Chapter Twelve

Warriors and Gentlemen

It was safe to say that tonight hadn't gone as planned and, to a degree, I had only myself to blame.

I'd been enjoying myself, teasing Nicolo and exercising control over him. The truth was, I'd enjoyed that control so much, I hadn't given him a release—even though he'd asked for one more than once. I just couldn't seem to stop, didn't want to see the end, not when I cherished being in control of him.

Not only had I denied Nicolo, but I'd also failed to do the job—and this opportunity might be one to never raise its head again.

I had to assume it was because I'd denied Nicolo his own release so many times, but he didn't look at all happy as he pulled on his jerkin, covering the arresting bulge that stretched out the front of his breeches as he buckled on his sword belt.

"Come on!"

Hurriedly, I tugged on my own clothes, not bothering with the leather vest I wore over my tunic because time was of the essence. I threw on my breeches and leaving my hose, struggled to put thoughts of what might have been (and almost had been) out of my mind. We rushed out to join our comrades, who were already defending themselves against an unseen enemy coming out of the night.

"Report!" barked Nicolo.

"They came out of nowhere, Master," Whitethorn replied. "Don't know how many there are, but I know they've got bows."

"Hunker down," Nicolo ordered. "No sense getting ourselves shot. Make them come and get us."

Another commander might have ordered his men to attack, but Nicolo was smarter than that, and perhaps cared more about the lives of his men. If Wylder wanted us, then he would have to come and get us. And he definitely wanted us, because if this wasn't settled now, then we'd just keep coming for him.

There were a few more thuds as arrows impacted into the debris of construction behind which we were hiding, and then a lull as Wylder's men realized we weren't coming out.

"They're considering what to do next," muttered Nicolo. He seemed to have put the events of a few minutes ago behind him, although I noticed him adjusting the front of his jerkin uncomfortably more than once. The encounter was out of his mind, but other parts of his body were slower to let it go. And I was fairly sure he winced during a few of the times he adjusted himself.

It was then that I remembered learning that a man brought to the brink of release but then denied that release would experience pain in his ‘walnuts' as I liked to call them. Hmm, I hadn't meant to cause Nicolo any pain and if such was what he was now experiencing, I had a feeling he wouldn't be very happy with me.

The sudden danger certainly helped me focus, but I still felt a raw emptiness in my stomach. So close, I'd come so close. I could have not only taken Nicolo out, but I could have done so while still keeping my maidenhead intact. I wasn't sure why that was even a thought, given the fact that I'd most likely lose it to the next target the Guild saddled me with. Yet, there was a more romantic part of me that hoped I would lose my virginity to a man I loved. Silly, yes, but even a trained assassin had moments of weakness, I supposed.

Suddenly, out of the darkness beyond the flickering campfire we'd built earlier, shadowy figures charged us, swords gleaming in the firelight.

"On my word!" yelled Nicolo.

They might have been trying to lure us out into arrow-range.

As the attackers leapt over the piles of timber and shaped stone, Nicolo gave the word and our party came up fighting, driving the attackers back. I found myself face to face with a hulking individual who looked at me as if he couldn't believe his luck, probably owing to the fact that in the moonlight, you could clearly see my shape beneath my tunic. His expression soon changed as we crossed blades and he realized I knew what I was doing, and what I lacked in strength, I made up for in speed.

"You're never going to beat them down," Mistress Paulette had explained. "So, prick them into submission. A jab here, a jab there. You are a wasp. You hurt them while remaining unhurt yourself. It will infuriate your adversary into careless mistakes."

She was quite right; the oaf of a man became more and more frustrated as my blade nicked him here and there, while his big swings failed to find me and, all the while, he couldn't tear his gaze away from my breasts. Hmm, that was an unexpected benefit and one I'd have to consider for my next fight—simply strip in order to throw off the enemy's attention—at least, if the enemy is a man.

Wylder's men outnumbered us, but we were in a better position and we boasted the best of the King's Guard plus Nicolo and myself—we out-skilled them and were soon driving them back.

I saw the grim intent in Nicolo's eyes. He wanted to drive them all the way back to their master. That was who he wanted; Duke Wylder. His anger at the treacherous noble was written across his face.

"Master Nicolo!" The voice was strong enough to carry over the sounds of the fight and the two sides separated.

"What do you want, Wylder?" replied Nicolo, calling into the darkness that still shrouded the duke. "Surrendering?"

"Hardly the way of a warrior."

"Nor is hiding behind your men."

Now I saw Wylder, stalking out of the darkness, sword drawn. He strode forward, his irate expression a match for Nicolo's.

"I'll not put my men at risk out of misplaced pride," he said. "They all feel obligated to protect the old man and I don't want them to die defending me."

"Then give yourself up," Nicolo said plainly. "You know I won't let you go."

Wylder held Nicolo's gaze, strong and unafraid. "You are on the wrong side of this, Nicolo. One day you'll realize it. Though I doubt I'll live to see that day, most unfortunately."

"A man can live a long time in the castle dungeons," replied Nicolo on a shrug of indifference. "And it will seem so much longer."

Wylder gave a half-smile. "I don't doubt it."

"Call this what it is, Wylder, you have lost. Give up and perhaps I'll go easy on you."

But Wylder's expression was still as reserved as was Nicolo's. "I don't intend to surrender, yet if we keep fighting, then I will lose good men and so will you," Wylder continued. "Why don't we put an end to it—just the two of us? You and I, as warriors and gentlemen."

"A duel?" Nicolo asked and a note of interest sounded in his voice.

"To the death," nodded Wylder. "Does that satisfy you?"

Nicolo nodded. "It'll do."

At a sign from the duke, his men backed off.

"Stand down," said Nicolo, and the King's Guard stepped back, though I saw a look pass between Nicolo and Whitethorn, and the sergeant gave a barely perceptible nod.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Nicolo cut me off before I could even begin.

"I know you're not about to question my order."

I paused. "There's risk," I started.

"I am fully aware of the risk," said Nicolo, firmly.

It wasn't just his own life at stake, it was the prince's. That was what Wylder was banking on. Perhaps he rated his own chances pretty slimly, he wasn't the young buck he'd once been, but if he could get in one lucky hit, he could kill Nicolo which would mean he'd kill the prince, eventually.

It wasn't like Nicolo to risk Balduin's life, but he was angry, and he'd been challenged as a warrior and a gentleman, and I sure as hell couldn't stop him. And, certainly, if he were killed, it would make my job that much easier.

The two men faced off, swords bared, eyes locked, then, in a flash, they went for each other, Wylder lunging and Nicolo forced to back off and parry the thrust away. Their blades clashed, they came together, broke, met again, threw each other off and exchanged blows. A vicious slash from Wylder made Nicolo spring back and he replied with an overhead that sliced through the duke's leonine mane of hair.

"That's why I grew it," Wylder joked, grimly. "Better than a helmet."

If they'd been on equal terms, it would have been a very close fight, as it was, it was a closer one that I could have anticipated. All the youthful energy, all the speed and stamina was on Nicolo's side. He had strength too, but was surprisingly well-matched in that department by Wylder, whose strength was of a different sort, more solid and heavy, the strength of an ox versus that of a jungle cat.

Both men were equally skilled with the blade, but Wylder did have the edge of experience that came with age. The wily old campaigner had learned in battle rather than on the practice field, and what you learned in battle, more than anything else, was how not to die. They might both have the same levels of skill, but Wylder had learned to use it better, his style was economical (another thing that came with age; you didn't do more than you had to), he understood there were no rules as there might be in a polite court duel—if you had to stab your opponent in the foot to get the win, that was what you did.

Wylder fought like a man with nothing to lose, while I was quite sure Nicolo always had Balduin at the back of his mind. When Wylder's sword came a hair's breadth from Nicolo's throat, I saw the realization in the master's eyes that this might have been ill-judged on his part. He hadn't given the older man a chance, but all it took was one slip. And with the fate of Balduin on his mind, suddenly Nicolo started fighting more defensively, letting Wylder push him.

But though he was cautious and compromised by the knowledge of what was at stake, Nicolo was still Nicolo. He might have let Wylder have more chances than he should have, but the older man couldn't get through Nicolo's guard, the master was too quick, too sure-footed, too agile. In the end, it was that youthful athleticism that saw Nicolo through, spotting his moment and striking, sweeping the older man's legs so Wylder went to the ground, then treading on his wrist so the sword dropped from Wylder's hand. Nicolo leveled the point of his blade to Wylder's throat.

Hatred snarled across Wylder's face, then vanished in a rueful smile.

"I gave you a fight of it, damn you."

"You did, at that," acknowledged Nicolo. "I hope I'm half the fighter you are when I reach your age."

But Wylder shook his head. "You'll never reach it, son. That ‘friend' of yours won't allow it. You don't see it now, but the day will come. You're much better than he is and that's the reason he won't allow you to live."

Nicolo said nothing, but I saw the contempt in his eyes. He didn't accept a word of it and wouldn't be thrown off by the older man.

Wylder let his hands drop to his sides and raised his chin to bare his throat. "Make it clean."

Nicolo didn't move. "If I kill you, then another will take your place."

Wylder smiled. "And another and another."

"All of them friends of yours, no doubt."

"And one of them will take out your damned prince," agreed Wylder. "You can't stop it."

Nicolo lowered his blade. "Can I not?"

"Father!"

The cry came from behind me and I turned around to see Whitethorn and two of the guards holding a woman and a pair of boys with knives to their throats.

One look at Wylder's face as he lurched up and off the ground told me who these people were; his wife and children.

"What are you doing?" Wylder demanded.

Nicolo shrugged. "I should have thought that was obvious. I'm taking your family hostage."

"What good will that…?"

"If I kill you," Nicolo interrupted, "then I have rid the Gath of one traitor. But, as you say, there are plenty more. All friends of yours. So now it's up to you." He glared down at Wylder. "Your family will be safe and secure in the Great Castle, so long as all attempts on the prince's life cease. But if you, or any one of your treacherous allies makes a move against Prince Balduin, then I will personally slit their throats." He paused to let this information sink into the horrified Wylder. "I assume I can trust you to spread the word."

"You damned bastard!" Wylder spat into Nicolo's face. "You call yourself a gentleman?!"

Nicolo shrugged. "I'm a loyal servant of his Highness and there is nothing I won't do to keep him safe." He took a breath. "Besides, a man who employs assassins should be careful how he uses the word ‘gentleman'." He turned to Whitethorn. "Take them away."

Even I was shocked, and I tried to block out the cries of Wylder's wife and children as the guards dragged them off. But the look on Wylder's face was worse, it was as if his world had caved in on top of him. He levelled his gaze at Nicolo once more.

"When I come for you, expect no mercy."

Nicolo shook his head. "I never do. Regardless, you're stripped of your title and banished from the Gath. If you are found within the Castle Complex then… Well, I don't have to tell you the consequences, do I?"

Wylder's head dropped to his chest, a broken man. He'd lost everything that mattered to him and his cause lay in tatters. If he or anyone else moved against Balduin now, then the lives of his family were forfeit. Rather than working to take down the prince, he was now forced to spend time begging everyone he knew to cancel their own crusades.

"Come on," Nicolo instructed as he walked past me, turning his back on former Duke Wylder. "We've a long ride ahead of us."

The stories of ‘The Unbreakable' came back to me on the ride home. I'd dismissed many of them as rumor and hearsay, but now I'd seen firsthand just how ruthless he could be when the situation demanded it.

I couldn't help but wonder if this whole thing had been fueled by his own selfishness. After all, Nicolo's own survival depended on Balduin and so he'd protected himself by protecting his friend. He'd done what it took. It was a sort of bloodless pragmatism that made me question everything I knew about the man and everything I unwillingly felt for him, further confusing my already confused emotions.

***

And yet…

When we returned to the Great Castle, Nicolo took charge of the family of Duke Wylder, leading them, not to the dungeons, but to the Lay House, the same building where I lived. They were to be treated as guests, not prisoners and, though they would be under constant guard and locked in their rooms by night, Nicolo laid out terrible consequences for any guard who mistreated them in any way. His words would be obeyed, because everyone knew what he was capable of.

Nothing was ever simple with Master Nicolo, he remained a complex and enigmatic man. He had taken harsh measures to protect his friend, but he wouldn't treat the Wylder family harshly just because he could. He had simply done what was needed.

Did that make him a good person? Or did it make him even more dangerous?