She sniffled, wiping her nose that was red with the cold. De Roche turned around at that point, noticed her distressed expression, and reined his horse back towards the wagon.
The man was big and ugly. Everything about him bled of evil. His muddy gaze moved between Toby and Kenneth as flakes of snow adhered themselves to the dirty beard exposed on his face.
“Is something amiss, Lady de Lara?” he asked. “Do you require something?”
Toby didn’t like the man; that much was plain. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not from you.”
De Roche smiled, his stained teeth ugly behind his thick lips. “Spoken like a true de Lara. Pride is never in short supply.”
Toby looked away from him, having no desire to engage in any conversation. But de Roche wasn’t finished with her yet; he’d not had much contact with the lady for the fact that she had been recuperating from cracked ribs. This was, in fact, the first time he’d been near her since his return from chasing her husband from Harbottle and he remembered what an exquisite woman she was from the day he had seen her at Forestburn. Aye, he remembered her well; he hadn’t known she was de Lara’s wife at the time, which was a pity. He might have paid more attention to her but he had been more concerned with capturing the young king at the time. Lady de Lara had prevented him from doing so and he never forgot it. He was a man with a grudge.
“Tell me something, St. Héver,” he said casually, his gaze moving over their snowy and cold surroundings. “Do you stay so close to the lady because it is your intention to claim de Lara’s widow? I can hardly blame you; she is a pretty little thing.”
Toby’s head snapped to the knight, her eyes wide. Before she could work up a righteous explosion, Kenneth reached out to touch her arm. She looked at him, eyes welling and accusing, but he shook his head at her calmly. She understood his silent implication and she bit her lip, lowering her head.
“I stay close to the lady to protect her from fools like you,” Kenneth said steadily. “And as much as you would like to rattle her, you and I both know that Tate is alive and well. Do not let your bitterness show because the man has once again evaded you. He toys with you as a cat toys with a mouse.”
De Roche turned towards Kenneth with a baleful eye. “I would not be so confident that de Lara is still alive. He was crossing a bridge when I saw it collapse. He fell into the frozen river and was swept away as I watched.”
Kenneth waited for Toby to respond but, to her credit, she kept her head lowered. The knight knew that de Roche was trying to upset her and that fueled very uncharacteristic anger within him. His jaw ticked faintly.
“You should hear how we laugh at you, Hamlin,” Kenneth’s voice was seductive, gritty. “You have provided us hours of entertainment.”
“It shall not last.”
“I beg to differ; this mere woman bested you. Either that says a great deal for her skills or not very much for your own. You are a pathetic excuse for a knight.”
“We shall see.”
“I anxiously await the day.”
The air was crackling with hazard. Toby’s head came up and her big eyes focused on Kenneth. The knight, however, was wearing that oddly amused expression again, the same one he had held when he had told her of all of the knights he had thrashed upon his capture. He is enjoying this, she thought.
“Do not provoke him, Kenneth,” she whispered sternly. “You are not carrying any weapons.”
Kenneth glanced at her before returning his attention to de Roche. “I do not need any weapons against him,” he said loud enough for Hamlin to hear.
“My mother could best you, St. Héver.”
“And your mother was a tasty bit of flesh when I bedded her.”
De Roche suddenly reined his horse around. With a roar, he charged at Kenneth but Toby suddenly stood up to defend him, throwing herself in front of Kenneth. She was half way across his lap when de Roche rushed at him, sword drawn. Only fast thinking by Kenneth saved Toby from being gored; he very swiftly reined his horse around so that his back was facing de Roche. The man’s broadsword glanced off of his armor. But he was still furious and Kenneth was in a very bad position with Toby lying across his lap.
Quickly, Kenneth dropped Toby to the ground. She landed on her feet but stumbled backwards, her balance off with the pain in her torso. Any movement was difficult. As Toby watched in horror, de Roche charged Kenneth again with his sword but Kenneth managed to side step him, grabbing the hilt of the sword as de Roche’s horse slipped in the snow. Suddenly, Kenneth had a weapon and he used the butt end to smash de Roche on the back of the neck. De Roche started to go down, but not before he unsheathed a dirk that was strapped against his leg. As he fell forward, he shoved the dirk into Kenneth’s right thigh.
Toby screamed, bringing the entire army to a halt. From his position far forward, Mortimer began to charge back through the lines to see what the commotion was about. By the time he reached the middle of the column, Kenneth was dismounted and preparing to drive the broadsword into de Roche’s chest.
“Stop!” Mortimer roared. “St. Héver, drop the sword or I will kill you where you stand.”
Toby rushed to Kenneth’s side. “No, my lord,” she stood in front of Kenneth with her arms spread as if to shield him. “He was only protecting me.”
Mortimer wasn’t looking at her; he was still focused on Kenneth. “Drop the weapon, St. Héver. I will not tell you again.”
Kenneth could see from his peripheral that there were at least two crossbows trained on him, probably more. The broadsword fell to the ground and he grasped the hilt of the dirk protruding from his leg, ripping it free and tossing it away. Blood poured down his leg as he stood there with Toby still in front of him. From the beginning of the fight until this very moment, his stone-like expression of calm had never changed.
Mortimer was still glaring at him, though his distaste seemed to be more focused on de Roche at the moment.
“What started this?” Mortimer demanded.
