Lady Knight Page 6

  "Yield, God damn you." Guillaume held the horse high, large hooves dancing above her face. Matilda threw herself aside as the horse stamped down, scrambled to her feet and got a cut in at the girth, which finally ripped apart. She dropped her sword, grabbed Guillaume's leg at the knee and heaved him over. With an oath he slid off, landed on the other side of the horse and hidden from her view.

  Matilda snatched up her sword, then leapt back to avoid snapping teeth and a lash of hoof. Guillaume uttered a curt command and the horse moved away. He faced her, fierce-eyed and with raised blade. Swore at her as she dodged his blows, snarled with pain or rage as she landed her own. Forced her back, step by step and strike by strike. It occurred to her to wonder where Alan was and if he would come to her aid. But that was a coward's hope, unworthy. Anger seared her, disgust at her own feeble spirit. She launched herself at Guillaume, crashed into his chest and dug her boot in behind his, brought him down hard. Meant to stab at his throat, but he grabbed her wrist as he fell and dragged her with him, whirled her onto her back and held her down.

  "Yield," he growled. "This time I swear you won't escape a beating."

  "Earn it first." Matilda headbutted him in the face, felt a satisfying crunch as his nose broke, pushed herself up onto one knee. Then a weight slammed into the back of her head and blackened her vision. She slumped over, felt the rings of his mailcoat hard against her face but couldn't see them, couldn't move. Guillaume heaved her off, dropped her to the ground, she lay face down in the dirt and struggled to breathe.

  "Well done," he murmured from somewhere above. "Worth every blow I took to win you. Back now. Back."

  Matilda realised he was talking to the horse. She forced herself to move, struggled up onto all fours. Held down vomit that rose in her throat.

  "Yield now," Guillaume said, "before I kill you."

  She said nothing. Just battled with her body, willed it to rise.

  Guillaume's boot slammed into her ribs, overturned her and brought her to ground. Cold iron touched her cheek, just below the eye. "Damn it, woman. Now."

  "I yield," Matilda admitted. Should have done so before, but at least she'd made a fight of it.

  "God," Guillaume spat. "Next time I'll break your legs."

  Matilda smirked, though pain echoed through her skull and rang in every limb of her body. "You'll have to carry me off the field afterwards, then."

  "Wouldn't do that. I'd leave you to rot." His voice grew closer as he spoke. She squinted against the grainy gloom and found that he knelt beside her. Quick hands eased the mail hood aside. "Are you badly hurt?"

  "Just winded."

  "Pity." He stood up, called his squire. Then said: "Beat her off the field."

  She braced for it, crawled away under the blows, gathered vision enough to steer by. Slumped near her own starting position at last, under the jeers and flung sods of the crowd. Guillaume's squire got one last blow in against her aching ribs, then spat at her and stalked away. Which she'd make him pay for next meet, she promised herself that much.

  Alan slumped close by, face bloodied and bruised. He gave her a weary look as she collapsed with a groan. "Told you to be careful."

  "Never mind that." Matilda scowled at the field, and most of all at the trio of men swapping bear-hugs and backslaps at the far end of it. "My question is: how do we bring those three down for good next time?"

  Alan spat blood. "We'll need a third. The old stick from Rouen broke in an instant, and his men fled with him."

  "I didn't see that," Matilda admitted. She'd been too intent on her own fights. It explained why Guillaume had been so early at leisure.

  "If your brother were here..." Alan trailed off.

  Matilda offered a blood-spattered laugh. "One thing you'll never see me do is plead with him for help."

  "Never imagined it. But he's taking to the circuit again. So he says."

  "Really?" Matilda sat up, bruised limbs notwithstanding. "He never told me."

  "It's you he wants to see." Alan tugged the mail hood aside to reveal a grimace, spat out more blood. "I may have praised you a little too far in my last letter to him. Got a reply this morning, says he'll meet us in a month. He won't be much impressed with you then, unless you pick your feet up -- and fast. Two defeats in a row, that's a poor record to show him. Beaten by the man who won my first best horse off me, and refused ever since to sell it back."

  Maybe she imagined the bitterness in Alan's voice. "It happens," she said. "My brother fell to Guillaume himself. Twice. Won't grudge you or me the same." She sought to gain her footing, paused to let the world slow its spin, righted herself. "I'm away to my tent. Best see if my last set of spare armour still fits."

  It did, she discovered to her satisfaction after she'd washed and changed and sent horse and armour to Guillaume. Knave that he was. He'd cost her far too much already, she was down to her skin now. One set of armour left, and only her beloved hack to ride into battle. Her spare was lame, and she'd sold the others she'd won. She'd never cared to drag too much in the way of possessions behind her.

  Didn't have much in the way of ready coin, either, she sent all that for safe keeping with her brother. Best not to carry wealth around unless you spent most of it paying for an armed retinue, she'd found that out the hard way. But her name should be enough, if the victors had spares to sell.

  She thought of Guillaume, briefly. It wouldn't kill her to offer payment in coin. But it rankled.

  She tottered over to the stables, where a couple of Guillaume's new acquisitions were being walked. One limped badly, though it made a game effort under the steady encouragement of the man who led him.

  Inside, she spent a while stroking the smooth glossy neck of her hack. Watched Guillaume's groom handle her battle mount with gentle hands and a firm tone.

  He kept good men around him, her lover. She smiled at that thought.

  "On your feet already?" Guillaume murmured in her ear. His voice startled her: she'd heard steps behind her but thought they belonged to a stable-lad. Matilda swung around, which caused her skull to break apart with pain. She did manage a taunting look that morphed into a smile when she saw the punishment he'd taken. The swollen mass across the bridge of his nose dappled purple.

  "You ought to see a leech," she teased.

  "Seen her already," Guillaume retorted with what might be half a grin. "Should have dropped her in the flames the moment I pulled her off me."

  "Maybe you should." Matilda resisted the urge to lean into his arms. Too many prying eyes around, she didn't want gossip. Though she couldn't escape that, no matter what she did. Even so... "Have you given thought to seclusion?"

  Guillaume started, then winced and touched his head. "Indeed I have. Are you in a fit condition to discuss it?"

  "I would imagine so." She'd lay good money that her head hurt far worse than his. But she followed him out of the stable, at a slow walk that might have been a saunter if either of them were fit for one.

  "There's a tavern nearby," Guillaume muttered. "We can travel out together, as before. Then your injuries prove more troublesome than you'd realised. You'll need to stay and rest for a while. I'll have a rare access of conscience and remain with you, to ensure you are in no danger."

  "And rouse suspicion," Matilda retorted. "With all that dawdling in my room, and so on."

  "Not likely. The tavern-keeper can be bought off, I know her from before."

  "Indeed?" Matilda didn't quite get the sting she wanted into that word. She was too much amused by his artless plotting.

  Guillaume squeezed her arm, gently. "Not often. You'll have your page and squire with you. They should suffice as chaperones. Of course, my foul temper will drive them to tears, at which point you send them away."

  "Don't be so cruel. There must be a better solution." She shot him a waspish glare. "Besides, I won't play vanquished for you or any man. Why don't you take to a bed with your own injuries?"

  "Because my friends would stay with me," Guillaume said. "
Or else want to know just why I was so keen to get rid of them. We've been together for years, travelled and fought and never been parted. What falls to one falls to all. If I'm to break that brotherhood -- and I'm not saying I will, only that I could be tempted -- " another surreptitious caress -- "then I'd have to tell them why. Or at least give them a better reason to abandon me than a mere trifling delay."

  He led her into shelter among a thick band of trees that grew along the edge of the battlefield. The fighting had ceased, men settled up or groaned under the ministrations of squires and physicians. Small chance of stumbling into an ambush, though Matilda kept her eyes open all the same.

  Within the copse a soft gloom closed around her and Guillaume. Birds chirruped warning as the couple followed the track that wove through the woodland.

  "Alan might not leave me either," Matilda argued. "Especially not with you. He's always stood my friend. I chose to try a few meets alone: he never abandoned me." It was to his credit, though she wondered now if there had been other reasons than honest companionship. The thought made her wince.

  "I'll see him off," Guillaume growled.

  "You'll do no such thing. Anyway, that's as good as an open admission. No sense in secrecy if you go around declaring all to the world."

  "Happy to," Guillaume replied. "But if you insist on discretion... I'll push Roland onto him. Alan lost, and won't be allowed to forget it. Should make him all the keener for the next meet."

  "I think it's you he wants revenge on," Matilda admitted.

  "Me?" Guillaume looked genuinely surprised, as best she could tell beyond the swelling. "What for?"

  "His broken bones."

  "Oh, that." Guillaume mused. "Suppose he does. I would."

  Matilda slipped her arm around him. They were masked by greenery now. Not well hidden, she caught glimpses of bright colours from the site beyond and heard the calls of men clearing the field, but a momentary touch should be safe enough.

  Guillaume pulled her into shadow, then kissed her -- so gently that she pulled him closer, and only remembered his broken face when he groaned.

  "Sorry." Matilda pulled away. "That'll teach me to fight fairer."

  "No complaints." Guillaume caressed her lips with his own, and his tongue probed with a delicate touch. He tasted of blood, she had to smile at that. Enjoyed it, too: she licked it off the inside of his mouth with light strokes of her tongue, until he held his breath and followed her mouth with his, every moment expanding into a world of pleasure and pain.

  When she released him, he staggered. She caught his weight on her shoulder and arm, winced as her bruised flesh protested. "We should time this better," she pointed out with a rueful grin. "Before the battle, next meet."

  "Affects fighting performance." Guillaume's mouth sought hers again. "Now is best."

  Matilda laughed against his lips. Pushed him away, rested her hands on his shoulders. "Where is this tavern, and how soon can we get there?"

  "Tomorrow. If you want to stay for the banquet."

  Matilda pondered. "We could make a show of leaving early."

  "Say the word," Guillaume muttered. "I can be ready within the hour."

  That would betray them for sure. But desire tingled through her body, an urge too powerful to resist. "Or make a show of leaving late. Maybe they'd travel on ahead for the first day. Alan hates to be kept waiting."

  "He's not the only one." Guillaume pulled her close. "How about here and now?"

  "We couldn't." Although maybe they could... His hands already quested over her body, stroking each curve.

  "Trust me," Guillaume murmured against her ear. Found her nipples with his thumbs, circled them lightly over the protective layers of linen and wool, caught the desire that spiralled in her belly and drew it out into a rising flame.

  Matilda pressed her body against his, swore she'd break off any moment now -- any moment at all -- and then pleasure rose within her, an unstoppable wave that cascaded through her body and flowed out through her limbs. Guillaume laughed softly into her hair, whispered that if it was this quick they needed no privacy at all. She clung to him and laughed too on a breath, and prayed no one was watching.

  "Easy," he murmured with a smile. Dark eyes glittered at her as she gasped and held on tight. "Let us make this a tradition after every meet."

  "Let's," Matilda agreed. "Please, yes."

  He laughed aloud then, and hugged her to him, and she found she didn't care if anyone saw. Slid her hand over the back of his neck and eased him down for renewed kisses.

  "What about you?" she murmured against his mouth.

  Guillaume continued to kiss her. "I'll wait."

  "Until the tavern?"

  "Wherever."

  "Very noble." A perfect knight, this one, for all his foul temper. Which was gone entirely, he seemed a different man. "Are you always like this when you get a woman alone?"

  "I try." Guillaume released her at last, held his arms loose around her waist, smiled with a tenderness that stunned her. "Most of them aren't as undemanding as you."

  Matilda frowned. "Is that a compliment?"

  "An observation. Suits me well. I'm not complaining."

  "I'd noticed. Tell me about these demands I'm supposed to be making."

  Steps and voices from further along the path prevented Guillaume's reply. He let her go entirely, crossed his arms and fixed her with a grim stare. Matilda echoed him, aggrieved. She didn't want to maintain this mummery any longer. But unless they wished to faced questions and surmises -- Alan's, in particular -- it was necessary.

  "You spoke of marriage," she said quietly. "When we discussed terms."

  "So I did." Guillaume stared past the trees, to where colour glimmered on the path. "It was no part of my plans before. Whereas now..." He trailed off.

  Matilda waited, didn't know what she hoped for -- or even if she hoped at all.

  "I don't know," Guillaume muttered at last. "Never saw myself as much of a husband."

  "Never saw myself as a wife," Matilda admitted.

  They stared at each other. Then grinned, both at once.

  "Perfect," Guillaume said.

  It was, really, she couldn't argue against. Except that marriage was a sacrament, a holy undertaking, and not merely a convenient excuse for dalliance.

  "Give me some time," Matilda said. "I'll need my brother's permission, for one thing."

  "I'll write to him," Guillaume replied with lazy confidence. "He can meet me on the field if he objects."

  Matilda snorted. "Don't risk it. He speaks of you with great enthusiasm, and considerable detail as to his plans for your disembowelment."

  Guillaume just grinned. "Let him try, then. I'll meet him, and gladly. Any time."

  They strolled towards the path, where both colours and voices had faded. Matilda tucked her arm into his, because she liked the feel of them together, the touch of his body against hers. Which whirred and tingled still, flushed with the aftermath of desire and satisfaction.

  "Where did you learn these things?" she asked in wonder.

  Guillaume laughed. "From numerous estimable ladies who wouldn't thank me for mentioning their names. In a word, practice. For which I've been fortunate in gaining many excellent masters."

  "You have," Matilda agreed. "Thank them for me if you can."

  Guillaume swung around to wrap her in a hug. "I'll be sure to mention it." He held her there, arms resting around her waist while his smile faded. "I could do without the secrecy. Don't care for skulking in corners. It never troubled me with other women, neither I nor they wanted open acknowledgement, but with you..." He shook his head. Watched her with eyes that shimmered. "You I wish to flaunt before the world. Let them all see who won you."

  "Didn't realise that's what you fought for," Matilda commented drily. "Would I have told you I wasn't standing in your way."

  Guillaume's expression grew grimmer. "I won't fight you again. Twice now I've beaten you, and I won't make it a third time. If you were to be
maimed at my hands -- "

  "I'm a fighter," Matilda broke in. "Not a simpering ninny to protect and indulge."

  "No one could suspect it. Even so."

  "Never give me quarter." She glared at him. "If you, then this is all over between us. Everything. I will not be treated as less than a knight, by you or by anyone else."

  "I don't fight against my friends either," Guillaume pointed out. "We travel together, we're drawn together, we do battle together. Never on opposite sides. That's the agreement we have. I want the same with you."

  Matilda shook her head vehemently -- and then regretted it as pain burst through it and blackened her sight. "No," she told the darkness. Her knees quivered underneath her, she tensed the muscles in her legs and fought to stay upright. Toppled abruptly, and cursed herself as Guillaume clasped her in strong arms.

  "Back to camp," he murmured. "Shouldn't have taken you out this far. That horse of mine has laid men to bed for weeks."

  "I'm well," Matilda insisted, and battled to stand. "I just -- " Nausea overwhelmed her. She clung to Guillaume's shoulder, blinked at the sizzle of grey light. "Maybe not," she amended. "Help me walk."

  "I'll do better than that." He lifted her up bodily, clutched her to his chest, took step after faltering step along the forest path.

  "Don't be a fool," Matilda growled. She would have struggled, but didn't dare move in case she brought him down for good. "You're in no fit state for this."

  "That may be true," Guillaume gasped, "but the only -- alternative -- is to fetch help. Which would cause a stir. Whereas this way -- " He swayed, set her down abruptly, clamped strong fingers hard over her shoulder. "It seems you're right. I can't believe what you've done to me."

  "We'll have to work together," Matilda said with bleak humour. And they did, clutched each other tight as they staggered towards the camp. Separated as they glimpsed the tents through the trees.