Midnight Shadow

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Bria moved past the jugglers and stopped dead in her tracks as a masked man clad in a black cape and wielding a shimmering blade stepped in front of her. Bria gasped, her heart pounding with the ferocity of a madly galloping horse. Could it be? The Midnight Shadow standing mere feet from her?

  Suddenly, a woman tossed an apple into the air, and the masked man brandished his sword, instantly slicing the apple cleanly in two. Onlookers clapped at the man’s show of skill.

  Bria’s body slumped slightly, her heart slowing. He’s just part of the show, she thought. Just part of the show.

  “There he is!” Mary exclaimed. She waved her hand high above her head and shouted his name. “Garret!”

  Bria scanned the crowd, taking her gaze from the Midnight Shadow look-alike. “Where?” she demanded.

  “Near the stairs of the keep,” Mary answered, continuing to wave her hand.

  Bria scanned the steps near the keep, but there were too many people. “I can’t see him!”

  Mary pulled Bria close. “There!” She pointed.

  Bria followed her finger. She spotted Lord Dysen sitting atop a horse. He was speaking with someone on the stairs, but a man on stilts blocked her view of the person he was speaking with.

  “Garret!” Mary screamed.

  Bria pulled away from Mary and rubbed her ear, glancing at her in displeasure. When she turned back to search for Garret, she caught sight of a blond man dismounting a white horse, but she couldn’t see his face as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Mary squeezed Bria’s wrist tightly. “He’s coming!” she whispered loudly and jumped up and down in delight.

  Bria grinned at Mary’s thrill. She had to admit she was just as eager to see Garret as Mary was. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see her friend amongst the crowd in the courtyard, but it was so full that every time she caught a glimpse of Garret, someone moved before her, obscuring her view.

  “Bria! Mary!”

  Bria saw a hand waving at them above the crowd. Before she could get a glimpse of him, the hand was gone, swallowed by the undulating crowd. Finally, the curtain of peasants before them parted and Garret emerged from the throng.

  Bria’s mouth dropped open. Golden blond hair swept down over strong shoulders. Garret was no longer the awkward, lanky child Bria remembered. His face had lost its thinness and had filled out; his jaw had squared. He was a knight now, a warrior. She felt an abyss of change open between them.

  Then she looked into his eyes. There, in the twinkling blue depths, she found the Garret she knew and loved, the same boy she’d made a vow of friendship with all those years ago.

  A smile of relief and of happiness stretched across her lips.

  Garret stopped before her, his gaze sweeping her. For a moment, Bria thought he was going to take her hand and kiss it, marking a complete transformation into adulthood for both of them. Instead, Garret swept her into a tight embrace and whirled her around. Their laughter mingled.

  When they parted, Garret swept Mary into a warm embrace. He kept his arm around Mary’s shoulder as he looked at Bria in awe. “You’ve grown,” he finally admitted.

  Bria smiled. His sentiments mirrored her own. “I should hope so,” Bria answered. “Last time I saw you, I was but a child.”

  “Yes.” Garret sighed. “As was I.”

  Garret kissed Mary’s head and Bria watched the red bloom over Mary’s cheeks.

  “And what of you, little woman?” he asked Mary. “What have you been up to?”

  “Nothing,” Mary whispered shyly, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

  Bria realized with a jolt Mary was flirting with Garret.

  Garret’s smile stretched wider, revealing perfect white teeth.

  And Garret knew it!

  Their friendship would never be the same. The innocence of childhood had fled, and adult desires raged. He was a man now, and she and Mary were women.

  “And what of you, Garret? I heard you went to war beside your father.”

  Garret’s gaze swung to Bria, piercing her with the full intensity of his glorious blue-eyed stare, and he nodded, his eyes lighting up. “Have I got tales for you!” he began, but faltered. “Maybe we should speak of other things.”

  Bria glanced at Mary and frowned. “Why would we speak of other things?”

  “Well, you’re a lady now and –”

  Bria smiled. “And maybe such talk offends me?”

  “Well.” Garret shifted from foot to foot uneasily. “Well, yes.”

  “When they didn’t offend me before?” Bria asked, poking fun at him. Garret had often told her of the dreams he had of slashing down the French, of ridding the land of tyranny. “I’m still the same girl, Garret, as I’m sure you’re the same boy.”

  Garret shrugged slightly.

  Bria reached out to squeeze one of his biceps. His flesh was firm with powerful muscles distinguishing him as a strong warrior. “These are real, aren’t they?”

  “I should say so!” Garret squeaked in objection.

  A grin stretched Bria’s lips and Mary covered her mouth against her giggles.

  Garret glanced from Bria to Mary and back again. He shook his head, smiling. “Yes, you are the same girl.” He grasped her hands tightly. “And it’s good to see you. I missed you the last time I was here.”

  Bria smiled at him. “Me, too.”

  “Come on,” Mary called. “Let’s go watch the knights practice.”

  Garret nodded. “I’ll meet you there. I must say hello to Lord Delaney.”

  Mary raced off through the crowd toward the practice field. Bria turned to join her, but Garret grabbed her arm.

  “Do you still sword fight with your grandfather?”

  Bria nodded, but quickly hushed him, looking from side to side to see if anyone had heard. Her father would never approve, so she and her grandfather kept it a well-guarded secret. Garret wouldn’t have known except he’d followed her out of the castle one night long ago when the Dysens had been visiting. He’d discovered them fighting. She’d sworn him to secrecy.

  “Have you beaten him yet?” Garret wondered.

  Bria shook her head, a grimace of disappointment crossing her features.

  “I’ve got a move guaranteed to disarm him. Are you interested?” Garret asked, a smile curving his lips.

  “Am I!” Bria almost exploded with excitement.

  “Meet me tomorrow morning in the field where you practice,” he whispered.

  Bria nodded.

  ***

  Two swords crossed under a slitted moon, their metal blades clanging as they collided. The moon shimmered in the cold steel, its reflection clear and bright.

  “Come on, girl, you can do much better than that.” Harry watched Bria smile. She was beautiful. Who would have thought such a gangly girl would grow into such an elegant lady? Her long brown hair hung loosely in large curls about her shoulders; her lips were full and rose red, the blue of her eyes rivaled that of the sky -- eyes that right now stared at him with the heated blue of a fire’s core. She would indeed make a fine wife. It was just that defiant, determined streak she had to be wary of. Men wanted at least some semblance of subservience from their women.

  The blades pushed hard against each other, then abruptly separated, the slender steel screeching as the weapons slid free of each other. Bria swung, but Harry backed away and her blade whistled through the empty air. She swung again, but this time Harry caught her swing and grabbed her wrist, bringing her in close so they were practically nose to nose.

  “You’re angry because your father finally made the decision to find you a husband.” He pushed away from her and swung. “You’re fighting with your emotions today, not with reason.”

  She ducked and spun away from him. “I am not,” she insisted, then countered with an arc to his head. He blocked her blow, knowing she was lying because of the intensity with which she fought.

  It took all his concentration to match her move and block it. “It’s time,
Bria. You should have been married long ago,” he said.

  She was quick, much quicker than he was. And she was smart, despite her emotions warring to take control. He could see her mind working as she lunged. But experience won out, and he was still able to thwart her strike. He caught her sword with his and twisted his wrist. He had disarmed her more than once with that move. It worked again tonight. Her sword went sailing through the air.

  Disappointment surged within him. Even though she was getting better and better each night they sparred, he was still disappointed in her lack of self-control. Yet, it was only a matter of time before she disarmed him. Then he’d have nothing further to teach her. That would be the biggest disappointment of all.

  Bria cursed quietly and stomped after her sword. Before she could reach it, Harry put the tip of his sword to her neck. “Yield,” he ordered.

  Again, she mumbled a curse. “I yield,” she added grudgingly, and moved to proceed past him.

  He kept the sword to her neck. “Why were you disarmed?”

  Her jaw worked as she clenched her teeth. “I was overanxious. I thought I had you that time. Just like all those other times.” She shoved the sword from her neck and marched past him to her weapon, yanking it from the ground. She swung it through the air, hacking the breeze assaulting her. “I’ll never get it.”

  “You’ll get it,” he said, kindly. “You just have to learn patience. You want to win, but you’re not willing to wait for an opening.”

  “You make your own openings,” she countered.

  “When you’re good enough,” he agreed, approaching her, “and when you realize you’ll never be stronger than a man. You have to wait for an opening. You can’t fight aggressively. You have to fight defensively. Always.”

  Bria rolled her large blue eyes. “I know, I know.”

  “But you don’t know, or you wouldn’t be disarmed.”

  She handed her sword to him. He took the handle of the weapon. “Don’t stay out too long. Your father is suspicious enough.”

  “I know,” she murmured. She walked toward the thick forest just beyond the clearing where two horses were tethered to a tree.

  Harry shook his head in admiration. She was already better than most men he knew, but he dared not tell her that.

  Suddenly, she paused and turned to look at him. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulder as she stared at him. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  Harry smiled and nodded. “It’s my pleasure.” She was his joy, his treasure. She was the only spark in his otherwise tedious life at the castle. He would grant her the moon, but teaching her to sword fight was a hell of a lot easier.

  One of these times, he knew he’d have to stop her from riding out to her secret meetings with her friend Mary. The world was becoming much too dangerous a place for her to be out late at night on her own.

  Chapter Three

  Bria rode through the night, knowing the way to the pond in the east woods by heart. She knew where the land dipped, where it rose, where she had to duck to avoid the stinging slap of tree branches. So did her horse. They’d ridden this route together since she was ten, since her grandfather had begun teaching her to use a sword.

  She tried not to let her frustration consume her thoughts. She should have had him! She thought she did have him! Only one wrong move. Damn. That’s all it would take in a real battle to cost her life, all it would take for someone to kill her. One mistake.

  Bria spurred the horse faster. The animal raced on, the night speeding by. The huge rock at the edge of the Hagen farm marked the spot where she crossed over into Knowles’ lands, but she didn’t slow her pace. She turned right as she passed the massive stone, heading toward the pond where Mary would be waiting.

  As she topped a slight rise, the pond appeared, glistening in the moonlight. Bria slowed her horse and steered the animal toward the forked tree, actually two trees twined about each other so tightly as to become one.

  Bria dismounted, throwing the reins around a tree branch. She walked through the waist-high grass, staring at the dark pond. Long ago, soon after her grandfather had started teaching her swordplay, she and Mary had begun meeting at the pond. It was their secret place, a sanctuary where they could hide and tell each other their deepest desires. On some warm summer nights, when the moon was high and bright, Bria and Mary had gone swimming in those waters. She felt safe and comfortable here. They both did.

  At the crunch of grass, Bria looked to her right. Mary bounded toward her, her dark hair alive with the moonlight’s sheen.

  As Mary drew closer, her eyes scanned Bria’s disgruntled face for a long moment. “I’m sorry, Bria,” Mary whispered. “You’ll beat your grandfather yet.”

  “I know. It’s just so unfair,” Bria murmured. It was uncanny how sometimes each knew what the other was thinking or feeling.

  “Unfair, is it? Your grandfather is so much older than you! It should take you years to surpass his expertise, if ever.”

  “Thanks a lot!”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “You know what I mean. How would he feel if you beat him the first time you crossed swords?”

  “But it’s been hundreds of times!” Bria said with exasperation. “Hundreds of times, and I have yet to best him once!” Bria kicked at a fallen branch.

  “It’ll take time, but I know you can beat him,” Mary assured her friend.

  “Garret said he has a move guaranteed to disarm him,” Bria said quietly.

  “Really?”

  Bria nodded her head. “He’s going to show it to me.”

  “Isn’t that cheating?”

  Bria quirked an eyebrow. “Not if I win.”

  Mary’s brown eyes widened in disbelief. Then she smiled and draped an arm across her friend’s shoulders. Together they walked slowly through the grass. “Do you think your future husband will let you sword fight?”

  Bria grunted. “Not likely,” she murmured.

  “What if it’s Garret?”

  “Mary!”

  “You’re so lucky!” Mary’s enthusiasm bubbled over. “He’s handsome and kind –”

  “Mary, I can’t marry Garret. It would be like marrying my brother!”

  “But he’d let you sword fight.”

  “And we’d have to move very far from you.”

  Mary sighed, her excitement leaving her in a huff of exasperation. “No matter who you marry, you’ll move away.”

  “So I won’t marry.” Bria shrugged Mary’s arm from her shoulders and raced off through the clearing.

  Mary followed her through the tall stalks of grass. “You have to marry! You’re a lady! That’s your place -- to produce heirs.”

  “What if my place isn’t to produce heirs? What if my place is... to battle against tyranny?”

  Mary giggled.

  Bria stopped, striking a statuesque pose with her hands on her hips. “I am the Midnight Shadow!” she proclaimed in a deep voice.

  “You sound like a woman.”

  “How’s this?” Bria lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “I am the Midnight Shadow.”

  “That’s pretty good,” Mary admitted, amazed and surprised. “I think you’ve been practicing.”

  Bria smiled. Sometimes alone at night, she did. “Tyranny will not be tolerated!” she whispered. “All people will be treated fairly.”

  Mary grunted, the humor leaving her. “Then you’d have to battle Lord Knowles.”

  Bria broke her pose. “Now what has he done?”

  “He increased our taxes again.”

  “Not so!” Bria gasped. That was the second time in a month. Trying to come up with the extra food to pay the collectors had been hard enough, but now it would be next to impossible for Mary’s family to have a decent living.

  “Mother and Father work so hard. They’re up before dawn and work well into the night. I help as much as I can...” Mary shook her head, her dark locks swaying over her face. “But it’s never enough. Lord Knowles always wants more,
more, more.”

  Bria had no words to console her friend. She wished Mary lived on her lands, under her father’s rule.

  “Someone has to do something!”

  Bria was shocked by the conviction in Mary’s voice, the passion.

  “It’s not fair that we should have to work day and night! If Mother or Father get sick, we’ll starve!” Mary sighed. “If only the Midnight Shadow were real. He’d do something about this.”

  Bria remembered a time when she’d wished for the Midnight Shadow, too -- when her father had gone off to war to fight the French and Randolph Kenric threw her into the bramble patch. She put an arm around Mary’s shoulders. “I wish I could do something to help –”

  Suddenly the sound of a man’s laughter rang out through the forest. A second man’s voice spoke quietly.

  Silence settled around them again and the two girls glanced at each other.

  “Let’s go find out who it is,” Bria whispered, feeling brave in the darkness.

  “No,” Mary gasped. “What if it’s robbers?”

  “They won’t see us. Come on, Mary.” Bria tugged her friend toward the voices, pulling her into a group of thick bushes near a small dirt road.

  An elderly woman’s voice drifted over to them from the road. “I don’t understand why you’re bringing me here this late at night.”

  “It’s necessary,” a man replied.

  Bria peered through the leaves. An old gray-haired woman stood near a man in the pale moonlight. She was dressed in a plain brown gown, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The man had his back to her, so Bria could not see his face. His leggings were black, his tunic pale. But what captured Bria’s attention was the sword strapped to his waist. Bria swung her gaze down the road before them and saw another man not far away -- a soldier, she guessed, by the chainmail he was wearing -- but his tunic had no crest, no allegiance. He held the reins of two horses.

  “Well, what is it you want?” the old woman demanded. “I’m sure it could have waited until morning.”

  “It’s Widow Anderson,” Mary whispered. “The herbalist.”

  Bria nodded.