Chapter Twenty

R ain pelted the earth, turning the ground beneath his feet into a muddy trap and, yet, still the games went on. Reynard swung his sword at this opponent waiting for an opportunity to win the match. But Morcant was a challenging adversary and was not making it easy for Reynard to achieve his goal. But he refused to give up as he continued his assault.

His arm grew tired, not that he would allow such a weakness to cause him to fail. He drew on his inner strength that had previously seen him through sheer exhaustion when he was on a battlefield. There had been no time for weakness at Lincoln or Winchester and he would be damned if he would allow his body to fail him now! Not when everything depended on him being named Elysande's champion at the end of the games.

He shoved his helmet from his head when it became more of a hindrance than a help whilst the rain continued to restrict his eyesight. He had been certain the empress would cease the games for the day with such a torrential downpour but so far, she continued to applaud those who became victorious whilst she sat beneath a canopy that kept her and those who sat with her dry.

The wind suddenly whipped up causing one corner of the makeshift protection to fall. Water cascaded off to the side causing a river to form upon the ground. Reynard became distracted as he watched the empress and Elysande rush to stand. A piercing jab slid between the chinks of his chainmail beneath his tabard causing Reynard to fall in the mud to one knee.

"You should not let your emotions show so clearly on your face, Norwood. 'Twill be your downfall." Morcant sneered, lifting up his sword as he claimed the match.

Reynard regained his feet. Despite the wound that caused his side to burn, he would continue his fight with his foe. He swung his blade over and over again in a move that his brothers had taught him in their youth. No one in his past could handle such an onslaught as he continued to hack away at the man before him. His arm moved swiftly, and the action caught Morcant completely unaware considering he had thought Reynard was defeated. His eyes went wide when he stumbled and fell into the mud below Reynard's feet. Reynard pointed his blade at Morcant's neck.

"Yield," he ordered through the rain pounding on their bodies.

"Nay! I yield nothing to you or any other who thinks he is man enough to beat me," Morcant bellowed, rising up onto his elbows.

Reynard nicked Morcant's skin for emphasis. "The fact that my sword is at your neck is reason enough to end your fighting for the day. Yield," he repeated and waited for Morcant's reply.

"You bloody whoreson. Aye! I yield," Morcant swore and at last rose to his feet once Reynard pulled back his sword and placed the blade in the scabbard at his side. "Just remember what the morrow may bring. I will not yield again so easily."

Reynard gave a sigh of relief when he heard the empress announce that the games were at an end for the day due to the inclement weather. She began to descend from the raised platform along with Beatrix and her other ladies-in-waiting. Elysande's descent was slower as if she waited for him. He searched the ground for his helmet and once found, he picked it up and began to slowly make his way toward Elysande. He did not wish to alarm her but he must needs get to the tent he had had erected near the games in order to inspect the wound Morcant had inflicted.

He held his side until a quick look at his gauntlet confirmed his worst fears… the wound would most likely need stiches.

"You are bleeding," Elysande cried out as she took hold of his hand. She traced the metal gauntlet with her fingertips.

"So 'twould appear," he fumed, knowing Morcant would have been victorious if Reynard hadn't found the strength to carry on the match.

"Your tent is nearby?" she asked as she took his arm and placed it over her shoulder, as if this tiny woman would have the strength to keep him upright.

"Aye. Hopefully Blake, Oswin, Kingsley, or even Richard witnessed my injury and are already inside preparing what might be needed to treat the wound."

"The cur! Lord Gerold should be banned from any further participation," she complained angrily. "By the empress's edict, these games are not supposed to draw blood."

Reynard gazed down to look at the lady. Those blue orbs were filled with unshed tears as though his injury pained her. Bless her heart… "Not everyone plays by the rules, Elysande, no matter who makes them."

He led the way to his tent, fumbling with the rope holding the entrance closed. At last, it gave way and they were able to enter his humble dwelling. Since this was only a temporary place to rest his head during the games, there was not much inside. A pallet to lay down upon, a small table with a stool and a small fire that somehow had remained lit despite the constant sound of dripping water as it hit the embers from the opening above in the roof.

He plopped down on the stool and she quickly looked into the two pitchers placed on the table. One contained wine and the other water for washing that he had set out to be at the ready upon his return. She poured wine into a goblet and handed it to him. She found a cloth and brought the pitcher of water to the edge of the table.

"Let me help you get your chainmail off since your friends have not made it here as yet," she offered taking the wine from his hands.

"You probably should not be here alone with me, especially given that I am about to disrobe," he said quietly even though he watched her every move intently.

"I have seen more of you during the wrestling matches than I see of you now."

A frown briefly formed on his brow, wondering if she had ever had to assist with bathing guests in her parents' household. It was a custom that usually went to the lady of the castle but Elysande had been managing on her own for who knows how long.

"And have you seen many men without their clothing?" he asked, only realizing after the words emerged that he had voiced his concerns aloud.

A snort left her. "Your wits must be addled from your injury to ask such a question."

He shrugged. "'Tis common enough in most cases."

Her eyes widened as though she suddenly figured out where his thoughts had taken him. She began yanking his tabard from his chest. "Do not allow such foolish notions to enter your mind, Reynard. And no… I did not perform such a function at Blackmore for any male guests that came to my keep."

Relief washed over him. When she bid him to lean forward, he did his best to oblige her orders. Once the heavy chainmail was removed, a gasp escaped her as she gently pulled at the padding that had protected his skin against the metal links.

"'Tis worse that I thought," she murmured as she lifted the linen to see beneath it. "Pull this off, too, so I can see how deep your wound truly is."

"Morcant knew where to inflict the injury without puncturing my lung." He grimaced when her fingers touched his skin.

"Lucky for you the scoundrel did not push any deeper or you and I might not be having this conversation," she replied with a frown between her brows. "I am going to need thread and a needle for this surely must be stitched."

Before another word could be spoken between them, Richard opened the flap of the tent. Reynard could only image what his friend was thinking, considering Elysande was kneeling between his legs whilst he was bare above the waist.

"What is going on here?" Richard asked stepping into the tent with Blake following close behind.

Elysande jumped to her feet whilst a becoming blush rushed across her cheeks. "Sir Reynard has been hurt and the wound will need stitches," she informed them, stepping out of the way when Richard came forward and began his own inspection of the wound.

Richard tossed Reynard a glare, and Reynard shot one back in return. His friend should have known Reynard did not have the strength to dally with a woman whilst a gaping hole was in his side. Richard looked up over his shoulder to Elysande. "The empress has asked for you in the great hall, Lady Elysande. Sir Blake will see you inside."

"But Reynard's wound," she began only for Richard to stand and take her hand, leading her toward the exit of the tent.

"I will personally see to the wound and ensure no fever sets in, my lady," Richard said coaxing a smile from Elysande's lips.

"You shall let me know if he becomes ill?" she asked full of concern.

"He will be well, my lady. Now go and attend our empress before she becomes impatient," Richard declared whilst he gave a nod to Blake to escort the lady back to the castle.

Once they left, Richard returned and took out the necessary items from his cloak to see to Reynard.

"I suppose 'tis best that I take care of this for you instead of your lady," Richard chided with a hint of censorship to his voice.

"Her needlework would have probably been… neater than what you are about to do to me," Reynard answered, reaching for his wine and taking a huge gulp. Once the needle entered his flesh, he grimaced and took another long pull. He would have preferred Elysande's gentle ministrations to what Richard was currently performing. At least then Reynard would have had someone pleasing to look upon.