“I shall not!”
“You want to see your lover die? Suit yourself, wife. I shall try to do it quickly so I can come back to this much more enjoyable duel here.”
She felt herself flush but forced her spine straight as she marched out of the chambers and tried to walk beside Sir Emery. The old notary looked clearly furious. But Matheus grabbed her hand and yanked her to his side. She had had just about enough of being pushed around and yanked her arm out of his grip.
They trooped back to the great hall where workers were finishing stretching a cover over the gaping hole of the broken window. Matheus threw her a venomous glare.
As soon as they stepped outside, Marion spotted him. Sir Ayjay towered over the rest by a good head, except for Hugo, and looked so handsome in leather armor. But as she drew near, she noticed how different he looked. As soon as he saw her, he left his group, comprised of Hugo, Thomas and Thorins, and marched in her direction. Their worried and angry faces touched her.
As he marched forward, Sir Ayjay looked so incensed no one tried to stop him when he walked right past Matheus and stopped in front of her. In his gentle hand, he cupped her cheek and leaned in so he could examine it.
She wanted so much to tell him she was fine, these were mere marks and would quickly fade but words left her as she lifted her gaze to his and saw the storm brewing there. Marion had never seen so much anger in Sir Ayjay’s eyes, nor anyone else’s. The cold fury left her both hopeful and scared. For him.
“He hurt you,” Sir Ayjay said simply, his head cocked to the side as he studied her face. “I’m so going to hurt him back.”
“Have you no sword?” Matheus sneered.
The man meant to put his hand on her shoulder but Sir Ayjay unexpectedly grabbed his collar and violently shoved him away. The lord stumbled back several paces, looking shocked, appalled, worried. Sir Ayjay snarled something in his tongue. Gone was the suave foreigner and in his place stood a physically imposing, furious man.
Matheus brushed his sleeve. “How dare you lay a hand on me, you foreign—”
“And how dare you lay a hand on her!”
Sir Ayjay’s deep voice rose to booming proportions, which shocked her since it was usually so smooth and rich, but it swelled now, seemed to come directly out of his chest and resonated in the courtyard. Even Matheus seemed taken aback.
Around them, people gathered, most looking highly uncomfortable with the situation. She could not help feeling sorry for these folks, who had to live with Matheus and bear his constant displeasure and ill humor. Hugo meant to approach as well, but Thomas put his hand on his shoulder and shook his head.
Turning his eyes back to her, Sir Ayjay’s entire countenance changed, eased down. He raked his hair back and pursed his lips. “Look, Marion…I don’t know what he did to you—I hope you’ll forgive me someday for being such a chickenshit—but I’m here now, and if it’s all right with you, I’d be delighted to defend your honor and kick his ass from here to Zurich. Will you let me?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice just yet. Could it be he’d found in his heart a small place for her? He had shared already how he had “a crush” on her, but she suspected whatever it was, it had changed somehow and with any luck, she would keep her peculiar guest with her for a very long time. That is, if he won the duel. And with Matheus, such feat would not be easy. Or free.
She grabbed his hand in both of hers, brought it to her cheek and kissed his palm. A look of delight and relief spread to his face. She noticed only then how he indeed bore no weapon except one of the golf sticks, which he had slid inside the thick leather belt as though it were a sword. Instead of the lumpy tip, this one ended in a metal wedge, which gleamed threateningly in the bright late-afternoon sun. She had seen what he could do with one of the strange looking poles, but against a sword…
Lord, it was all her fault. If only she had not claimed Sir Ayjay would marry her in front of Matheus, if only she had found something else with which to block the arrogant man. If only.
“Please, Sir Ayjay, I beg you, be careful,” she murmured so only he would hear. “He is a very crafty one.”
“I’m a lawyer.” Sir Ayjay straightened to his considerable height. “They don’t come any ‘craftier’ than us.”
Chapter Ten
After they’d made room in the great hall—hell, they were going to be fighting indoors, in the dining room, almost like civilized men—and pushed everything against the wall, Matheus disappeared to get prepared obviously. Meanwhile, Sir Emery sat with Marion while A.J.’s posse stood around him, giving him last-minute advice.
Hugo rubbed his beard in a constant downward motion as he considered the “arena”. “Do not let him nick you for he shall try to do this.”
“…has no reach but is very wily. Beware of his…” Thorins tried to cut in.
“Should he dip his shoulder, that would mean he plans to thrust, whereas his—”
“Yes, do watch for his shoulder!” Thorins made the motion of slashing. “And his elbows, that should—”
Thomas raised his hand, which silenced both men. “Just remember the mark on Lady Marion’s fair cheek, my friend, that ought to suffice.”
And it did.
A.J. felt his blood pressure rising right away. The mark on her face… He thought he was going to go after the man right then and there, too bad if the guy was in his underwear. A.J. had never, ever, been so enraged as when he’d first seen the look on her face, the fear. The pain. Oh A.J. had been angry plenty of times. Angry at losing a case—as rare as it was, it still happened once in a while—angry at getting a speeding ticket or facing a prosecutor who didn’t seem intimidated, angry with the idea his mother, who’d worked all her life to give him the best only to die in his arms days before he hit the jackpot… Yeah, that made him plenty angry. But to see Marion’s bruised face, the awful purple mark on her jaw and the look of satisfaction on the bastard’s face. It had almost been too much to take.
He wondered what his mom would think of the situation now, of him getting all huffy and puffy—and lovey—over a cute woman who made her own clothes. He felt himself grinning like an idiot. She’d love it. She’d think her son was being so brave and valiant and knightly. Ha.
“Gentlemen,” Matheus called from across the hall. He was dressed all in black leather, fitting for the big villain he was. A.J. thought he resembled a cross between a biker and a sheriff of Nottingham on speed. He flicked his sword in a perfectly timed, graceful arc before pointing it directly at A.J. The tip didn’t move an inch.
Whoa.
So after a quick glance at a fidgety Marion, who looked as though she were going to pull her dress apart thread by thread, A.J. slid the iron out of his belt, let it swing in a slow pendulum before making a sharp half rotation that made the wedge cleave the air with an incredibly gratifying whoosh. It was Asshole’s turn to look as if he’d just thought, whoa.
“Shall we start? You interrupted something very pleasant I wish to revisit.” Duke of Dickheadedness grinned. “Pleasant for me.”
Breathe, A.J. told his rapidly diminishing mental faculties. Testosterone did this to men, lowered their thinking skills. But damn if he wasn’t pumped!
“Soooo,” A.J. said, grinning like a hyena, “no grand speech or throwing of the shawl or anything? We just start hacking?”
A simple nod was his answer.
“Well, that’s anticlimactic. But time is money, right?”
As they turned toward one another, Matheus and A.J. slowly circled the area, facing inward, walking sideways so as not to give an opening to the other. It only lasted a while though as Matheus charged right away, quickly and with precise movements. Shit!
A.J. barely had time to skip out of the way and swing the club. He hit the back of the guy’s leg. His gasp of pain made A.J. grin wider.
“Hey, Earl Tadpole of Rat Assington, how does it feel to be the one getting hit? I bet you don’t enjoy that.” A.J. laced his hands around the handle
, leisurely swung the iron as if he’d just hit a delicious ball right onto the green and winked. “You’re probably wondering how such a little thing can hurt so much. Well, it’s all in the swing—”
Matheus charged again, quicker and coming much closer to finding A.J.’s shoulder with his blade. The sword rang when it scraped the stone floor. Marion gasped audibly before putting both hands over her mouth.
A.J. felt like gasping too. Damn it’d been close.
Then a series of thrusts and slashes had him backpedaling furiously, twisting out of Lord Mad Cow’s reach then letting the sword come way close to his face—way close—so he could drive the butt end of the iron between leather armor and armpit. He loved weak spots.
“What coarse tactic is this?” Matheus demanded as he cringed and backed several paces away. “Can you not fight like an honorable man?”
“I’m a Norman lawyer, man!”
Another swing made the guy roar in outrage and really lay it on thick. He attacked on A.J.’s right then low on his left, kept him skipping back to avoid getting his thigh slashed in two. So King Jackass meant for lots of first blood.
“I almost forgot, how did you enjoy my drive? Did you find all eight of them or just a few? White little balls, about yea big?” A.J. showed with his index finger and thumb the size of a golf ball.
The look on the jerk’s face! Priceless.
“I knew such devilry was yours!”
A.J. had hardly finished nodding before Matheus had his sword coming in a direct line for the middle of his belly. He twisted sideways and cursed when the sword dug right in and punched out the side of him.
Ouch, shit.
For a second, complete silence reigned in the room. With a snarl, Matheus pulled his sword free, ripping out a good chunk of A.J.’s leather armor with the guard of his weapon. Right about then, he didn’t mind at all wearing the sweat of a hundred guys before him. Thank God for those things!
While the man was busy getting rid of the torn leather, A.J. swung the iron in a wide upward arc. Matheus barely had time to arch back. That would’ve made for a nice bit of first blood right there. A nine iron under the nose. Too bad the rat was quick.
“I wish you would’ve had more than just the one window too. It was so much fun. Did it crash in one big piece or a shower of shiny bits? And the noise? Lots of it, I hope?”
“You talk much, Sir Ayjay, and fight very little,” Matheus shot back. “Are you the same in bed?”
“Ha! You can’t turn that shit back on me, I’m the pro here. You’re just a guy who has to beat a woman senseless to get a date. Is it so they don’t see how little skill you have? Huh? Little skill, get it?”
“Why would a man need skill when a belt shall do? I was expecting the lady to be slightly more spacious though, I confess, as she was previously married. Perhaps the men who crawled between her legs had ‘little skill’ as well?”
A.J. actually felt the grin slide off his face. He swore he could hear it crashing on the floor too. By the corner of his eye, he spotted Marion emphatically shaking her head no. Hugo snarled something as he made to pull his sword out. Even Thomas, Mister Cool Cat, looked ready to pounce.
“This is a duel, gentlemen,” Matheus said waspishly. He leveled his sword at A.J. “Only the foreigner and I shall fight for the lady’s graces…even if we have both already tasted them.”
So this was how it felt to lose it. And, man, did he ever.
A.J. crossed the distance separating him from the loathsome, ingrown, nail fuzz rapist of a piece of shit and swung his iron with everything he had. Once, twice, thrice. The wedge hummed loudly every time. No longer smiling, Matheus agilely evaded every one of A.J.’s attacks, sometimes managing to take a swing of his own. But mostly, he just tried to avoid getting his skull bashed in. Relentless, A.J. pursed Lord Dickwad across the large hall, anger fueling him as never before. After a particularly potent swing, his adversary barely had time to arch back before A.J. smashed the head of his golf club against the table. A chunk of wood flew out. His eyes wide, Matheus ran backward, his guard barely up. He didn’t look so confident anymore.
“Not so tough now, huh?” A.J. demanded, ignoring his posse’s frantic call for him to stop. “You didn’t think I could actually beat the crap out of you with one of these, did you?”
Still, Matheus didn’t attack, only parried and sidestepped.
“You think you could just—”
“Sir Ayjay!”
Thomas’ warning had barely registered before A.J. finally noticed how Asshole’s shoulder had just dipped.
Was it supposed to be when the shoulder dipped that the guy was about to attack? Or right after? Or was it the elbow he should be watching?
Too late.
So I guess it was before.
His face going from the pretend alarm that had made A.J. land with the finesse of a ton of brick in the other’s trap, Matheus launched into a series of devastating thrusts and jabs that nicked A.J. everywhere. Oh shit. He’d been fucked with his pants on!
“You lying sack of shit…” he growled after quickly patting himself down to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.
Sneering, President Scumbag of Rodent Land made an impossibly quick and complicated twirl with his sword. “Did you think I would finish you so quickly, you poor, inept foreigner? No, I intend to make it last.”
When Matheus came at him like a vengeful storm, A.J. had to do some serious dancing to get out of the barrage of sword strikes with his clothes still on him. A nasty thrust poked him near the knee, but thanks to his long reach, the guy couldn’t come any closer without exposing himself. Had A.J. not been so damn tall, he would’ve had a sword sticking out of his thigh right about now.
The sneaky little shit!
Marion’s gasp forced him to take a quick peek at her. He noticed the bruise right away.
He had touched her.
He had…
Hurt, dude, hurt like you won’t believe.
Finally, A.J. landed a good hit on the guy’s thigh. With a roar of pain, Matheus skipped sideways, only to walk right into the iron’s next arc, which caught him in the side. A split second after the whoosh of the metallic wedge, the muffled thump when the club hit made everyone groan. Matheus sidestepped and raised his sword for a horizontal attack.
A.J. struck the sword and the sound of the nine iron against the blade triggered a godawful twang that nearly dislodged his teeth. The sword flew out of Matheus’ grip and clattered to the floor several feet away. He looked at his gloved hand, empty, with open shock and hatred.
A.J. cranked his arms for another oh-so-deserved hit and buried the club’s head into Matheus’ side. With a snarled growl of pain, he bent in half. “I am…unarmed,” he wheezed.
“And…?”
He wouldn’t whack a guy in the head with a golf club but with what the bastard had done—or tried to do most likely—A.J. was damn well happy to make him hurt. He gave him another piece of nine iron, this time, right behind the thigh.
“Fuck that,” A.J. snarled as he tossed the iron away and charged for the man, tackling him down.
Matheus clutched at A.J.’s arms and tried to twist away. Man the guy was strong. “This is not—”
The impact of two hundreds plus pounds of angry lawyer sent both rolling several times in a tangle of limbs and curses. A.J. used his greater reach to grab the man’s tunic and yank him back.
A.J. cocked his elbow back. “You’re never going to touch her again.”
His fist collided with the despicable face with a sound A.J. vowed never to forget. Bones crunching. Some of his too, he suspected.
His hand throbbing as if his heart had suddenly been transplanted there, A.J. stood and yanked Lord Sphincter to his feet, which barely supported him. A trickle of gloriously red, wet, BLOOD dribbled down the guy’s nose and seeped into his contorted mouth.
“First blood, dammit. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
He let the guy slump to the ground and
walked toward Marion, who had jumped to her feet and was coming for him. The impact of her soft body against his made A.J. grin like a loon while her arms wrapped themselves around his waist hard enough to stop air coming in.
“Shit, I think I broke my hand,” he managed to say before she pulled herself up and kissed him.
And it was worth every day of excruciating pain that’s waiting for me.
Lifting her off the floor with a one-arm bear hug, he spun around once and deposited her back down.
Try as he might, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so damn happy. And he hadn’t even earned a cent either. Ha!
Everyone started talking at once.
“You have won the lady’s honor, Sir Ayjay,” Hugo cried with a heavy smack on the shoulder that made A.J. cough. “Well done!”
Thorins slapped him on the back then turned to Thomas, who was grinning and wiping his eye. A.J. gave the blond man a small nod of thanks. Without this one’s insistence—okay, not insistence, harassment and volley of cheap shots—he never would’ve gone to Rat Ass in the first place and never would’ve known how much he loved Marion.
Whoa. Did I just think the L word?
“Taste it while you can,” snarled Matheus as he climbed to his feet unsteadily. Everyone grew silent as they watched him rearranging his tunic. “For I shall see to it Sargans pays the price. When winter comes—”
“Nothing at all shall happen, Lord Matheus, for Sargans rule shall return to Sargans this very moment,” Sir Emery said as he gathered himself to his full—oh what?—five and a half feet. His liver-spotted hands didn’t shake when he clasped them in front. “Sir Ayjay has won the duel fairly, if a bit unusually, as can attest everyone here. And he shall be allowed to marry Lady Marion at their convenience. Full governance and control of the levies shall pass to them.”
A.J. couldn’t help himself and winked at Lord Salmonella. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“And you shall hurt too, you foreign devil!”
“Now, now. Be nice. Don’t forget I have a looong reach.” A.J. hooked his thumb behind him at the round hole once graced with the man’s prized stained-glass window.
Timely Defense Page 16