Alban grinned. “Or a lesson in how quickly the tables can turn when you think you’re in control.”
The young knights tightened their position around Gray and Alban, jostling each other for a better view. Humming excitement swelled in the yard, and Gray felt the familiar pulse of it in his blood, heightened by the knowledge that this fighting would be less in earnest and more in fun. He and Alban circled each other; he swung his blade in two half-arcs, laughing when Alban swirled his blade over his head in kind, nodding in mock court fashion.
They stopped, and all went still for a single, energy-charged instant; then with a roar, they leapt at each other. Metal clanged on metal as they came together, falling into a pattern of sparring that by now seemed as familiar as breathing, thanks to so many years of training with each other.
They fought hard, and Gray pressed forward, using his height to full advantage. Alban only stood a few inches shorter, but it was enough to make a difference in the angle of his thrusts. Gray slashed and met each of Alban’s strokes, throwing his weight into the blows he dealt with his blade.
But Alban moved quickly, his smaller build allowing him freer movement through the series of strokes. He charged Gray several times, trying to knock him off balance with the leverage of surprise. If it wasn’t for the extreme concentration required in displaying skills like this, Gray felt sure that at least one of Alban’s efforts would have resulted in success.
After a few minutes, the sword began to feel heavy in Gray’s grip. Still he swung and dodged, and Alban did the same. Neither gave ground as each worked his advantage; the area was silent except for the harsh rasp of breathing and the grating, metallic sounds of their blades.
“Care you to give, old man?” Alban called to Gray, feinting to the left to avoid a powerful blow that might have cut his shield in half had he stood still.
“Nay!” Gray laughed, swinging and ducking himself to avoid Alban’s parry. “Not until one of us falls down or bleeds.”
“A show of blood, eh? I’ll try to arrange it!”
Grinning, Gray doubled his efforts, allowing the white heat of battle to take over, masking the pain weighing down his sword arm and dulling the ache in his shoulders, back and legs. He drove forward, his press finally successful in forcing Alban back a step. Then three more.
A few more paces and he’d be pushed out of the circle, which would be as good as a victory. Just two steps, now…
A flash of scarlet moved at the edge of Gray’s vision, up on the ramparts of the castle. At the same time, a gust of wind whipped through the yard, causing a billowing curtain of golden-brown hair to float above the scarlet figure. Gray’s heart skipped a beat. ’Twas Elise, leaning on the stonework as she watched their sparring. She looked concerned, and warmth filled his breast to know that she was worried about—
Pain sliced Gray’s arm, just above his elbow, and his breath hissed in with the flow of anger that followed it. His gaze snapped back to Alban. His friend’s eyes were wide with amazement, his sword held frozen in position. All was silent.
“Blood!” Alban suddenly called, a mischievous twinkle replacing the shock that had initially filled his gaze. He danced around in a little circle, strutting and hooting, much to the laughter of the knights in training.
“Bloody hell,” Gray growled, examining the cut to his arm. But Alban’s capers soon drew a grin from him as well. “Gloat all you want, friend,” Gray said. “’Tis but a scratch. Less deadly than what I might earn from a fishwife’s nails.”
“Still so cocky?” Alban reached for his water skin as he handed his blade to his squire. “See you, lads,” he called loudly, gesturing around them, “Distractions can prove deadly on the field. Particularly those of the feminine kind.”
Alban’s gaze lifted to the ramparts, and two score eyes followed the path of his vision until all of the young knights were staring up at Elise, still perched at the crenellation, watching them. When Gray met her gaze, a bewitching blush covered her cheeks, visible even at this distance. He smiled and gave her a flourishing bow before her lashes fluttered down, and she scooted out of sight.
“Women make men’s legs weak, lads. Remember that at your next tournament.”
Alban’s statement dragged Gray’s attention back to the yard, and he walked up to his friend, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him cough. “Aye, you’re right, Alban. Distractions may be deadly—but pray don’t forget that without a distraction this day, you wouldn’t have had a prayer at defeating me.”
The boys all laughed again, spreading to gather up their equipment, before they all headed back to the castle for a change of clothing and the noon meal.
But Gray’s mind really wasn’t on their friendly banter. It kept drifting to more country matters, thoughts awash with scarlet linen and billowing silken tresses—and he found himself glancing often up to the ramparts as they went, hoping for another glimpse of the tempting angel who was his wife.
Chapter 10
Gray didn’t appear at the noon meal. Catherine picked at her food, waiting for his arrival, but eventually she was forced to accept that he wasn’t coming. None of the men she’d seen in the yard were in attendance either, so she knew she shouldn’t feel concerned. Still, she hadn’t been able to keep her focus on anything else. With or without her eyes closed, all she could see was that terrible moment when Gray had been cut—and then the wicked, sensual promise in his eyes when he’d looked up at her and bowed afterward.
She didn’t know whether to feel anxious or shameful. ’Twas most upsetting.
But there was no more time for thought now. The hour of their journey to the fair approached, and it was time to get to the yard to mount up with the others. She picked up the bunch of autumn wild-flowers that had mysteriously appeared at her place on the table this noon—no one seemed to know who had brought them, though they were the third such bouquet in as many weeks—and put them in water before heading for the courtyard. Her excitement swelled with each step toward the portal. Soon she’d see Gray again. She would ride with him to the village fair and spend a whole, carefree afternoon basking in his company and his smile.
Just before she reached the yard, a wild impulse took hold of her. She ducked into the shadows of the portal and peered around guiltily before pinching her cheeks. Then, laughing at her own misplaced vanity, she strode out into the sunlight and the company of the others who would attend the fair.
As always, the inner yard teemed with people. But in addition to the peasants and laborers who milled about, performing their tasks, a score of men and women mingled on foot near horses that waited, saddled and impatient, for the journey to begin. Alban was among the group, as were several of the young knights from the morning’s sparring, she noticed, but Gray was nowhere to be seen.
Catherine’s smile dimmed, as disappointment crowded her. Nodding, she took the reins handed her by a stable boy and mounted.
“Good afternoon, my lady!” Alban said, smiling as his stallion sidled up to her. “With your arrival, we’re ready to depart.” But before she could ask him about Gray’s whereabouts, he urged his mount to a gallop and called out to the others to begin the ride.
Her horse cantered into an easy rhythm as they passed through the outer wall and gate; she tried not to think about her husband, concentrating instead on the colorful autumn sights during the ride. Soon they approached the edge of the village, and she saw telltale signs of the fair in the increase of blustering activity.
