This time, Jamie laughed out loud. “Trust me, this is not the sort of thing you tell a woman until after it is done.”
Martin appeared to think this over, then nodded. “I see. ’Tis more gallant to save the lady what might be needless worry.”
Or, in the case of my beloved, it is best to give her no opportunity to interfere.
“When shall I say you will return?” Martin asked.When I’ve put the fear of God into Pomeroy.
Likely as not, Jamie would end up with a few bumps and scrapes. He was quick to mend, but he might not be in fit shape to be seen today.
“To save her needless worry,” Jamie said, a smile twitching at his lips, “tell her not to expect me before the morrow.”
When they reached his chamber, Jamie set Martin to polishing his shield and cleaning his boots. He sharpened his sword and dagger himself, as he always did, and slid an extra blade into his boot. As he strapped on his sword, he looked up to find Martin watching him with an earnest expression.
“I begin to feel insulted by your lack of faith.”
“ ’Tis not that,” Martin was quick to assure him. “But I fear that a man who would insult Lady Linnet cannot be trusted to follow the rules of chivalry in fighting either.”
“A good observation,” Jamie said with a nod of approval. “Sir John thought the same, which is why he made sure he and the other men will be there to serve as witnesses.”
Martin blinked at him. “You know Sir Guy has no honor and yet you will fight him?”
What nonsense had the boy’s mother put into his head?
“Believe it or not, Pomeroy will not be the first man I’ve fought who was not a man of honor,” Jamie said, suppressing a smile. He put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “If you find yourself often fighting men of honor, you must ask yourself if you are on the wrong side.”
He was ready to go. Martin went with him to the stables to help him with Thunder. Once he was mounted, he looked down at his squire, who was still holding on to his horse’s bridle.
“May I come to watch, after I tell Lady Linnet the lie?”
“Aye.” The lad could use the experience of watching a rough fight or two before Jamie took him to France.
“Take care, sir.”
The lad looked so anxious that Jamie had to laugh. “You’re a good lad, but you fret like an old woman.”
Jamie leaned over to give Martin a friendly rap on the head. “My father taught me well, as I shall teach you. I am well prepared for the likes of Sir Guy Pomeroy.”
The conversation with Martin cheered him considerably, and he enjoyed the ride along the river. Fighting was not something he worried much about. He had been trained by the very best—his father and his uncle Stephen. In a fair fight, he was any man’s match. In an unfair fight, chances were just as good he would prevail.
As he approached the wide bend in the river, he saw the lone horseman waiting in the middle of a field shorn of its summer harvest.
Pomeroy. Jamie’s light mood vanished.
He should have dealt with Pomeroy a long time ago. He had been hard on Linnet—not that she didn’t deserve it. But he had been angry with himself as much as with her. After today, Pomeroy would know better than to come near her.
If Jamie let him live.
As he rode closer, he saw four other horsemen near the hedge that separated the field from a wood. He recognized the big man who lifted his arm in greeting as Sir John.
Pomeroy wore full armor. For one-on-one fighting, Jamie thought this was a mistake. A coward’s mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.
“A fine afternoon,” Jamie said to Pomeroy. “’Tis filthy cold,” Pomeroy said and rammed his helmet on.
Jamie shrugged. “Not so cold as to freeze the ground. The gravediggers should have no trouble with your grave.”
As he waited for Sir John to join them in the center of the field, Jamie examined Pomeroy’s horse, weapons, and gleaming armor.
“In fairness, I must tell you,” Jamie said. “The armor is a mistake. I’m willing to wait while you remove it.”
