Lady Knight

by Ling, Maria

  "None." The squire's honest gaze faltered under her stare, shifted into furtive evasion. "Um. He did say he hoped to see you at the banquet this evening."

  "Very good." Matilda sharpened the edge of her stare. "And is that all he said?"

  "If you...were not too bruised..."

  Matilda rose, so abruptly that the pair of them flinched. Paced out the tent, not that it afforded her much space, she didn't like to cry her wealth aloud. "And what did you say in reply?"

  "Nothing, mistress. It would not have been seemly."

  Which she was forever telling them herself. Hold to dignity, and let her fighting speak for her. But God, she was tired of these constant jabs.

  "Go back," she said. "Tell him I am much obliged for his kind concern." Sudden inspiration lit her mind. She dug into her box of medicines and handed over a sealed pot. "Give him this with my compliments."

  The squire took it as delicately as if it were a sharpened blade. "Any message?"

  "Tell him it is a liniment for old men's backs. In case he finds himself unable to walk so far as to the banqueting tent."

  The squire cringed.

  "And then run," Matilda added charitably. "You need not stay to hear his reply."

  ***

  CHAPTER 2

  Damn the woman. Guillaume spotted her the moment he strode into the banqueting tent. Had to be her, couldn't be anyone else, because the eyes she turned on him were unmistakable. Lit by malevolent laughter as they were, he still recognised them from the battlefield. The mouth too, those supple lips -- smiling now, though not in friendship.

  He'd still have known her. A white linen kerchief clung around her face, revealed little more than the mailcoat hood had done. Taut skin over elegant bones, a deep golden tan from hours spent out of doors, a lithe body poised with strength, smooth curves under the long kirtle of spring green. A woman, most definitely, and a fighter too, and taunting him although he stood the victor.

  "I am so glad you managed the walk," she said now. "The liniment I sent must have done you good. My old father used to swear by it, before he passed away. I think I must have packed it by mistake, for I certainly never use it myself. How fortunate."

  He'd have recognised her voice, too, stern and proud. Steady with the habit of command, lighter than a man's but with no softness in it. He'd taken it for a youth's. Heard it clearer now, truer to itself, and it rang like blade on shield.

  "I didn't need it," Guillaume flared up, but she had already turned away and was speaking to another knight. Geoffrey, God damn him, Guillaume's own friend who stood grinning like a loon and took her hand to lead her to table.

  "If you will allow me to introduce -- " Geoffrey began in his smoothest voice, the one that made Guillaume retch. Especially just now, while Geoffrey's presumptuous fingers still fondled hers.

  "Let the lady alone," Guillaume snarled.

  His friend instantly dropped Matilda's hand. "I beg your pardon, madam." Geoffrey frowned. "I didn't know the pair of you had met before."

  "We haven't." Matilda bent a contemptuous look on Guillaume. "Our first meeting was on the field of battle this morning."

  "Where I triumphed," Guillaume shot back. He felt the rudeness of it, but she would admit his victory if he had to fight her all over again, right here in front of everyone.

  "Quite." She offered him the slightest possible nod. "I do recall you made a most admirable figure, if a little muddy." She turned her back on him, picked up Geoffrey's hand and placed it under her own. "Now do tell me how you fared. I saw an excellent strike before my attention was called away by some villein or other."

  Guillaume stomped after the pair of them, scowling.

  "Cheerful as always?" Roland, God damn him too, with that ghastly low-born wife tucked close to his side as he grinned at Guillaume. "Don't know what you're sulking about. You came off well, I thought."

  Guillaume didn't care about that, or the horse and gear either. He wanted Matilda to look at him with respect and admiration, to acknowledge him as superior. The way she acted, anyone might think she'd won the bout and not he. "You?"

  "Oh, I did pretty well. Three." Roland accepted a kiss from his wife. "No, love, the fourth doesn't count. His girth broke. We agreed to separate without result."

  "You were wonderful," Leofe insisted, with that hideous English accent of hers that never failed to make Guillaume flinch. He did so now, absently, while he watched Geoffrey lead Matilda to a seat on one of the benches that stretched along the tables.

  "Nice bout with The Cow," Roland said. "She's skilled."

  Guillaume spun to face him. "What did you call her?"

  "Well, you know. With her brother being The Bull -- "

  Guillaume lashed out, a swift straight punch that caught Roland square in the mouth -- or would have done, if the bastard hadn't slammed up a block that nearly broke Guillaume's arm.

  "Easy," Roland said. "Thought it would clear the gloom. Obviously I was wrong. I ask her pardon and yours."

  "Never," Guillaume snarled, "fucking never speak of her with disrespect again."

  "Consider it certain." Roland fished out Leofe, who had ducked behind him at first punch. "Don't worry, love. He gets a little edgy when he hasn't been laid for a while."

  "What would you know about that?" Guillaume growled.

  "Just guessing. Of course, having travelled and fought with you for God knows how many years helps a bit, too. Find a nice highborn woman and make off with her for a couple of hours. Let me know when you're fit to be talked to." Roland pulled Leofe away, swapped greetings and backslaps with other men.

  Guillaume scowled after him. Then strode over to Geoffrey, who was already comfortably settled on the bench and deep in some intricate conversation with Matilda. Guillaume tapped Geoffrey's shoulder, none too gently. "Move."

  "Fuck off." Geoffrey continued the story with barely a pause. Matilda watched him with rapt attention, her shoulders set.

  The man on the other side of her glanced up at Guillaume, paled visibly, and shifted further along the bench. Which made space for Guillaume to slide in next to her, somewhat mollified, and enjoy the warmth of her body next to his own.

  "You fought well," he acknowledged magnanimously. "It was a pleasure to meet you in combat."

  Geoffrey fell silent as Matilda turned. She scrutinised Guillaume for a few moments, then nodded. "You also."

  "Not much like your brother." Guillaume searched his memory, which had already yielded him a face and a voice. "I met him a few times, before he withdrew from the tourney circuit. Fine jouster. Damned handy with a sword, too. But brutish. None too accurate. I got him down twice by that alone. Side-stepped and caught him on the downswing. Once I might grant him -- but twice made him a fool, and I told him so."

  Matilda stared at him with oddly gleaming eyes. "Oh. You're that Guillaume. What happened to your byname?"

  "Angevins razed the estate." He felt absurdly proud that she'd heard of him. "I call myself de la Mort, now."

  She laughed at that, her face bright and open and for a moment entirely without malice. "Very apt. My God, yes. How many knights have you brought down with that swing?"

  "Far too many to count. I'll wager you've pinned a few with that lance thrust of yours. Pinprick accuracy. Don't often see that on the tourney field."

  Matilda shrugged, muscles shifting under thin wool. "I like neat work. And I suppose I must be either as like my brother as mortal can be, or else his opposite."

  He could bed this one, Guillaume thought distantly, oh yes, he'd find pleasure enough. Though whether he'd wake again afterwards was another matter entirely. Best search for women who loved fighters but never loved to fight.

  "Not entirely his opposite," Geoffrey argued. "You have a similar tilt. Identical hold."

  "Almost identical," Guillaume shot back. "Watch the line of elbow to hand. His was always a little forward. That's what made him waver. Hers is not -- dead straight, plumb as you please. With full force behind it." He
sighed, wistfully. "Wish she was stronger, though. Imagine what she could do with his strength and her technique."

  "Excuse me," Matilda said tartly. "I am sitting right between the pair of you. Stop talking about me as if I wasn't here."

  Guillaume caught a snarl before it emerged, and changed it into half a grunt.

  "I do apologise," Geoffrey said smoothly. "We are rather given to discussing the merits of rival knights, perhaps in franker terms than is suitable. It passes the time on long weary journeys. And so you plan to attend the next big meet? It's an easy ride from here, if a long one. Three weeks should be ample notice, though. Or do you favour the smaller one in the hills? High ground can make for interesting tactics."

  "Perhaps." Matilda leaned aside to let a page set a trencher before her. The movement caused her shoulder to rest against Guillaume's upper arm, just briefly. A most enjoyable sensation, he had to force himself not to follow when she moved away. Cursed himself for annoying her, just when she'd been favouring him with her attention.

  Now she was fixed on Geoffrey again, damn her. Damn him, too, no friend to Guillaume this evening. Off hunting for his own sake, with never a thought for loyalty. There were other women aplenty, scattered among the men, all decked out in fine cloth and gold rings. Let Geoffrey go harangue one of them about whatever dull topic he'd lit on now -- ah, the management of hawks, just the sort of thing to interest a woman such as she. Idiot man. Yet it held her attention, or at least she watched him intently, the back of her head turned unwavering towards Guillaume. Who seethed, and scowled at his companion on the other side, and took more than his fair share of the food ladled out on their trencher.

  "There's the face of a victor." Roland grinned at him from a few steps down on the opposite side. "What's the canker eating my brother in arms? Lovely ladies all spoken for tonight?"

  "Fuck off." Guillaume flung a bone at him.

  Roland leaned aside easily, and laughed with open contempt. "You'll have to work on your aim."

  "Don't hound him," Geoffrey reproved. "Someone's head will get broken, and it's never yours. For some reason I have yet to understand."

  "Speed and balance," Roland said. "I know how to get out of the way quickly."

  "I saw that," Matilda offered, a note of teasing in her voice. Guillaume's fist clenched around the spoon he held. "Ran like a hare from my partner in arms."

  "Got him afterwards," Roland replied comfortably. "You wouldn't have spotted that. Too busy going down to my friend over there."

  Matilda froze -- Guillaume felt the tension in her arm, which lay so close to his own they almost touched. "Quite," she said, and the frost covered her voice as well.

  "So I expect you'll be wanting revenge," Roland needled her. "At the next meet, maybe." He flicked a taunting glance at Guillaume. "Better watch out."

  "I can handle myself," Guillaume growled. These jabs were worse than Geoffrey's damned oil-and-honey routine.

  "He's a pretty decent jouster," Roland told Matilda. "I'll give him that. Foulest temper in Christendom, though. Keep a block-and-punch on hand. If he so much as twitches, serve it up to him."

  Matilda laughed. Guillaume glared at his so-called friend with mute fury.

  "Careful not to strike too hard," Roland added. "He might enjoy dropping a few teeth, and then you'll have to take the rest as well. Just lay him out quietly and have done."

  "Thanks for the advice." She turned to Guillaume then, and her smile kicked the breath from his lungs. "Seems we're in for a fight, you and I. One way or the other."

  "Any time," Guillaume muttered, and tried not to think about what else he'd like to do with her. Would rather do, which was a shock in itself. He loved a good fight. This woman, though, all iron and muscle and pride -- her he could set all other things aside for. Woo and win, and keep for his own, and never care for another battle in his life.

  Her smile faltered. She stared back at him with widening eyes, a deep mossy brown softer than he could ever have imagined. Her lips tempted him, too, slightly parted, he could bend his face to hers and --

  Christ and Holy Mother Mary. This wasn't on, he couldn't fall for her. Not a fellow knight, which she was -- hard as he longed to regard her as a woman and a bedmate. They'd meet on the battlefield again, at the next tourney or the next, he couldn't...

  Maybe he could.

  After all, he'd seriously thought about seducing her.

  But not like this. It would have been a fun encounter, all pleasure and no commitment. And she'd have to be married, he'd sworn that to himself. But she wasn't, he'd swear to that now, there must have been some mention of the man before this moment. Even if he wasn't here -- which he would be, surely. What man of blood and flesh could stay away from her side?

  No, she was single, and glorious, and he desired her beyond anything he'd felt for a woman before. Which he couldn't show her, of course, she'd laugh at him or despise him or worse...

  Worse, she'd respond in the way his quick imagination promised that she would, all passion and lust and fierce enjoyment, and then...

  Guillaume swallowed what felt like a knuckle in his throat.

  Then he'd never let her go. Never relax his grip for an instant. Because if once he got close to her, so close as to make the two of them become one...

  "Take it outside." Roland, God and all the saints damn him straight to hell, chose that moment to butt in. "I like a good punch-up as much as anyone else, but some of us prefer to eat in peace."

  "I do," Leofe ventured. Guillaume snarled in reply, without taking his eyes off Matilda.

  "Hush, love," Roland said. "Don't wake the fiend. He'll forget who you are, and then I'll have to remind him, and we'll both come off the worse. Right, Guillaume?"

  Guillaume ignored him. Just watched Matilda, who broke away as if in confusion, and turned back to her food. Sharing with Geoffrey, who of course began some unctuous conversation about topics no one cared for, while Guillaume was left stranded and alone, and struggling for breath.

  "Pretty, isn't she?" the man on his other side commented. "Likes a new man every meet. So they say."

  Guillaume turned towards him, very slowly. A ghastly rat of a man, all sneer and presumptuous eyes.

  "Get up," Guillaume snarled.

  "What for?"

  Guillaume slid out from the bench, grabbed the man by the tunic and hauled him upright.

  "Outside," Geoffrey pleaded. Guillaume ignored him.

  "You'll retract that remark," Guillaume said quietly, fixing the rat with the stare that had forced men to swerve aside from their strike. "Right now. And then I'll beat the shit out of you. Just so you know."

  "It's what they say," the man protested. Guillaume crashed one fist into his face and sent him flying. He slammed into the next table, where men ducked out of the way and left him sprawled across a mess of trenchers and spilled wine.

  "There." Guillaume resumed his seat. "I'll finish my meal while he comes around, and then I'll finish him."

  "Should I ask what happened?" Matilda enquired.

  She hadn't heard. That was a relief. Guillaume shrugged and ate, and said nothing, because he couldn't think of any suitable lies.

  "You'd be wise not to." Roland tilted a significant look at her. "He might tell you the truth, after all."

  "Of course I'd tell her the truth," Guillaume flared up.

  Matilda shot him an odd glance. "I believe you."

  "Careful what you wish for," Geoffrey murmured.

  ***

  Well, he was out of there. Guillaume stretched out on his bed, body aching all over but worst in his heart. This hadn't been the feast of triumph he'd hoped for.

  He couldn't decide, now, which he hated most -- her relentless focus on Geoffrey's prattle, her laughter at Roland's underhanded jabs. Or her look of absolute horror as he demolished the cur who'd insulted her, and sent him off limping and bloodsoaked.

  Guillaume had left shortly afterwards. Retreated to his own tent, where he swore at the page
and punched the squire and sent them both off to sleep outside. While he paced, and brooded, and devised ever more intricate ways to torment both enemies and friends.

  Which was better than remembering that moment when he realised he wanted nothing so much as to kiss her. And then to bring her back here, which he'd never done yet with a woman -- he'd always met them on their own ground, never on his. And after that...

  God and all the saints. It pained him, a physical ache of longing. Which was ridiculous, he'd known women enough, she'd be much the same under those few layers of clinging fabric, bare skin and lush curves and... Holy Mother Mary, he was at it again.

  Well, he was gone. It was all over. Until the morning. When he'd have to face her again, pack up his tent and belongings and ride ahead of the cart as it rolled slowly towards the next meet, and watch her do the same. Ride alongside her maybe, make light and idle conversation about... eh, he didn't know. Listen to Geoffrey, more likely, and to Roland, and seethe in frustrated silence.

  Watch her, at least. Hear her voice. Stay as close as he could, without troubling her.

  He could do that. No harm in it. They were travelling the same way, after all.

  ***

  Matilda lay flat on her back, staring at the moonlight that filtered faint through the roof of the tent.

  She'd got away with it. Just. He'd left so abruptly, and with nothing more than a muttered imprecation at her, that she was certain he didn't suspect. She'd been as cold as she could towards him, after that long moment of stunned realisation. He'd despise her if he guessed, she was certain. But she'd done all she could to hide her feelings, she prayed that he didn't guess.

  For herself, though, she experienced the full force of desire. Could indulge it now, when there was no one by to see. It had caught her completely by surprise, she'd thought of him only as the brute intent on vanquishing her. And then he'd looked at her with such an expression -- for a moment there she'd almost believed...

  But he didn't regard her in that way, of course. Even if he did, she was determined to stand against it.