“We must climb up to the boulder, do you see it?”
“I may not have the biggest heart but my eyes work just fine,” A.J. snapped, for some reason needing to vent on Thomas. Nothing better than a target who could throw a few good ones back.
A snorted reply made him roll his eyes. They were acting like an old couple.
After a while of climbing, pulling and clawing at the denuded roots, the pair reached a grassy plateau overlooking Ragatz Castle. More a fortress. Amber dawn light hit the façade at an acute angle.
“Is this the sort of view you wanted?”
A.J. narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Not quite four hundred yards, in direct line of sight, with no tree line to speak of. Perfect.”
“What do you plan to do?” Thomas asked, now openly curious. He sat and pulled a blade of grass, which he tucked in his mouth. “I must admit my curiosity almost equals my abhorrence at your revolting behavior with Lady Marion.”
“Hey, get off your high horse,” A.J. snapped as he walked to the ledge.
“You speak in a strange way, Sir Ayjay. I have already dismounted.”
“You know what I meant.”
“No.”
A.J. wanted to sigh.
After ripping fistfuls of grass, creating a nice, two-feet-wide “driving green”, he planted the tee, let the club rest between his feet then tested the wind with his face upturned and nodded. Just perfect.
“What is the—”
“Shut up.”
A.J. tamped the grass with his feet, took a few deep breaths through his nose, trying to visualize the little ball flying, flying and landing in its mark. It was a big, stationary mark he could see from where he stood. He was sure he could get it right. A quick peek revealed he had eight balls left. It ought to do.
Muscles relaxed, hands wrapped around the handle, he aligned the butt of his driver right along the ball, got a feel for the breeze, the weight, the angle. Anger bubbled just beneath the surface. He’d never been so damn…frustrated. Angry, furious, scared. Yeah, scared.
It was all his fault, Lord Anal Retention. That fucking…
“Breathe.”
“I am.”
“Shut up I said.”
Thomas grumbled something in that language A.J. was so going to learn if only to put the guy back in his place.
Think golf. Think Sunday afternoon on the course, the nice sun, the look on people’s faces when they see my drive for the first time.
The first really outrageously expensive thing he’d bought in his life, the wood, steel and titanium monster of a driver made other players laugh. That is, until four hundred yards of ball shut them right up.
Using his best golf commentator voice, he cleared his throat.
“The fourth hole has a really difficult pin placement just fifty feet from the front of the green and right behind a chunk of the Alps. The pressure is on. If Bernier manages to place the ball…well, they can start taking his measurements for the green jacket, Bill. Har har.”
He swung.
Fuck yeah!
“He neilt it rayt an the sweet spot!” A.J. yelled in a bad Scottish brogue that would’ve shamed his partners. “Wha ae whuisher, laidies aind gainttlemen! A canna beleev it!”
The ball arched far and high, perfectly centered and aimed right at Rat Ass castle. With any luck, it’d reach its mark and make him a petty, smug but oh-so-satisfied man. He didn’t hear the sound but saw the ball hit the mark.
Ooohhh, revenge is so sweet, baby.
Behind him, he heard Thomas’ exclamation of amazement.
“Sometimes, you have to hit them where they’ll hurt the most,” A.J. remarked acidly before putting another ball on the tee. “And it’s my specialty.”
You can take the suit off The Shark’s back, but you can’t take the golf out of his blood.
“I am starting to see you in a whole new light, Sir Ayjay. I believe there is hope for you yet.”
A.J. turned toward Thomas, bared his most arrogant smile and returned to driving balls.
After he’d emptied the box, every one at least four hundred yards of perfect drive, A.J. sat on a boulder near Thomas and balanced the driver across his knees. “Spill it.”
A look of feigned outrage flared the other man’s eyes. So obvious.
“You should meet the challenge.”
“I’ve already offered to marry Marion. Why can’t it be enough?”
“It would be under…let us say normal circumstances. But with Lord Asshole, nothing is ever normal or simple. Lady Marion deserves a man who shall defend her honor, not just make her happy.”
“I don’t make her happy. I make her confused and angry.” A.J. rubbed his cheek where she’d slapped him. It’d been two days but it still stung. “Hell, I make myself confused and angry.”
“He is a vile man, Sir Ayjay, do not doubt for a moment he would shy away from forcing himself on Lady Marion.”
With the sudden “holy shit my heart is exploding” shock of a cold shower, Thomas’ remark made A.J. tuck his head low between his shoulders, his teeth clenched, his fists balled over the golf club. The guy had slapped her in front of several people, there was no telling what he’d do if no one was around.
“That was a low blow.”
“Sometimes, one must hurt them where they shall hurt the most,” Thomas replied, not a hint of mockery in his face. “You know I speak the truth.”
“Yeah, speaking of truth, you know I’m no Norman.”
Thomas shrugged. “You are a strange one, granted.”
A.J. sighed. “Do you have any idea how ludicrous, how retarded this all is for me? I’m not from around here, I’ll remind you. And even if you don’t believe me, I’m not from eleven forty-eight either! Men don’t go around and poke each other with swords when they want a lady bad. They go to a jewelry store and fight with the guy behind the counter who’s overcharging them. Or they go to her parents’ house and pretend they don’t want to kill the pimple-faced cousin who keeps asking to touch their nice car. Men jump through hoops, sure, but they don’t stand in line to be chopped in half.”
“Hugo and Thorins would be delighted to train you at sword fight. They are both very adept. There is still plenty of time to learn until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not adept at using weapons.” He pointed at the damn utility knife he was forced to wear. “To me, this is like running with scissors. Where I come from, you go to jail for carrying weapons. Unless you have an expensive and talented lawyer such as myself, in which case, you don’t go to jail. But that’s beside the point.” A.J. stood.
“Lady Marion is willing to sacrifice herself for her people.”
“It’s her choice, not mine.”
Cursing, Thomas rose and grabbed A.J.’s wrist so he’d face him. “Do you not love her? Have you no heart?”
“I like her fine,” A.J. snapped, yanking his arm out of the other man’s surprising grip. And here he thought the guy was an effeminate dandy. “What’s up with you?”
“I would fight for the one I hold dear.”
“Why don’t you?”
Thomas barked a quick, mirthless laugh. “Because he has already shown his penchant. And it was not toward me.”
“What do you— Ohhh…”
Speechlessness again. Damn.
He’d always suspected Thomas’ tastes didn’t involve the ladies, but to have another guy just about admit a crush on him. He didn’t know what to do with that.
“Let me tell you what awaits Lady Marion,” Thomas snarled as he angrily rearranged his sleeve. “Matheus shall force himself on her every time the mood strikes him. Willingness or no matters little. Should she fail to bear him children, he shall either send her to a convent, which I doubt because it would admit failure on his part, something he cannot abide. More likely, he shall have her killed or do the deed himself.”
A.J. couldn’t even look the guy in the eye. He knew his decision was made even before he spoke. What else cou
ld he do? Even The Shark would have trouble sleeping at night with that on his conscience.
“Christ,” he spat, slipping his driver inside his belt like the stupid jackass he’d become. “I’ll do it. But only to keep him away from her, okay. It’s not as if I love her or anything. You got it?”
“I care not what reason you choose. As long as you do it.”
A.J. didn’t particularly enjoy the implicit barb he didn’t care about Marion enough to defend her and only did it out of guilt. True in a sense. But it wasn’t the only reason, was it? He really did like Marion. More than “liked” actually.
Okay, time to dissect that bit. Do I “like her” like her, or do I really, really like her?
The more he thought of her, the more he was convinced he really, really liked Marion. The image of her with another man—and a pig such as Matheus was just killing him—didn’t sit well with him, neither did the notion of spending the rest of his life in medieval Switzerland without her around. The “without her around” bothered him acutely, in fact much more so than knowing he’d probably never go back home, never drink coffee or use decent toilets.
Hey. The strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, the churning weight as if he’d just swallowed a live squid, the sweat dampening his temples, the urge to put his fists in a guy’s face… Where the hell did that come from? Was he having a heart attack at thirty-four? Or was it something else entirely?
He peeked at Thomas by the corner of his eye. “You’re in love, right?”
Thomas gave a slight nod, looking unsure if he should smirk or grimace. “Such finesse.”
“Well, are you or not?”
“I am,” Thomas replied calmly.
The pained look on his face made A.J. want to pat him on the shoulder or something. Poor guy. But he kept his hand to himself just in case he sent mixed signals.
“Okay, so you’re in love with someone—and the someone in question isn’t feeling the same thing, right, we’re clear on that—so how does it feel? As if you’ve just swallowed something heavy and it’s sitting right here?” He patted his belly, right below the sternum. “And you want to run around and jump and laugh, but at the same time you think you’re going to die of a heart attack?”
“Your heart is attacking you?” Thomas replied, his eyes narrowed, his smirk firmly in place now. “You should be able to fend off such a small enemy.”
Oooohh, good one. Full marks for sarcasm.
“Hey.”
“Your words are weak and inadequate at best, my friend, which surprises me since you are usually so eloquent. I shall tell you how it feels—”
“You’re not gonna sing are you?”
Thomas sniggered. “No, I shall not.”
“Good, go on.”
“Love is throwing yourself off a cliff knowing certain death awaits you. It is putting your hand in fire if you think it shall save your beloved pain or sorrow. Love is that knot in your gut you so ineptly described—the euphoria, the fear, the hope. It means heaven if you are fortunate enough to find it in your lifetime, and it is also an eternity of walking on broken glass should you mistreat or ignore it. Love is thrusting a sword through the belly of a man for putting his repulsive hand on…her, in your case.”
A.J. nodded for a few seconds then he shook his head. “I’m not sure I got all of it, except for the last bit, which sounded much better than the cliff part.”
“She would do the same for you.”
“Argh, Christ, thanks for the guilt trip.”
“I am well pleased if I have helped you.”
“Har har. Funny guy.”
So that was it, love, one big stew of emotions, symptoms of indigestion, heart attack and insanity? No wonder people used it to worm out of any and all crimes. One really was going crazy when in love. Alexandre-Jean Bernier. In love. Who knew?
Argh, fuck. Here we go again.
Tune in, folks, as the lawyer now attempts to keep his head attached to the rest of him when he challenges a master swordsman for the Lady Marion’s honor! This should be reality TV at its goriest best!
Hurray for the ratings.
Chapter Nine
Marion refused to look back when she crossed the gate.
Dawn had barely poked over Mount Galen in the distance that she’d set out for the short journey across the river. She kept her face expressionless and her back straight as she rode alone toward her new home, having said few goodbyes in case she met him. But Sir Ayjay had been cloistered in his chambers upon returning from Ragatz. She wished she would’ve seen Thomas before she left though.
Most of her things would follow later that day, after Hannah had prepared everything. How she’d offer to follow her mistress to Rat Ass—dear Lord, he really was growing on her that man—Ragatz had touched Marion deeply. But she couldn’t impose her decision on anyone but herself. She’d started the charade. She would end it. Still, relinquishing the ring of keys—the only concrete sign of control over her own life—to Hugo had pinched her heart.
As she reached the midpoint section of ravines and rocky escarpments on both sides, she thought she heard a faint, dry sound overhead that tickled her memory. Marion smoothed her dress over her lap and urged her horse a bit faster. No use dragging the unpleasantness any longer than it ought it to be.
When she reached the portion of road that turned into cobbles then the stone bridge leading to Matheus’ fortress, she noticed how people walked around looking fearfully at the sky. She looked up herself, noted the beginnings of a bright, sunny day and shrugged. Some pointed to her and crossed themselves. She ignored them. Superstitious people.
A short while later, she approached the fortress per se and looked up at the sky again for in the courtyard people ran to and fro, using anything they could find as cover for their head. A man ran to her horse, nearly spooked it before grabbing the reins.
“Hurry, my lady, a foul sort of hail has been falling on us. Take cover!” He pointed his gloved hand at a covered porch where a cluster of women waited, occasionally poking their head out and looking up.
She was about to dismount when she heard Matheus himself roar in outrage across the courtyard. He appeared from around the keep, his hair flying wildly behind his head, waving his arms and cursing foully.
“What happened?” Marion asked of the man still holding her horse.
His tanned skin crinkled when he screwed his face in confusion. “The lord is beside himself—”
“Lady Marion!” Matheus yelled across the courtyard before making a straight line for her.
She hated to admit it, but he did look impressive and intimidating in his leather armor, wearing a scowl instead of the usual conceited smirk.
“Make haste!” he went on as he drew near, grabbed her wrist and tugged her behind him as he jogged back to the safety of the keep.
After he shouldered open the door, he jerked her beside him and, his hand an iron cuff, compelled her to follow him.
“Lord Matheus, would you please tell me what is the matter with you!”
He barreled through the wide doorway leading to the dining hall into which Sir Ayjay, Hugo and she had dined. Much more light than she remembered filtered into the large room. Thinking of her visitor brought tears of regret to her eyes. With a lift of her chin, she dug her heels in, which overbalanced Matheus and forced him to slow down.
“I demand to know what is the matter!”
He whirled on her, his hand raised. But at the last moment, he let it drop, released her hand then continued beyond the table to join a handful of servants hurriedly sweeping the floor while casting glances at their lord, who positively fumed and raged as he paced along the wall.
Marion finally spotted the difference in the room. The stained-glass window was gone, leaving a gaping circular hole in the middle of the stone wall. Glorious sunshine spilled in. Through the aperture, she could spot a sharp grassy outcropping in the distance.
Matheus bent down and picked something up, which he showed to
his servants. Everyone shook their heads. He took his finding to her.
Marion readily recognized the small white ball in Matheus’ hand.
“What is this?” she asked while trying to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. If Sir Ayjay had refused the challenge, he seemed to have managed a way to hurt Matheus nonetheless.
“A sort of ball, obviously, though I have never seen one such as this. A handful fell all over Ragatz shortly before you arrived. And some, well, you can attest for yourself.” He threw her a venomous glare. “It looks foreign, do you not agree?”
She took the ball, rolled it in her palm before giving it back to the seething man. “I would not know. I am a mere woman.”
“Do not toy with me, Lady Marion,” he snarled under his breath, his hand once again closing around her wrist. “It is his, I know it is. That foreign devil!”
“I doubt Sir Ayjay would stoop to breaking your windows, Lord Matheus. After he so exclaimed at its beauty last night.”
The first slap made her see stars, but the next, a vicious backhand, positively rattled her teeth. She stumbled back a step.
Without thinking, Marion cocked her arm and managed to land a good one before he caught her hand mid flight and held her there. “I shall not tolerate such behavior, Lady Marion. I suggest you get used to being put back in your place. As for now, you shall be taken to my chambers and made to wait there until I am done with more pressing matters.” He tossed the ball toward the servants, catching one in the back. The ball rebounded with dry little clicks against the stone floor.
“I shall have my own bedchambers, my lord, if that—”
He raised his hand and as much as she hated herself for it, Marion flinched.
“Much better,” Matheus said, drawing close enough so only she would hear him. “I shall teach you how to bow to your man. And yes, you shall wait for me in my chambers. You are no virgin. Why should I wait to claim what is already mine?”
“We are not married yet. It is indecent.”
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