“I cannot go easy on you,” he shouted between clangs of their swords.
“Don’t.” She spit the word through her teeth, attacking him with anupward thrust. He avoided it but missed his chance to counter as she had already repositioned herself for her next move.
She fought like a fiend, coming at him again and again. They made short work of the ground, tracing trails through the dirt. Philippe fought back, but she drained his strength.
She snapped around and caught him across the arm, causing him to wince. He realized that he would need to finish this to avoid as much humiliation as possible. With two aggressive steps towards her, he took command of the fight and put her on the defensive. He drove her back until she was at the edge of the ring. She stepped onto a bench against the wall, putting them eye to eye.
“You can’t win, Alex,” he shouted.
“Like hell,” she shouted back, just making a blow to his chest.
He whipped her arm with his blade, but she held fast to her sword. He would have to wrestle it out of her hand. He moved in closer, stifling her range with his body. With his left hand, he grabbed her wrist and held her sword to the rail behind her, his own sword ready to deliver the winning move.
“You are outmatched,” he said. “Drop your sword before I must hurt you.”
She bore into his eyes, refusing his command.
With one last move, he twisted her arm back over the fence. She let out a yelp of pain, and he heard the sound he’d been waiting for: the clang of her sword as it hit the ground.
It was over. He avoided her eyes, the eyes ofMonsieurPerreault, and everyone in the audience. It was a terrible win. He regretted every moment and knew he would feel the sting of this for a long time. He loosened his hold on her, wanting to get off the floor and away from it all as soon as possible.
But Alex wasn’t done. In the split second of release, she reared back and slammed her head against him with the force of a stallion. Stars exploded like a cannon blast in his vision, and his mouth overflowed with blood. He heard the crowd gasp. He stumbled back and caught fat drops of crimson in his hands. She stood before him, her face smeared with his blood. He brought a hand up to his mouth and felt the meaty split along the bottom of his lip.Rivulets of blood weaved through his fingers before coloring the ground. His head swam and he felt himself drop to one knee.
It was quiet as she picked up her sword, nodded her defeat towardsMonsieurPerreault and walked off the floor.
He saw only her empty footprints in the dirt before his eyes went completely dark.
Chapter Eight
CHEVALERIE, PROVENCE, FRANCE 1654
No sooner had the sun crested the horizon the morning after the competition than Philippe’s troops took their first steps past the city limits. They would be traveling to a small town northwest of Chevalerie that day, which they could reach by sunset at a comfortable pace. They had a zigzag trail planned to get up to the town of Ponce, which would be their home base while they canvassed the caves. Though their objective of finding these men was not secret, and establishing a presence was the goal, the suspicion that the rebels hid in the caves would only be shared with high officials.
Alex stroked her horse’s side as they moved ahead. The sun was thawing the nip of night by then. She peeled her scarf off and let it drape over her lap. This was quite an impressive envoy. There were the primary soldiers, the mapmaker, and several camp porters charged with tending to the horses, making camp on nights in the field, running messages, and making sleeping arrangements before the rest of the group entered towns. And of course, it was led by Philippe, a respected noble. Usually, her groups were much smaller, dirtier, rougher. This was first class all the way.
She watched up ahead, past brothers Bernard and Luc, beyond youngClaude, over Laurent, to where Philippe led his horse down the trail. He was a proud leader. Alex wondered why he chose to go on this mission. As the son of a duke, he could have it much easier. He’d done his duty for the King and could live the life of a gentleman for the rest of his days, never wanting for anything. Perhaps he had political aspirations of his own and looked to make himself known. His father’s title would pass to his eldest brother, Michel, so if Philippe wanted a title, he would have to earn it himself from the King of France. But she had never known him to have great political desires. Did he do it out of duty to his family and country? She guessed he was too selfish to do anything without recompense. He was arrogant and spoiled. The kindness of his parents and their success as leaders would be enough to carry him through his life, so why did he work harder than he had to?
Her horse shook his head, and she patted his mane. Philippe wouldn’t need to consult her during the day’s ride. This was a well-known and well-traveled path, so she hung back in the procession. She had agreed to be amicable with him for the needs of the journey; however, there was no need to press that promise at the moment. He had apologized to her the night before, which she hadn’t expected, but what did she ever expect from him? He seemed sincere, and the gesture soothed her animosity. Truthfully, she knew she should have apologized to him too, right then, for her actions years ago. But even after all this time, she just couldn’t let the hurt go.
The trail was becoming less manicured as they approached the trees at the forest’s edge. Shaggy bushes tossed limbs into the road like dirty laundry. The leaves high above them were tinted with gold and fluttered in the breeze. She watched Philippe up ahead as he held the reins and guided his horse down the path. It was too bad, she thought, as attraction simmered inside her. If only they hadn’t met until they were older, and she had indeed grown into a lady equal to his station rather than the trail rat she had become. Despite his careless actions with her, she didn’t think he was a bad person. Privileged, cocky, yes, but notbad. She stared at his sturdy back and she saw the muscles flexing as he reined his horse. He was confident as the lead. And strong. She liked how he had played with her when they fought, how he teased her blade with his own. In an instant she was back in the training room, imagining his face and that predatory look as he pursued her.No.She stopped the memory from coming through.
It was something she had refused to think about in the days since it had happened. Because it hadn’t meant anything, because it still had the power to undo her. It wasn’t her he wanted, she reminded herself. She wasn’t special, she could have been any woman that he watched with those seductive eyes. But hadn’t it seemed like she was the only woman in the world to him? She felt him push her against the wall as the memory struggled to break free. What did it matter if she played a little with the sensual moments between them, like a cat with a ball of string? Up ahead, he signaled for the group to slow as they entered deeper into the forest, and she caught a glimpse of his face, his brow furrowed in thought. She liked the way his eyes had felt on her. The thought rolled a tremble up her spine. The memory of their fight, the heat and desire between them, sat in her consciousness, waiting to be sprung. All she had to do was say yes and open up that memory like a gift. What would it harm?
She was losing the fight. She decided to give herself one minute to feel all the lust and longing she could handle. Then she would seal it up again. Her eyelids fluttered as she watched him up ahead, her lips parted and she was back in the training room, yes, with his mouth and heavy weight against her. Her body reacted as she remembered the feeling of him pressing into her. What would have happened if she’d let him continue? If he’d opened her shirt and she felt his warm touch on her exposed skin. If they had indeed dropped to the ground as he had suggested and, yes, she’d let him explore her body? Would he have been gentle with her, or, she swallowed, not gentle at all? Warmth rushed through her and for a soft, sultry second, she held the feeling close to her heart.
Then, as if she had called his name, Philippe turned his head and caught her staring at him. Startled, she coughed and pretended to wave a fly away, which knocked her shawl off her lap. She snapped down to grab it and almost fell off her saddle. Flustered, she looked back at Philippe. He watched her strangely for a moment, and she was sure he knew everything. Then he threw her a slow smile and turned back towards the trail.
Alex blinked and sat rigidly in her saddle.
Well, fuck,she thought.
Chapter Nine
They traveled through the morning, stopping by a bubbling little stream that cut through a lazy green meadow filled with yellow poppies for a well-deserved lunch of jams, cheese, and bread. The men ate as though it had been days since their last meal, the warm ride that morning having already begun to tire them out. Philippe paced as he crammed a hunk of bread in his mouth, unable to settle in. Though there was little risk of confrontation in this area, he remained hyper-vigilant and alert so his company could relax. He ran through his list of tasks in his mind. Men, horses, maps, supplies. The scouts had already been sent ahead to prepare accommodations, and the porters were busy tidying their path. He checked everything once and then again.
He refused to be overwhelmed by this unclear and complex mission. He didn’t have much information to go on, and he already felt the needling fingers of frustration piercing his patience. He wanted to start assembling the clues as soon as possible. So once the men began licking crumbs from their fingers, he hustled them up to leave. He fed his horse a handful of sweet grass and retied the pack to the saddle. He scanned the men and did another mental survey of everyone’s condition. Maurice’s horse would need a new shoe soon; Daniel’s water sack had torn; Bernard had clearly hit his flask pretty hard but seemed the better for it. Once satisfied that everythingwas accounted for, Philippe prepared to saddle up himself. Before he did, he keyed into a conversation between his mapmaker and his guide.
They were about to enter the sun-soaked Bright Hills, which had several possible trailways for them to use. Alex was recommending going straight through some of the ravines. It would be faster and shield them from the day’s high heat, at least for part of the journey. The streams would also be running, which would be nice for the horses. The mapmaker, Henri, however, disagreed.
