by Ling, Maria
He'd gained five horses with tack and armour by the time the fighting ebbed away. Took a moment to catch his breath, grin at his comrades, cast a glance across the battlefield. Picked out a lone figure on a glossy dark mount, colours bright despite the smears of mud. She rode slowly among the fallen, tipped her lance to some man he couldn't see. Paused, watching Guillaume -- he felt her gaze on him, hot and intent. Then she raised her lance in triumph -- and in challenge.
She would, would she? Guillaume laughed aloud, couched his lance, and charged across the field.
***
Matilda settled deep into the saddle and braced herself for the blow. She was down to her last lance now, after this it was all sword or mace. She'd used both already, she'd had an excellent meet. Gained six horses with tack and armour, she could buy her mounts and gear back from Guillaume twice over and still have plenty of coins to spare.
He sped towards her, an imposing figure, fast and strong and in his element. She held her grip firm and urged the horse to a sudden extra turn of speed, a trick she'd learned from her brother. It worked: Guillaume misjudged the moment and tottered visibly on impact, while his own blow struck off. Hard enough, she groaned with pain and struggled to breathe, but kept her seat and swung around neatly for the reply.
The horse skipped like a foal, ears pricked, eager and happy. That almost cost her the bout, for though she struck fast enough that Guillaume hadn't yet readied his lance, she missed her aim and caught her tip against his arm. A quick withdrawal saved her. She pushed the horse past him, so close she saw the glitter in his eyes and smiled in return. They loved this sport, both of them, it was a delight to face each other in battle. Though she wanted vengeance, too. He'd defeated her twice already, this time it was her turn to bring him to ground.
It wouldn't be an easy task. He saw her tactics now, moved faster than she would have thought him capable of for such a bulk of man and horse. Her aim must be precise -- and it was, she forced him off balance again. This was a chance. Matilda tossed the lance aside and drew her sword, whacked hard at the side of his head, slammed the edge of her shield into his face. Her horse snapped at his, which swung around to kick -- just as Matilda drove her shield hard over. Guillaume grappled for balance, Matilda shoved her foot under his knee and heaved. That brought him over at last, she kicked his horse in the side to drive it away, circled around it and levelled her sword at Guillaume as he rose.
"Yield," she said.
He froze, stiff with rage or pain. His lance lay on the ground, he must have dropped it as she went for her sword, but he hadn't drawn his own blade yet. She'd gone full out for him, so he wouldn't get the chance. Now he stood unarmed, with only his shield for a weapon..
Guillaume spun around and slammed the shield up at her. She'd expected it, but he moved so fast the blow crashed into her hand and robbed her of grip. The sword thudded to ground, useless. Matilda swore, and rode her horse right at him. He skipped aside just in time, to her undefended side, grabbed her boot with both hands and heaved. Strong man, he forced her over -- and it was better, maybe, to face him on foot, where they could both pick up their swords. She let her body tip, swung her leg over and down, landed comfortably with the horse to protect her. Clicked her tongue to signal the animal to move aside, leapt forward and slammed her shield up with a force that caught Guillaume full in the face and toppled him back. Which gave her the chance to dive for her sword. She gained her footing and kicked him sharp in the back of the knees, then swung her blade to connect with the back of his neck.
"You're dead!" she cried. "Yield now."
He groped for his sword. Damn the man, he'd make her cripple him before he quit. Matilda whacked him in the head with her sword, circled fast and punched her shield into his face again, finally brought him to ground. Levelled the point of her sword at his throat, where a thrust with her full weight behind it could sever the mail and drive clear through his flesh.
"God damn you," Matilda growled. "Yield."
Guillaume lay still. Utterly still. Fear grew in her, cold and harsh.
"I yield," he muttered eventually.
Matilda withdrew her sword, sheathed it, and tried to stop shaking. "What took you so long?"
He growled at her as he scrabbled for purchase on the grass, too dizzy or winded to rise. Matilda watched him with exasperated concern. If he'd yielded at once, as he ought to have done, she wouldn't have needed to beat him so harshly.
Which reminded her of what else she owed him. Matilda stepped back and nodded to her squire. "Beat him off the field."
It gave her a measure of triumph, she acknowledged that to herself, even as a small inner voice prayed he would not suffer too great a hurt.
She took some time to check over his mount, which stood quiet now and docile. Intelligent eyes appraised the situation, sensitive ears flicked up to acknowledge her commands.
Horses often did resemble their owners, she'd noticed that before. This one was a vicious brute, dangerously destructive -- but also alert, aware, and capable of a gentleness that surprised her. Guillaume had told her this was his favourite mount, and she believed him.
Hers now. Though not for long, she'd swap it for her own. Had won enough to regain all he'd taken from her, and to send a handsome gift to her brother on the occasion of her marriage. A good day, all told.
Matilda nodded to her returning squire, who helped her mount her own horse and then led Guillaume's away. She stayed alert for any sign of a limp in either animal, but they both appeared to have come through unscathed.
The groom would make sure of it later, soothe any bumps and bruises and walk off any strains. While Matilda attended to her own, she ached already. He'd not been easy to bring down, her lover. But she'd done it, she'd earned her revenge, and that was a pleasurable thought.
What he'd make of his defeat, she could guess all too well. Might be wise to stay out of his way until the banquet.
Though she'd indulge herself first, and send him a pot of liniment. Fortunately she'd have plenty of spare armour to lend the boys.
***
Guillaume stared at the pot, and then at Matilda's page. "Did she say what it was for?"
"Um." The page squirmed. "I've forgotten."
"Get out."
The boy fled. Guillaume slumped on the bed and tried not to groan. His body ached like one enormous bruise, but his head troubled him most. It rang with pain at every movement. Worse when, as now, he had to raise or lower it. As for such good looks as he possessed, they were well and truly gone. Geoffrey and Roland had been unanimous in declaring he could be mistaken for a horse's arse.
Damn the woman. She'd caught him by surprise, too fast for him to react as he ought. He could have blocked that shield-blow of hers, or evaded it at least. Should have done. He'd been too slow, and it enraged him. She'd made him pay for it, too.
She'd been magnificent. He acknowledged that to himself. Even as he fought he'd admired her skill and ferocity. Wished it had been directed at someone else, he'd rather have her fight alongside him from now on. And he would. That thought drew a grin to his lips, though he held it tight so as not to pull on the stitches.
His own page might be a fool, but at least the boy had a deft hand hand with wounds. Ought to by now, he'd practised enough in Guillaume's service.
Guillaume struggled upright, closed his eyes as pain burst through his skull, poured a cup of wine and spilled half of it. Idiot. He glanced around for a cloth, found the tent spinning madly around him, sat down abruptly. Drank as best he could, though the wine stung his lip and dribbled down his chin.
"You're a fright." Matilda ducked in through the flap, accompanied by an anxious-looking page. Guillaume waved the boy away, watched with approval as Matilda fastened the flap closed. "Want to talk about swapping trophies?"
"Later." He held out one arm for her and she came to his side, close and warm and all his own. "Right now all I want is..." He leaned to kiss her and almost fell off the stool.
&nbs
p; Matilda caught him and manhandled him upright. "You're not fit to be out of bed."
"Is that an invitation?"
She studied his face in disbelief. "Have you any idea what you look like?"
"Skin over flesh over bone."
"Right parts, wrong order." She whistled softly. "Someone did a good job patching up your face."
"Someone did a good job breaking it." Guillaume set the wine down, caught her clumsily in both arms and pulled her onto his lap. "Just as well you'll be on my side from now on."
"It is." Her lips caressed his brow. "Can you eat anything, or shall I order soup for you?"
"I'll manage." He relished the touch of her lips against what small portions of his skin remained unhurt, shivered with pleasure as her fingers eased open the knot of his shirt and slid onto his chest.
"Not drinking your meals yet?" Matilda taunted, breath warm on his temple. Guillaume closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her. She'd washed before changing into shift and gown, little trace remained of the field of battle. No mud and sweat and blood any more, she was all damp fresh skin and worked muscles.
"Never." He prodded his loose teeth with his tongue, surreptitiously. They might fasten again. Or not, and then she'd have cost him. Not that he grudged the price if it bought him this. His arms settled firm around her waist. "About that bed -- "
"Eh. Later." But her hand caressed him still, long light fingertip strokes such as she'd used on him before, elsewhere. He shivered. Matilda paused, raised her head to frown at him. "Are you cold?"
"Not any more." Guillaume sought her lips, cursed as pain bloomed across his face. Leaned his head on her shoulder, it hurt but not as bad. Damn the woman. She'd laid him up, as few knights had ever done before her. "Trophies, then, since you ask. You can have your horses and armour back, I'll have mine and the best of your take from today. Fair?"
"It's all brushed and polished and ready to bring across." Matilda nuzzled the clipped strands of his hair. "Today or tomorrow, whichever you prefer. I wasn't going to come near you until this evening, but I couldn't stay away."
Guillaume cuddled her closer, loved to feel her breath on his skin. "It's evening now."
"Is it?"
"Close enough." Murmurs beyond the tent walls betrayed people on the move towards the banquet. The meal wouldn't start in earnest for a while yet, but late arrivals would be assumed injured -- or afraid, which was worse. Those who didn't attend at all would have prayers said for them. Some might die.
Guillaume shivered again. He did feel cold, a heavy chill that weighed down his limbs and his heart. Hot honeyed wine would drive it out. He raised his head and bawled for his page, then cursed as his head shattered into bloody fragments.
"You know," Matilda said, "if I didn't know better I'd say you weren't fit to attend."
"Only one physician can persuade me to keep my bed," Guillaume pointed out, "and she's told me 'later'. Whatever that means."
Matilda snickered.
The page poked his head through. "Master?"
"Heat that wine," Guillaume snarled. "And the same for the lady. Then clear off."
"Your charm carries all before it," Matilda said in a dry tone. "Do you find it hard to keep pages?"
"No." Guillaume blinked at her, surprised. "Where would they go?"
"Back to their families."
"How? They have neither money, mount, nor guide."
"Ah." Matilda gave him a slow shake of the head. It made him dizzy to see. "In that case, perhaps you might consider a more lenient rule."
"Why?"
Her eyes were reproachful. "So they're a little less terrified of you."
"Keeps them out of mischief."
"You're a harsh man."
"I do my best." He kissed her again -- and again. Desire grew within him, dissolving the pain. Until he moved his head and it broke apart all over again.
"I'll get you a powder," Matilda said decisively. "You're not fit to be out of bed." She held her hand over his mouth before he could reply, close but not touching. "That was not an invitation. I'll send my page back to the tent for something."
Guillaume pulled her hand away from his mouth and caressed her fingers, then pointed. "Try the box. Should be some leaves in there. Yell for hot water."
Matilda gave him a look he didn't know how to interpret, then carefully got off his lap and called the page. Once the boy arrived, she issued instructions in a softer voice than it had ever occurred to Guillaume to use.
"You'll never get obedience that way," Guillaume said. "He'll run off and forget all about it."
"Then he can do without food for the next meal," Matilda said calmly. "That'll teach him to remember."
Guillaume raised his eyebrows, then wished he hadn't as his skull cracked. "That's harsh."
"Who's talking now?" She slid onto his lap again, caressed his shoulders and studied his face with speculative interest. "I wonder what it would take to really make you scream."
Guillaume threw his arms under her back and knees, pushed himself up and swung to dump her on the bed. Shoved forward so that when he fell he landed over her. "Let me show you."
Matilda laughed. "Get off me, you brute. Do you have any idea how heavy you are?"
"None." Guillaume eased away and pressed one hand to his forehead. "Send for a priest."
"You'll feel better in a moment." Matilda sat up and issued directions to someone Guillaume couldn't see through the lightning flashes that dazzled his eyes. His page, presumably, or hers maybe. Guillaume couldn't tell from the mumbles.
The scent of steeping herbs bloomed around Guillaume, and the pain receded. He opened his eyes to find Matilda clambering over him, which improved his mood considerably. The page must have left, Guillaume surmised, or she would never be so indiscreet. Or maybe she would. If so, that suited him well. He grinned at the thought, then groaned as the skin of his lip tore.
"Just sit still and be quiet." Matilda poked at the brew. "Is that so difficult?"
"For me, yes."
"Huh. I should have guessed as much." She dug for a scrap of clean linen from his stash, dipped it in the cup and settled next to him.
Guillaume lay back and let her wash his lip. It had been cleaned already, the page knew the importance of being thorough, there was no need for her to fuss. But it was pleasant to have her so near him, firm flesh resting against his own, he wouldn't object if she wanted to linger. It gave him ideas, though. He let one hand drift up to caress her arm.
"You're not as badly off as you pretend, are you?" Matilda grinned at him. The side of her face was beginning to swell, he recalled getting a decent blow in before she mauled him in return. Guillaume took the cloth from her hand and dabbed gently at the puffed skin.
"The pair of us," Matilda said ruefully.
"Still hearty and whole." Guillaume tossed the rag aside, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down over him. "This is to be your life. Enjoying it?"
"Oh yes."
He quelled a laugh just in time. Stroked her hip and thigh, eased her skirt up until he touched bare skin. Slid his hand over her flesh, smooth and firm.
"Banquet," Matilda murmured.
"We've got time," Guillaume assured her.
They did.
***
Matilda smirked as she strolled along. She and Guillaume walked arm in arm, openly, past the tents and bustle and people -- who froze, one by one, and gaped, and stared. Then the whispers started, floating fast behind her as she walked.
"They're talking about us," she said.
"Let them." Guillaume squeezed her arm. "This time it's official."
Matilda laughed. "I like the sound of that."
Clusters of men and women had already gathered around the table. One group swung around to block her and Guillaume's approach. Alan, Geoffrey and Roland all together -- with Leofe, who darted out of harm's way.
"This ends here." Alan stood before her, grim and taut. "You won't marry this buffoon." He glared at
Guillaume, who dropped her arm and took a quick step forward, fists ready.
Roland and Geoffrey moved just as fast. Their hands clamped down on Guillaume's arms and held him back.
"I don't think so," Roland said. "You're leaving quietly."
"We've discussed the matter," Geoffrey added. "None of us accept this marriage."
The pair of them shouldered Guillaume aside, kicked his feet from under him and dragged him away even as he roared and struggled. For a moment he writhed free, but other men seized him and brought him down.
Matilda rounded on Alan. "How dare you -- " She broke off. He still scowled at her, but she knew that tremor in his cheek and the air of expectation that hung over him. It was the look he wore every time he managed to pull off a risky manoeuvre. "You bastard," she amended.
Alan's scowl faltered, then broke entirely. "Should have seen your face. Well worth it."
Matilda swung around to check on Guillaume, who was being inexorably dragged towards a nearby water trough. "They're not going to -- "
"Of course. It was Roland's idea, but Geoffrey got right on it. Payback for a few too many outbursts, I think." Alan was grinning now. "They're sound lads. Up for a couple of gambits at the next meet."
A mighty splash and an even mightier bellow drowned out the possibility of reply. Matilda winced in sympathy. She couldn't help but laugh, though, as Guillaume rose dripping and furious and launched himself at Roland -- who dodged out of the way with the ease of long practice.
"And those are his friends," she reflected. "What do his enemies want to do to him?"
"You'll find out." Alan put his arm around her shoulders. "He's promised to gut enough of them. We'll see if he keeps his knife sharp or if it's all empty words."
"I wouldn't count on that." Matilda took a step forward, and Alan let his arm fall away. She slipped her own around him instead. "Come on," she told him. "Let's go and help."
Alan hugged her as they watched the developing brawl. "You really think he needs you to defend him?"
