I hesitated as I was changing from my gown to my regular clothes. "That's actually a good idea, to give him a favor."
"Just give him your panties," Fiona said, snickering.
"He already got into those last night," Caitlyn cracked.
"Ladies!" I reprimanded as I pulled a brush through my knotted hair, scanning the small tent for something to give him. A hair ribbon? A handkerchief?
"Have you ever deflowered a virgin before?" Caitlyn asked.
"What makes you think William was a virgin?" I evaded.
Brock had been a virgin, too, so William had not been my first. But I'd been a virgin right along with Brock, as our first time together was our first time ever. It had taken place more than a decade ago, so I only remembered a lot of awkwardness and that it had been disappointing. Last night with William had been pretty darn good, actually. He may have been a virgin, but there was no doubt he'd done his research.
"What about a ribbon from the Maypole?" Ann said, pointing to the red one on the floor by my sleeping bag as I pulled on my jeans.
"Oh yes, I'll take him that."
"You don't think he'll want to ask you for it in front of everyone--like what Doug did last time?" Ann asked.
I shook my head, adjusting my clothes. "Nope. That's not Wil." I smiled at the thought.
"Well, off with you, then. Go wish your man luck!" Ann said.
I found him in a clearing at the edge of our encampment. He was warming up in his under armor padding--gambeson, it's called. He continued to stretch his muscles and practice his swings even when I was pretty certain he'd seen me arrive. I assumed that this was all part of some routine that he'd established for warm-up, and he wasn't about to interrupt that routine--not even for me. I was okay with that.
I patiently watched him work, and about ten minutes later he stopped and unscrewed a bottle of water to take a long drink. I walked up to him then. "Hi."
His eyes flew to mine and then away. "Good morning," he said with a small smile that made my heart zing just a little bit. Seeing him again after last night and all that had happened between us was thrilling. Like I couldn't get enough air fast enough. I bit my lip, hoping he felt the same.
But it was highly unlikely that anything could have changed from the night before. So he likely did feel the same. He was constant, permanent. He'd told me last night that he loved me and my guess was that he probably didn't see the need to repeat it. I'd have to clue him in that I liked to hear it anyway, whether or not he thought it worth repeating.
I smiled and took his free hand, twirling the red ribbon in my other hand. "Do you know what this is?" I said without preamble.
His eyes narrowed, taking it in. He removed the bottle from his mouth and squeezed my hand. Then he freed it in order to replace the cap. "It's a ribbon from the Maypole," he answered.
"Nope. Not today."
He frowned, clearly confused. "It is a Maypole ribbon every day."
"Today it's much more than that. It's my favor. And I choose to bestow it upon the worthiest knight I know."
His gaze floated to the ribbon again, and his expression was so serious that I almost laughed. Without another word, he took up his sword and presented it to me, hilt first. Just as solemnly, I tied the ribbon around the grip, just below the cross-guard. He took the sword back and adjusted the ribbon. Then he hefted the sword to try it out.
He murmured in an almost reverential voice, "Thank you."
"Kicking his ass will be all the thanks I need," I said, grinning.
"There's no kicking at these tournaments. It's difficult to kick someone while wearing plated greaves."
I laughed. "I meant it figuratively. You'll be thanking me by winning soundly."
His brow trembled. "But if I lose--"
"You won't. Now come here and give me a kiss before I leave you to get all suited up."
I didn't have to tell him twice. He set down both the sword and the water bottle and then put his hands on my waist to pull me against him. Our mouths met in a long, passionate kiss, and a group of our closest friends found us right in the middle of that steamy kiss, where I'd locked my arms around him to keep his lips on mine.
To his credit, William kept kissing me even though they stood there, and even after someone cleared their throat loudly. We finally pulled apart when a wolf whistle interrupted us. I looked up and there were our friends all around us.
"Who could say 'no' to a good luck kiss like that?" Jordan said with a cocky grin. William did not look amused and Jordan clued into his obvious annoyance. "If it hadn't been for my advice--"
"Your advice is shit," both William and Adam said at almost the exact same time. April immediately doubled over laughing while Jordan's smile slid right off his face.
Eyes gradually turned toward me and Mia asked a question with her eyes. I studiously avoided her gaze. Alex handed me a cup of coffee in an insulated cup and I thanked her.
Then we all turned to look at the man of the hour.
And if all went well in the next little while, the man of the day, of the week. Of my future...
Chapter 32
William
So it all comes down to this.
Months of training, to include fitness activities and specialized exercises to build stamina. Refining my fighting style and customizing my armor. Weeks of working with Jenna--not that I minded that in any way.
But for all my pre-fighting focus, I'm upset that she came to watch me warm up. Because now all I can think of is her, and all I want to do is look at her. Our friends are all around us now, wishing me luck. My mind is distracted from the fight, and that's bothering me.
My cousin stands at my shoulder and puts a hand there. I turn to him as he speaks. "Hey, guy. You okay? You're looking...intense."
I look around again, trying to keep my eyes away from Jenna, though they are pulled to her bright blonde head like a magnet. "This isn't how I normally warm up, with all these people around."
He nods. "Right. I'll see if I can clear them out for you," he says quietly.
A few minutes afterward, he suggests that they all go claim a section in the bleachers and save seats for the others who are coming to support me, including my dad and Kim. Jenna goes with them, but not before giving me another kiss on the cheek. "I'd say good luck, but you don't need luck. You've got this."
I smile and watch her as she goes, not realizing that Adam and Mia have lingered behind. Mia steps forward and gives me a hug. "Just wanted to get mine in real quick. I'll leave Adam to help you warm up." Adam has offered to be my squire today, and I've accepted that offer.
"Okay. Thank you." I briefly return her hug. As she turns to go, I say to Adam, loudly, so that she'll hear, "Adam, you can tell Mia later what date you've decided on for your wedding."
Mia comes to an abrupt halt and spins around to look at me. Her mouth and eyes are round. Adam's dark eyebrows scoot up his forehead. "That's, uh, great news," he says, and then one of his sly grins creeps across his face. He and Mia exchange a look, but I have no clue as to its meaning.
"I love winning," he mutters. Mia's eyes roll up toward the sky and she lets out a big sigh. Then she turns around and stomps away while Adam watches her, laughing loudly.
I'm smiling when Adam looks at me. "I'm the one who won, dickhead. You're just benefitting."
Adam's eyes narrow and he grabs one of my spare swords. "I'm here to help you warm up. Don't make me use this for real."
I bring my sword up to meet his, Jenna's red ribbon fluttering in the breeze below the cross guard. "Just don't be an idiot and waste this chance," I tell him. "You need to marry her as soon as possible."
Adam gets that sneaky look on his face again. "So you sacrificed for the greater good?"
I swing and our swords clash against each other. The morning sun glints off his blade. "It wasn't a sacrifice."
Another swing, another crash. "I was being sarcastic."
"All wasted on me." I bring my sword around in a series of moves meant
to throw him off his guard.
"Easy, tiger," he says after the onslaught. "I don't have armor on."
"I'm not going to hurt your pretty face. You still need to look good for wedding pictures."
He laughed. "It's important to you that we get married, huh?"
"You almost lost each other once. That should not happen again. So don't squander the opportunity."
"But you said deciding our wedding date on a bet was dumb."
"It is dumb, but you might as well take advantage of it since you won."
We continue to warm up without saying anything further about the wedding. Twenty minutes later, he begins helping me strap on my full suit of plate mail, draping my black and silver tabard over the breastplate. Then he carries my swords, shield and buckler to the arena.
When we get there, the bleachers are full, not only with people from our clan but from other clans who are attending the Summer Festival. There are also those who've come ahead of time with the Renaissance Faire, which starts up as soon as the Beltane Festival is over. In addition, there are many dressed in modern clothes, indicating they are here as visitors, some of which are in my "cheering section."
The minute I see the crowd, my heartbeat starts to race, my blood chilling in my veins. My mind starts to go down that same thorny path that it always travels in situations like these.
I try one of Jenna's Jedi mind tricks--a little controlled breathing. But the breathing is only making it hotter inside my helmet, even with the visor up. The crowd is yelling and cheering and stomping, and Doug is over there encouraging them by raising his sword in the air and walking back and forth in front of them.
He stops in front of Jenna, who is sitting in the front row, and I freeze. He's obviously trying to get her attention, but she folds her arms and looks away.
Taking a deep breath, I'm suddenly regretful that she didn't accept the deal he offered her last night. It would be a certainty that she'd get her tiara back, had she accepted.
And I'm not certain about this. Not at all. I know my skills are on par with his. I know that I'm in the best physical shape of my life. I also know that I'm capable of defeating him in perfect circumstances.
But I'm not certain.
The referee waves a triangular yellow flag mounted on a short, striped pole as he calls for the first bout to begin. Our squires begin handing us our equipment, and then Adam places a hand on my metal-encased shoulder. Looking at me through the grill of my helmet, he says solemnly, "Good luck, Liam."
I nod to acknowledge his words with a thumbs-up, and then I turn away to face Doug. With narrowed eyes, he says, "This time I beat you cleanly. You're a goner, Drake, you hear me?"
"I do hear you. But you're wrong. You've already lost the girl, and now you're going to lose the duel."
His face flushes a deep red and then he slams the visor down, muttering to himself. I know there are probably obscenities peppered amongst his rant, but he can't say them too loudly. If the referee hears him, Doug could be penalized for unchivalrous language.
I don't want him to, though. He's done so much to hurt Jenna that I really want to hurt him. I want to beat him down, and I'm going to do it under the watchful eyes of the tournament judges. No losing or winning on technicalities...not today.
Our first bout is long swords only, which we both wield two-handed. As is customary with European martial arts, we both hold our swords high, two hands gripping at the hilt in order to chop downward. We must hit with what would be the sharp edge of the blade--the side closest to the opponent--in order to score a hit. Each bout is played until one contestant gets three hits.
In our previous duel, I won this particular bout. But this time, the minute the yellow flag is lifted, Doug comes charging at me like a ferocious bull. I bring my sword down just in time to block his first onslaught.
The crowd is loud and distracting, and I can't help but look over at them. I decide to go on the offensive, knowing in the back of my mind that it's too early. I know Doug's fighting style well enough to know that he's long on aggressive tactics in small bursts, but short on stamina. Last time I just tired him out that first bout, blocking his onslaughts and letting him come at me until he got winded. My plan was to do the same thing this round, but I can't curb these anxious feelings for long.
I continue glancing at the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of Jenna. She's leaning forward intently, her hand tightly gripping the railing in front of her. And that's when Doug charges and clips me on my upper arm pauldron with the outside edge of his blade.
The flag comes down between us. The ref watching for hits raises his hand and points to Doug, indicating that the first touch has gone to him.
Gritting my teeth, I narrow my eyes and swing--hard--the minute the flag lifts again. Before Doug can react, I clip him on the top of his bracer, just below his elbow. He shouts the f-word and the whistle blows. My hit is registered, and Doug is warned about his language.
Meanwhile, I'm noting that I hit him on his left arm. In this first bout, where we are both wielding a weapon with each of our hands, it's not an issue. But I wonder if I clipped him enough to cause some pain for the next bout. He swore, so that tells me that it hurt. He'd never risk a warning otherwise--not even in anger. So it likely came from pain.
I'll use that to my advantage.
But while I'm working it out, Doug comes at me again, pushing me back. I'm beating off his blows, but he's not relenting in his offense. Soon he's scored another hit, this time on the greaves of my armor, which covers my upper thigh. I note that he's left a slight dent, though my padding underneath has protected me.
After the flag lifts again, Doug starts with a low feint, pointing the tip of his sword directly at my codpiece, like he wants to chop my dick off. Asshole. I think it without actually saying it, fortunately.
I swing low to push his sword away from my crotch, and he starts laughing loudly behind his helmet. This just pisses me off more, so I swing around in a wide arc to land on his favored arm, but he deflects it just in time.
I've studied Doug's style. Due to my ability to recall things in great detail, I can slow things down in my memory and analyze them. Therefore, I have a good handle on his strengths and weaknesses. His advantages are speed and short bursts of energy, while mine are stamina and consistency. Also, my hits land harder than his, so I beat him in the strength department, too.
But my overanalysis of his approach has worked against me. I have anticipated a move and he makes a very convincing feint, only to quickly shift and swing up, landing a hit squarely in the middle of my chest piece. That's his third, and now this first bout is over.
Doug has won. For now.
I inhale and close my eyes, taking a moment while Adam switches out my long sword for my buckler and one-handed sword. I don't want to look at Jenna right now. I know what her worried face looks like, and I don't want to see it. She's thinking she might lose her tiara--that she shouldn't have put her trust in me to win it for her.
Doug is trying to rile the crowd again under the pretense of grabbing a drink from his water bottle, just like last time. Adam, on the other hand, is muttering encouragements to me. Neither one of them is helping the situation.
I wish that I could erase the crowd--I don't even want to look at them. Then I recall being at the mall last week, imagining the people as a rushing river of water. I imagined people in the lunchroom at work as a herd of animals, munching popcorn like those zebras or gazelles munched on dry savannah grass.
It occurs to me that I do have the power to erase this crowd. I can tune them out and picture something else in their place. So instead of a roaring crowd, they suddenly become a roaring dragon. An evil beast that threatens to destroy the countryside. Doug is the dragon's defender--a dark knight. And I have to get through Doug in order to defeat the dragon and save everyone. It's actually a lot like playing D&D, except I have a sword in my hand instead of dice and a character sheet.
With every bit of concentration
and imagination that I have, I visualize that dragon, steam rising from its nostrils, claws scraping the air, wings generating a mighty wind that threatens to blow me back, were I not the strongest, bravest knight of the land.
Pretend isn't just a game for kids. I can do this, too. And I have to. Because she believes in me, and I will not let her down.
I finger the red ribbon tied just below my cross-guard and focus all my attention on Doug as I wait for the referee to start the second round.
I will prevail.
When the fighting starts again, Doug becomes more and more winded and is practically wheezing through his helmet by the time I land my first blow. I've let him dance around and swing wildly for almost two full minutes, staying just out of his range. I step around him like a boxer and fend off his blows; I've become an impenetrable wall.
When I finally land the blow--on his left elbow again--I can tell by the way he sucks in his breath that it hurt. This time, he at least has the self-control to curb his tongue. But I've struck his wielding arm with two good blows, and it's going to weaken him. I wonder if I can sweep this round. I just need two more hits...
Doug's sword crashes down on my buckler the second the yellow flag between us is moved away. I shove it back toward him, forcing his arm at an uncomfortable angle, and he gives an audible grunt about a millisecond before I catch him on the side of the breastplate. Another hit for me.
He does manage to get one hit in on me just before I land my third on him. I take the buckler round with ease, noting the minute it's finished how he immediately drops his left arm and hands his sword off to his squire while we re-equip for the last round.
I have a full-sized oblong shield--harder to wield due to weight, but provides more coverage. Doug wields his round shield, which looks much like his buckler, only bigger--complete with the heraldry, a rampant black lion on a field of red, poorly painted on it.
I also note that he's switched to his lighter sword for this round. It will be easier for him to maneuver, but that sword doesn't have as long a reach. Therefore, I calculate that if I keep him at a distance, he will have difficulty reaching me in order to make a hit. So not only is my sword longer, but my shield's coverage is superior. Together with the fact that he's obviously favoring his wielding arm, I estimate that I have at least a three-to-one advantage on him. Possibly more, if I play this smart.
For The One Page 30
