Chapter Nine

T he resounding clash of blade hitting blade echoed through the lower bailey. Shouts of encouragement, both Norman and Saxon, mingled together creating an unholy din. Eyreka tried to follow her husband, only to be stopped by Aimory. “Milord wants you to rest your ankle.” He frowned at the way she continued to limp toward the staircase.

“I was merely doing as my husband bid,” she said, trying to hide the consternation she felt at being openly confronted by the tall young knight in her own hall.

Aimory grinned at her and reached out to lift her up in his arms. She stepped to the side, and before he could compensate for the movement, he was cuffed on the back of his head from behind by another of her husband’s guard. Eyreka could not remember if he was Jean or Jacques; the brothers were identical twins, save for their temperaments.

The older knight rubbed the edge of his hand, “Your head grows harder with age, de Noir.”

Aimory grinned, “Aye. Though in truth, I owe it all to you and Jean.”

Jacques, Eyreka thought with a sigh. Too bad, he was the less friendly of the two. She braced herself, preparing for the verbal arrow the warrior would undoubtedly sling.

“Milord requests that you remain in the hall,” he said. “I am to send your maidservant for your healing herbs.” His words belied the look on his face. It obviously pained him greatly to have to address her directly.

She nodded, waiting for the dig the warrior could never resist adding. Jacques did not disappoint her, he mumbled, “Though, no Saxon woman is worthy of being called lady.”

Ignoring the muttered words, she tamped down on the surge of anger that rose within her. She had to find a way to communicate with the Norman guard. Until she did, there was little hope of Garrick’s men forging an alliance of any kind with the unapproachable warriors. Garrick’s men were loyal to her, and until the Norman knights respected her, the Saxon guard would continue to be wary of them. Silence was the only tool she had at the moment.

“I will do as my husband requests.” She watched the Norman warrior’s eyes narrow to slits of dark gray. The anger in his gaze chilled her to the bone.

Aimory chose that moment to intervene. “I will wait with Lady Eyreka.” He ground out the words as if he were actually challenging the older knight, then added, “Sara was headed toward the kitchen.”

The two warriors stood a breath apart, jaws clenched in anger, muscles twitching in readiness for battle. Eyreka recognized the signs well, having raised three boys of her own. She knew she had to do something or else the two thick-headed men would be pounding on one another before she drew her next breath. The progress Augustin had made just moments before would be for naught.

She laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, stopping him cold. He turned and looked at her. Jacques used the distraction to his benefit, slamming his fist into the younger man’s jaw. Aimory’s head snapped back with a force that had the younger knight reeling.

“Do you not remember Monique?” Jacques challenged.

The mention of another woman’s name filled her with dread. Eyreka could not stop herself from asking, “Who is Monique?”

“You are not fit to speak her name,” Jacques bit out.

“But what of Angelique?” Aimory asked, “What of his plans for her?” The mention of yet another woman’s name caught Jacques off guard; Aimory lost no time in placing his large hands in the middle of Jacques’s chest and shoved him backward.

“Who is Angelique?” Eyreka knew instinctively something was wrong. Something dreadful had happened, or was about to happen, and it definitely concerned these two women. Who were they? Where were they? Would they be joining her husband soon? By Odin, did the man have two lemans?

Jacques turned toward her, hatred radiating from every pore in his body. “Ask your husband.” He turned, without bowing to her, and walked out of the room. His blatant show of dishonor hurt, but she would survive.

Eyreka had the eerie feeling that she was being watched, but when she turned around, no one was there. The echo of booted heels hitting the planked floor was the only indication that someone had been there.

She would learn to react more quickly; it would not do to be caught unaware. Shrugging her shoulders, she pushed the disturbing thought from her mind. The main goal she would strive for would be to get along with her husband’s men, even if it killed her.

*

“William!” Augustin called. The lean warrior bore little resemblance to the defeated-looking man who had faced him an hour before. He stood before him outfitted in a mailed shirt, slightly dented helm, and broadsword. But it was the determined look in the man’s eyes that reassured Augustin he had not made an error in judgment. William was a highly skilled warrior, someone to be wary of. All he had lacked was the confidence.

He then turned and nodded to Henri, the oldest and most experienced fighter in his guard. Henri stepped forward and nodded toward William. They stood slightly hunched over, sword arms extended, blades nearly touching. Henri struck first, hitting William with the flat of his blade against his good arm. The blow seemed to startle the younger man; he tensed and waited for the next blow.

Henri rained blow after blow, each time getting closer to his goal, William’s neck. But with each blow, William gripped his broadsword tighter in his left hand. When Henri moved in for the final blow, William brought his sword up with all of the strength he possessed, knocking Henri’s sword right out of his hands.

A hushed silence followed while the men stood eyeing one another. Finally Augustin spoke, “Well done, William. You shall begin training with your left arm immediately.” He turned and looked at his vassal, “Henri will work with you.”

At this the older man nodded. Augustin continued, “When William is ready, he can begin working with the pages. There is much they could learn from him.”

When Augustin turned back around, Jacques’s face was blazing in anger and Patrick seemed too pleased by Jacques’s reaction. Before Augustin or Garrick could prevent it, the two warriors were circling one another like rival dogs. The air surrounding them burned with the curses they flung at one another. “You have no right,” Patrick challenged, lunging at the other knight.

Jacques spun around, the speed and movement adding power to the blow he intended to level Patrick with. But Patrick sidestepped the brute force of the blow and countered with a wicked arcing movement.

Their moves were blurred by the speed with which they struck out at one another. The sharp sound of steel scraping against steel continued to ring through the bailey.

Garrick moved to stop the warriors, but Augustin grabbed onto his forearm and shook his head. They watched in silence as the two men fought. “They are out for blood,” Garrick sounded surprised.

“Did you think they intended to court one another?” Augustin countered.

“Nay, but Patrick knows how important the alliance is to my mother.” Garrick glared at the man standing at his side. A fleeting look of surprise flashed in the man’s eyes before they grew cold.

“I suspect there is more to this than either of us are aware,” Augustin ground out.

Patrick spun on the balls of his feet and double-handed his sword, adding to the power of his blow. Jacques stumbled and for a split second, grim awareness filled his eyes.

“Enough!” Augustin and Garrick bellowed simultaneously as Patrick’s blade sliced down and connected. The Norman warrior doubled over and fell to the ground, gripping his bloody thigh.

“Patrick!” Garrick’s tone brooked no argument, the warrior straightened and walked toward the fallen man.

“Why?” Garrick asked, nodding his head at the bleeding warrior.

The look of hatred that flashed in Patrick’s eyes lasted only a split second before a look of belligerence took its place. Garrick knew then that the only one who would get an answer out of the man was his vassal, MacInness. But MacInness was in the Highlands with two of his other trusted men and Garrick’s youngest brother.

“You will report to Ceredig at dawn, after you have finished outfitting all of our destriers with new shoes, you will muck out the stables.”

Patrick turned his head away. “Aye.”

Augustin chose to remain silent during their discussion. He would not intervene between Garrick and the other man yet. He would have been more harsh with the vassal, but time would tell whether or not the menial tasks would accomplish what a beating might not.

“Georges. Henri. Carry Jacques into the hall. My wife will be waiting to tend to his injuries.”

The black look that Jacques leveled at him nearly had him call the men back, but Augustin had appearances to maintain. He would speak to Jacques later. He would either get the truth out of the man, or tear a strip off his stubborn hide.

He turned to face Garrick. “Care to test your skill?”

Garrick’s face lost all expression. “Now?”

Augustin nodded.

He landed the first blow, but Garrick was quick to sidestep the next one. As he spun about, Augustin tried to catch him in the back of the knees with the flat of his blade, but Garrick jumped up in the air, the bottoms of his feet brushing across the broadsword as it swished through empty air.

It was Garrick’s turn to land a crushing blow. The shock of it had Augustin trying to steady himself, almost knocking him right off of his feet. He shifted his step to a wider stance and almost fell to his knees in pain as his left hip froze. He tried to cover the weakness by feinting to the right, drawing Garrick’s attention there.

Garrick’s eyes were narrowed in concentration; he did not seem to notice the weakness in his opponent. Augustin met him blade for blade. Garrick was a worthy adversary, fighting with the skill of a seasoned warrior. Augustin knew he would gladly have a warrior with Garrick’s level of skill fighting alongside him in battle.

Augustin took a step back away from Garrick, who was doubled over, leaning his elbows on his knees to catch his breath. Taking his helm from his head, Augustin shook the sweat from his eyes.

His page stood ready with a bucket of water. As the lad poured the cool water over Augustin’s head, he groaned aloud, “’Tis brutally hot today.”

Garrick drew in a sharp breath as the water sluiced over his sweat-drenched body. “Aye, mayhap you’d care to join me for a swim?” he offered.

Augustin raised an eyebrow in silent question, and Garrick laughed aloud, “Has my mother seen that look yet?”

“What look?” Augustin asked, confused.

“Never mind. The stream is just outside the walls.” Garrick paused, “You can take one of your men along for protection, if you feel the need.”

Augustin let the taunt slide off him, rather than acknowledge a direct hit to his ego. “You carry on like an old woman. Lead on.” He waved his hand. Though he wanted to get back to check on Jacques to see how his injury fared, Augustin knew he should be in capable hands. For Jacques’s sake, he hoped that Eyreka was as talented a healer as she claimed.