by Shea,Lisa
Catherine found this to be a meager pittance, but apparently Jack felt otherwise. His eyes smoldered as he battled with conflicting emotions. Finally he nodded grimly. “So be it,” he agreed, his voice tight. “I so swear.” He looked back up at Peter. “I will have you as my second and referee,” he added, contemplating the situation. “Who will Shadow have?”
Catherine chuckled softly at the unusual dilemma. “I also choose Peter,” she echoed smoothly. “I have no issue at all in trusting him to judge fairly between us two.”
Jack’s face showed his surprise, but he nodded. “Then we are resolved,” he stated in a calm voice. “First person to three touches; no touch shall be injurious in any manner. Failure to hold to these rules is a breach of honor.”
Catherine drew her sword with slow precision, saluted in agreement, then spun it out and down, holding it in a low, backward pointing stance. The hint of a smile flitted on her lips.
“Whenever you are ready.”
The three acolytes and priest all backed up a few paces, and Peter took a location between the two combatants. He waited until both were settled and had their eyes on him. He gazed with interest between the two figures before him, almost sizing them up.
He held his hand up, then dropped it with a sudden movement.
“Begin!”
Without a sound, Jack launched into a strong attack, apparently intending to finish the fight quickly. Catherine had been watching him daily for the past few weeks and was quite prepared for this, sidestepping easily and turning to counter. She had no such desire for a quick resolution. If anything, she hoped to get in a word or two while they sparred. It might be their only chance, ever, to discuss the situation for which they fought.
Jack moved in again, his swings strong, and she deflected three more blows in quick succession, only doing the bare minimum to keep her body free of the blade. No need to reveal her strengths just yet.
His pace kept up - strike, counterstrike, feint. Catherine found herself unable to maintain the fight pace and get in a word. The thought that her one chance to talk with Jack as Shadow would get by her filled her with frustration. She decided to take a gamble and change the momentum of the melee. On Jack’s next run, Catherine leapt completely out of the way, then spun around in a flash, pounding him hard in the back of his thigh with the flat of her blade.
Peter’s voice echoed across the clearing. “A hit!”
Jack came hard around with surprise, and looked at Catherine with a new level of respect. Catherine swung her blade up to her forehead in a salute, then brought it down and right with a sharp movement.
“Now then, Jack,” she encouraged, her voice cordial and light. “Let us try this again, shall we?”
Jack came in more cautiously, watching her movements, slowly circling her. This was more Catherine’s speed, and she fell into the relaxed pace of her many years of practice.
“I am curious,” she inquired, moving her feet to match Jack’s in the circling. “You will avenge these two men to the death if necessary. I respect that sense of duty - but I find it misplaced.”
Jack made a feint, and she parried smoothly, crossing blades with him a few times. When there was another break, she spoke up again. “What have those two done to deserve such loyalty?” she asked with honest curiosity.
Jack did not slow his pace of circling, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he considered the question.
“They were admirable individuals. For example, there was the flood two springs ago in Gloucester,” he noted. “They graciously helped the flood victims. They donated supplies and their own labor to assist the town in rebuilding.”
Without pausing, Jack launched smoothly into a swing diagonally across her chest. Catherine, shocked by Jack’s words, barely parried the blow to her left, and was completely unable to counter as Jack’s sword turned mid-air, came back, and landed with a loud smack against her left hip. She doubled over in pain, and Jack immediately took a step backwards, withdrawing.
Jack shook his head slightly in confusion as Catherine rubbed at the impact location. She realized that he hadn’t expected the blow to hit; he had assumed she’d block that one, and perhaps three or four after that, before he reached his true attack.
Peter’s voice sounded unsure. “A hit …?” He looked at Catherine in bafflement. “That makes it one apiece.”
Catherine took a deep breath, straightening, then wincing at the throbbing pain coming from her hip. She looked up to meet Jack’s gaze, her eyes smoldering.
“I accept the hit; I should have been prepared for any trick,” she growled, her voice grating in anger. “However, if you deliberately lied in order to gain an advantage ...”
Jack’s stance was wary. “I did not,” he replied, his voice clear with conviction. “I have no reason to doubt that the events happened as I explained.”
Catherine nodded and then began circling again. “I was there, in Gloucester, the night the flooding began,” she explained bitterly. “I carried children to safety; I built dams to try to stem the rising water. I spent weeks afterwards helping the villagers dig themselves out of the sea of mud and rebuild their homes.”
She paused, her throat growing tight at the memory. “That is when Craig and Carl deigned to grace us with their presence. They showed up with building materials, that is true. However, they charged outrageous prices for them, on terms that no villager could meet. They threatened to foreclose on several properties after only a month.”
She chuckled wryly as she remembered the events. “When I paid the debts out of my own funds, the pair threatened to kill me. Maybe I should have agreed to a duel then, and spared everyone the subsequent traumas.”
Catherine was swept by the frustration of that time; of the anger of the villagers who were trapped in debt. She swung into action, going through a series of eight-point swordsman exercises. Jack easily matched each one, and the movement became more a dance of blades than an attack.
Catherine filled with fury that Jack had been misled, was using his talents and energies for a pair who was so undeserving. Still, through her anger and disappointment, as the swords flashed in the sunlight, she was surprised to realize that she was truly enjoying herself. It had been a long time since she’d engaged in this style of swordplay, and she had almost forgotten just how pleasurable it could be.
Apparently Jack felt the same way. The tension in his shoulders eased; his face relaxed. He settled into the rhythm of the exercise, not seeking to break it. He matched her moves and went through the paces without seeking to take advantage.
She could sense the interest in the five pairs of eyes attentively watching them. The warmth of the afternoon sun shone down in glittering gold. A wildflower-infused breeze swept by them, sending grass waving in long fields stretching out to the distant seas.
She almost forgot the serious stake for which they were sparring.
Jack’s voice shook her from her rhythm. “The wolves at Beeston,” he prompted as he created a figure-eight movement against her. “There was a pack of wolves menacing the farmers in the town.” He turned through another series of moves. “The two went in and took on the pack single handedly, for no gain at all.”
Something inside her snapped, and she drove her sword hard down toward his right shoulder, knowing he would block her, but needing to feel the sharp impact. She did not allow her sword to skitter down his, but held her place, pressing against him for a long moment.
“Those wolves were no threat,” she insisted through gritted teeth as she ground her sword into his. “That was a mother with cubs, part of a quiet pack who had lived in those parts for decades. Those two miscreants were out to impress a tavern wench and brought in ...” Her voice choked off, and it took her a moment to recover.
“It was a cub pelt they brought in, stretched and distorted, after they tortured him for hours.”
Her eyes held his with deep seriousness. “If these tales are the best you can do ...” she threatened in a low
rumble.
Jack held her sword at bay easily; despite her best efforts, her strength was clearly no match for his. Still, she could see the confusion swirling in his grey eyes. Her heart danced with a kindling of hope. Maybe he was, at long last, beginning to harbor doubts about his friends.
Jack pushed Catherine off with a move of his sword, and the two began their circling again. His moves were less aggressive, his eyes pondering, and Catherine drew in a long, deep breath, praying with all her might that he was starting to believe. Her wild, crazy plan may just have worked.
His brow furrowed, and she let him take his time without pressing or distracting him. She would go as long as necessary for him to trust in her, in what she was saying. After all, she had proven herself to him already several times over. She had drawn away Conrad’s men when Michael had twisted his ankle. He apparently knew how she had saved Walter’s life in the rapids. He undoubtedly also knew how she had helped Peter many times with escort missions.
Surely he could come to accept that her reasons for Carl and Craig’s deaths were honorable ones.
Jack’s feet slowed, then came to a stop. His eyes were full on her. “There is still one claim the two men can make,” he insisted, holding his sword in a guard position rather than an aggressive one. “The girls who were harmed at Kirkstall; Carl and Craig were there while it was happening. I know this is true from other people who worked there. The men stayed there to keep those girls safe. I had first told them about that Abbey four years ago, when ...”
Catherine’s world came crashing around her, as if the landscapes and sky had been made of glass, and a barbarian giant with an iron rod had smashed them, demolished them, filling the air with shimmering shards of death.
Every muscle in her body tensed in preparation for a full bore assault. Her blade had seemed a light toy for a sparring match; she spun it so its wickedly sharp edge glittered in the bright sunshine.
She barely recognized her own voice when it cut through the wall of fury which seethed from every pore of her skin.
“You were the one who told those two about the Abbey?” Catherine raged in disbelief, unable to fathom how the man before her could have unknowingly set in motion so much evil. “That was your fault?”
Jack did not have time to answer, for she vaulted into an attack which used every last iota of her speed and accuracy. Jack only had a microsecond to react before each blow, and he parried furiously to keep the quick stinging blade away from his body.
She saw the moment of awareness, the second when his eyes widened with understanding of her aim. Her blows were not being aimed to contact his flesh. They were deliberately being driven to land hard on his sword.
Catherine did not want to gain a hit. She was looking to slam home the anger and fury Jack had unleashed with repeated bone-jarring contact, blade on blade.
Between blows, Catherine’s voice came deep and hoarse, held at a pitch meant for Jack’s ears alone. “You sent them into that field of lambs?” she raged from between clenched teeth. “You, who knew their reputation for chasing women of any age? You who should have known better? Do you know how many girls they hurt? Do you know how many girls they killed?”
Catherine’s voice rose in intensity with each attack. “Those were my friends ... Those were ...”
Jack’s face whitened with sick horror; at last he finally realized the truth of what had happened. Catherine was beyond caring. She was drowning in pain, and anger, and frustration, and all she knew was she had to feel the metal impact, hear the thunderous clash.
Jack took a step back, but she would not let him end the fight. Not like this. She lunged toward him, engaging again. Another step back, and another lunge forward.
On his third retreat, Jack gave his sword a twist, sweeping it before him with a long, arcing move to clear space between them. At the end of its movement, Jack’s sword whistled by her right shoulder.
Catherine swung up her sword into a high, angled pose to block. Instantly an unimaginable pain nearly drove her to her knees. She leapt backwards, cutting off the assault, her mind unbelieving. Before her, Jack stood still, his breath coming in ragged heaves, but she no longer cared. She threw her sword down to stand upright in the dirt between them. She drew in long, staggering breaths as she brought her left hand up to press against her right shoulder with strong pressure.
She could barely think past the absolute agony streaming from the wound. Jack had violated the terms of the duel. He had deliberately cut her, wounding her sword arm, because he felt it was his only chance of victory. She could not believe he would go to such lengths to win.
She pressed her left hand down hard on the injury, the warmth of the blood coming up through her fingers. She would not last long with this gash in her tricep. She had to finish it now, to win the fight and get away from him. He was a man without honor. Anger hit her in crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm her completely, and she shook as she fought to retain control. How could she ever have trusted him, cared for him?
She stepped forward and forced herself to pick up the sword with a firm grasp despite the agonizing pain moving further out into her body. She could not show any weakness now. Her world whirled for a moment, and she fought with every ounce of her power to maintain her focus for just a while longer.
Her voice was tight with fury as she issued the command. “Raise your sword.”
To her surprise, Jack did not move. He seemed to be listening to another voice. Jack hesitated a moment, his breath slowing, then to Catherine’s utter surprise he bent over and slowly, carefully, laid his sword down on the ground. He waited a moment, his fingers touching the hilt, then he straightened up, meeting her gaze steadily.
Catherine gasped; disgust and indignation cascaded over her in torrential waves. He was going to refuse to fight her? Was he truly such a coward? She was losing strength quickly; she knew she would not last long. Her voice rasped out, louder and more urgent. “Pick up your sword!”
Into the silence, Peter’s voice rang out sharp and clear. She realized he’d been talking this entire time, that somehow her intense pain had been blocking out his words.
“Catherine Maria Bowyer!” he shouted in exasperation, and Catherine could not help her reaction. A childhood spent in the company of strong willed parents mandated that her head turn, her eyes react when her name was called in this manner.
She heard the gasps around her and swore softly in fury. All hope of resolution was now lost. She did not know how Peter had figured out her secret, but he had ruined everything. Her fury and anger transferred from Jack to Peter in a heartbeat.
“How dare you interfere?” she growled, still holding her sword at the ready.
Peter spoke slowly, enunciating carefully as if talking to a child. Even so, it was only on his second pass that the words started to join together to make sense, to seem more than a random collection of sounds. “Your shoulder stitches have snapped. Jack did not touch you,” he explained gently.
It was as if she had been a bucket full of water, and someone pulled a large plug out the bottom to release the flow. All of her anger, frustration, energy, and focus went whooshing out of her in one long, fast moving rush. She was suddenly hollow, empty.
The ground came racing up to slam into her, and she flung out her hands to keep it at bay. The impact with her right arm was bone jarring, and she cried out in absolute agony, rolling down on her side as her arm collapsed beneath her.
Jack and Peter were at her side in an instant, turning her over and working to remove her cloak and tunic. She did not have the strength to resist; it did not matter. Everything had been lost. Jack’s hands were at her back, quickly undoing the lacing and sliding the white chemise off her shoulder to reveal the shoulder wound. It had been pulled open and was bleeding heavily.
Jack groaned. “God’s Teeth, Catherine.”
Peter hurried to his horse for his medical kit. Jack reached to the other shoulder, pulling aside the fabric to check for injuries
there.
Catherine flinched instinctively but had no strength to stop him. It did not matter now, anyway. She felt Jack stop dead when he slid the cloth past her shoulder, revealing a small but clear burn in the shape of an eight sided star with one spoke missing. He hesitantly put his fingers on the mark, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and incredibly tender.
“Did Carl and Craig do this as well?”
“Yes,” replied Catherine, that one word costing her more than a lifetime of spilt blood. “That was a long time ago, when I was a teenager. A kidnapping attempt, barely foiled.”
Jack was silent for a long moment. He appeared to be in shock, lost in memories. “Branded like my parents,” he finally murmured to himself. He slid the fabric up to cover the scar, but left his hand there, holding her shoulder. “That is a badge of honor,” he added softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You should be proud of the battles you have survived.”
Peter jostled his way back by her side and knelt to work on her bleeding arm. He prepared the area by first wiping away the blood with a cloth.
He looked up at Jack as he worked, his gaze rich with concern. “She is going to need some drink and something to bite on; this is not going to be pleasant.”
Jack glanced around, and Walter was by his side, offering a flagon of mead. Jack took it and put it to Catherine’s lips. Avoiding his eyes, she chugged down the warm liquid, knowing well what was in store for her. Then, without hesitating, Jack loosened the laces of his bracer that he wore on his right wrist.
“No,” Catherine bit out against the pain, seeing what he was about to do. “That is a present from your father. I will not let you disfigure that.”
Jack laid a hand gently against her cheek, and for a moment her pain seemed to fade away. He looked down at Catherine with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “I think it is time we both are able to accept our bodies and our scars. I will volunteer to be the first. I will no longer hide behind this bracer; this leather is far better suited to keep you from pain.”
