Gentlemen. Gentlemen.” Lady Adelle stepped between them. “We don't need to grapple like peasants."
The men ignored her.
"Hypocrite!” Leofric repeated, pointing an accusing finger at Garrett. “You owe me, you pretentious Jack fool. Your family name isn't worthy for Casseldornes to wipe their feet on. Never has been. Bernays are mere Norman upstarts. Your grand ancestor looted his way to knighthood along with the rest of William the Conqueror's army.
"You owe me, Bernay. You have benefited from my efforts. All you have to do is take the maid. You want her. It's written all over your face."
A muscle in Garrett's jaw flexed. He held his silence and worked furiously to regain control. He wanted to flatten Leofric's aristocratic nose. Thank the heavens above that Leandra was asleep and had not heard the insults.
Taking a deep breath, he clamped his fists against his sides, determined to see this through his way. Mentally he shook off the bittersweet images of Leandra and Chycliff.
When he spoke, he used a quiet voice. “I owe you nothing, Casseldorne. As I see it, the scales are balanced at last. I have built my life honoring my vows. I will never exchange that for land or riches. Here and now, I challenge you to combat for the insult, sir. The insult to my family, to the lady, to Lord Reginald."
Leofric stared at him blankly.
"You must fight me now, brave knight.” Garrett twisted the last two words with sarcasm. “You can no longer throw an insult at me and hide behind your knighthood. I am your equal, Sir Leofric of Casseldorne. Remember, you have made me so. We will fight knight against knight."
Leofric's mouth went slack.
"What wonderful irony,” Lady Adelle observed. She turned to Leofric. “Your uncle would say ‘tis a fair challenge, nephew."
"Whose side are you on, Aunt Adelle?” Leofric muttered. “What do you know of challenges?"
"Well, I never understood whatever it was exactly that you planned for the Lady Leandra.” Lady Adelle cast Leofric a solemn look of disapproval. “But a knight's challenge to a knight is a matter between chivalrous men. A matter of honor. Do you refuse it?"
Leofric paused, obviously considering that possibility.
"You would shame the family name, my husband's honor, by refusing a challenge in his presence?” Lady Adelle gestured to her husband's casket.
Leofric sighed wearily and rolled his eyes. “So be it. I choose swords."
"Swords,” Garrett confirmed, unsurprised by Leofric's choice. Casseldorne was well-known for cheating while jousting, and was known just as well for his showy, expert swordplay.
Garrett had never considered his own skills better than they needed to be to bring him victory. He would have victory this day.
"Lady Adelle will act as referee,” he suggested, for want of a better candidate. She was as trustworthy as her nephew.
"Me?” A pleased smile played on the good widow's lips. “Of course. I will be honored."
The two knights retreated to opposite sides of the hall. The minstrel and the steward hastily cleared the chairs. Garrett motioned to Tom to wake Leandra. The soldier obeyed.
Leofric stripped off his fashionable jacket and walked to the center of the hall. Garrett peeled off his wet surcoat and chain mail, down to his leather jerkin.
He disregarded his aching muscles and his exhaustion from long hours in the saddle. A subtle exaltation filled him. At last he faced the man who'd ridiculed the Bernay name more than once. With each insult, petty pleasure had glowed in Leofric's yellow eyes as if Garrett's shame added to the Casseldorne prestige. This day he would put an end to that.
Leofric struck first. The initial parries took them from one end of the hall to the other, then around the funeral bier. Leofric was taking his measure. He followed Leofric's eyes. He knew the man searched for a weakness, an unguarded side, a delayed reaction. He used the exchange to do likewise.
Briefly he glimpsed Leandra blink sleep from her eyes and grasp at Tom's wet sleeve. “What are they doing?” she cried. “Garrett does little more than defend himself."
"He knows what he's about, my lady.” The soldier patted her shoulder. “Don't watch if it troubles you."
But Garrett could feel her unwavering gaze on him.
The purple knight backed off, and they circled again, still on guard. By the gleam in Leofric's light eyes, Garrett surmised the man was eager for victory. Too eager, he hoped.
Once again Leofric swung in on the attack. He'd spotted Garrett's exhaustion. In a flurry of strikes, Leofric drove him toward the stairs.
The steward scrambled out of their way. Garrett ducked. Leofric struck a riser. Garrett swung in from the side. Swords clanged as Leofric parried the strike.
* * * *
THE CLAMOR SLICED into Leandra's head. She winced and put her hands over her ears. But her head cleared. Her sleepiness vanished. She began to follow Garrett's every movement.
The duel held her enthralled. She watched the two men with reluctant admiration as they parried, attacked, repelled, and lunged. Both men were fair to the eye, well-made—broad shoulders, narrow hips, and slender limbs. Their movements took on a grace, a rhythm, and a style. The pace grew and fell much like a dance, a deadly dance.
The pair fought their way across the room, Garrett always giving ground. Leofric, apparently eager for a quick end, was becoming careless. Near the fireplace his wild swing struck one of the rusty firedogs. The steel sword sang. A spark flew. Leandra covered her ears again.
Garrett smiled. Renewed rage snarled on Leofric's lips. Cursing his own poor performance, the purple knight backed away. Garrett held his ground.
Leofric circled again and lunged in, bringing his sword down across Garrett's shoulder
, but the knight spun away just in time, his jerkin slashed, but no blood drawn. Victoriously Leofric snatched the shred of leather from his sword end and waved it in the air.
Leandra pressed cold, trembling fingers to her mouth to catch her gasp. She wanted to turn away, but didn't dare. If anything happened to Garrett, she must know. God grant him the strength to overcome his exhaustion, she prayed.
Undaunted by the close strike, Garrett turned to advance, sending Leofric into a rapid retreat toward the funeral bier. He parried Garrett's attack and then returned with his own. The thrust missed Garrett and struck the casket.
Lady Adelle cried out and marched between the swordsmen. “Watch your blades, Sir Knights. I rented that casket from a London casket maker and must return it to him when my husband's own is ready. Have care."
Garrett acknowledged the request with a quick bow.
With a flurry of thrusts, Leofric attacked from behind the casket. Garrett knocked the last thrust aside. The blow knocked Leofric's arm wide. Then Garrett's sword was at Leofric's throat.
Only the men's rasping could be heard. Leandra held her breath, her eyes on the life throbbing in Leofric's neck. Deliberately, Garrett nicked the vulnerable flesh. Blood trickled from the cut.
Lady Adelle gasped.
"First blood. Do you yield?” Garrett demanded.
"No! Never,” Leofric growled, his face contorted with hatred. “Kill me."
"That was a bit unfair of you, Sir Garrett,” Lady Adelle said. “You set upon Leofric when he was taking care for the casket. No yield? We go another round. Back off now."
"No! Garrett won,” Leandra cried. She strode into the center of the room. “You saw it, Widow Chygwin. First blood. The fight is over. Sir Garrett is the victor."
"Stay out of this, Leandra,” he warned, without taking his eyes from Leofric's face. “Tom, restrain her if you have to. We fight until Sir Leofric of Casseldorne is satisfied."
Leandra opened her mouth to protest, but Garrett fastened her with his gaze. Weariness lined the corners of his mouth, but the strength of pride filled his eyes, striking her breathless. In that glimpse of his soul she almost heard his voice. This is my fight. Leave it to me.
When Tom took her arm, she allowed him to lead her from the floor.
The two swordsmen circled again. Sweat and blood soaked Leofric's shirt. The mood of the action shifted, becoming watchful, deadlier. The men's stances grew increasingly guarded. Leofric's glance became wary, yet sly. His eagerness to engage Garrett vanished.
When the purple knight attacked anew, the clang of the swords made her jump. The action quickened. The swordsmen parried and feinted, lunging across the floor and back. Polished steel flashed in the torchlight. Breaking free, they circled once more.
Exhaustion told in Garrett's stance. He'd been in the saddle all night. For an instant his sword angle slipped. Leofric lashed out, slashing the back of Garrett's sword hand.
Leandra clamped her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. When she started toward Garrett, Tom pulled her back.
"'Tis but a scratch.” Garrett held up his sword hand to show his opponent—and reassure her.
To her relief, it appeared to be no more than that, but she worried about his sword grip now.
"Let's finish this, Casseldorne."
"To the finish,” Leofric agreed. With that, he began an attack that took them around the hall once more and around the casket. The blades flashed in the torchlight. Boots thudded against the stone floor. Steel rang against steel.
The displaced minstrel had to duck out the door into the chapel. Lady Adelle scuttled aside as the knights lunged across the room. Leandra and Tom flattened themselves against the door when the swordsmen neared them.
The pace was beginning to tell on each man. Blood trickled from Garrett's hand. Perspiration dripped from Leofric's chin.
Leofric sprang up the stairway and turned to fight, using the height against Garrett, bringing his blade down from above. Suddenly he dropped to one knee and thrust his sword at Garrett's midsection. The blade slashed across his leather tunic. He leapt clear and brought his sword down on Leofric's.
The blade clattered to the floor. Garrett stepped on it and drove his blade tip at Leofric's throat once more.
"To the death, Sir Leofric? Is that what you truly want?"
With a sob of relief Leandra turned away, rested her forehead against the door and let the tears roll down her cheeks. He was the victor. Garrett was safe. She needed to see no more.
Her knees trembled so that she feared she was going to slide into a heap on the floor. She'd rather fight the fight herself than witness another battle like this.
"Death isn't necessary.” Lady Adelle rushed to them. “'Twas a fair fight. I witnessed it. But not to the death. Not under my roof. Come away, Sir Garrett. Put aside your sword."
Garrett lowered his weapon and stepped away.
Leandra turned to see what was happening.
"I will not yield to a man who doesn't deserve to be a knight,” Leofric gasped, clutching his middle as if his belly ached. “I will not."
To the disbelief of everyone in the hall, Garrett threw back his head and began to laugh. “And they said that I lacked humility."
Lightning quick, Leofric reached down and yanked with all his might on the rush matting on which Garrett stood. Leandra tried to cry a warning but was too late.
Garrett instantly brought up his sword, slicing open Leofric's arm nearly to the shoulder.
The purple knight yelped and spun away, grasping the arm against his chest.
"That's the finish,” Lady Adelle said with a final authority that brooked no dispute. She put herself between the men again.
"We get safe escort to the next village.” Garrett held his sword ready, uncertain of the lady's intentions. “Tonight."
"You shall have it,” Lady Adelle said, “provided nothing of this is said to others. To the king. To Lord Reginald. Or to the sheriff. I will not have my sister's son disgraced. You have a secret of your own to keep Sir Garrett Bernay. Remember, we know of the potion."
Leandra nearly sobbed aloud. A plague on the day she'd gone to Vivian seeking that cursed potion. She'd betrayed her liege lord, true. But worse, now she'd given Casseldorne a weapon against Garrett.
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Chapter Thirteen
"I'LL HAVE A FIRE for you right away, my lady.” The shy serving girl knelt at the hearth in the small bedchamber. With a trembling hand she fed tinder to the hot coals.
Leandra leaned against the fireplace for support and sleepily wondered where Garrett had gone. As they'd arrived at the inn, he'd brought her upstairs then disappeared.
"Are you a princess?” the girl asked in her broad Cornish accent. She fixed her gaze on Leandra's gold chaplet and touched her own forehead.
"No, only a lady,” Leandra muttered through shivering lips. The question made her smile. “What is your name?"
"Isabelle,” the girl murmured, still staring.
The tinder flamed to life. Leandra eagerly stretched her shaking hands toward the heat. A low groan escaped her lips as aching warmth spread through her fingers and up her arms. She clamped her mouth closed to still the chattering of her teeth.Hastily, Isabelle laid more wood on the fire.
With numb fingers Leandra reached into her purse to find her last pence, the only one she hadn't spent at the Penzance market. She handed the coin to the girl. “Here, Isabelle, for you. Save it for the May Day fair."
"Thank you, my lady. I will."
The desire to close her eyes and savor the heat nearly overpowered her, but sword blades flashed in her head every time she tried. She could hear the leather rip, see the blood ooze from the slash across Garrett's hand. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. He could have been killed. Those disapproving, but ever-so-blue eyes had almost been lost to her.
At her feet the nervous serving girl finished tending the fire. Then she bobbed a curtsy and stared up at Lean
dra, awe and admiration shining on her saucer face.
Garrett ducked through the low doorway; his force spilling into the room, stirring up eddies of urgency and impatience.
"Off with those wet clothes.” Then he swung back to the doorway and called down the stairs. “Mistress Innkeeper, bring bricks to warm the bed. Plenty of them and more clean blankets.” Then he turned back into the room. “You, girl, help the lady to undress."
In open-mouthed terror the girl backed away from him. She nodded but made no move to help Leandra.
"Off with this,” he repeated. With an insistence Leandra didn't understand, he took her roughly by the shoulders so that she faced him, then he began to untie her cloak.
"I've seen men die of such a chill,” he muttered as he worked at the silken cords.
Unable to resist, she touched his jaw. How close he had come to death for her. “This cut? I saw Leofric strike your hand, but this—"
"'Tis nothing. Pender's work. That vermin won't trouble us again."
"And Leofric? Is it over?” she asked, her mind still filled with the image of the purple knight and his sword. “Or do you think he will send someone after us?"
"He doesn't dare,” he said with a crisp certainty she found reassuring; but she didn't totally believe him.
"What makes you so certain?"
"The House of Casseldorne would prefer not to have Leofric's nasty little plot revealed, I'm sure,” he said. “'Twould be especially embarrassing should the king hear of it."
Rain had poured down on them from the moment they rode away from Forestell. Tom had led the way. Garrett and Leandra followed, both on his horse. She was glad because she was afraid the shivering had rendered her too weak to sit her own mount. The other soldier rode behind them. More than once she'd caught Garrett looking over his shoulder at the road behind them. He seemed not so certain after all that Leofric would not send pursuit.
As they rode, her clothes had become soaked through once more. Now she'd been cold for so long that the chill was part of her. She was almost unaware of her constant shivering.