Page 153 of Bride of Ice
Over two dozen matches followed, featuring warriors from all over Scotland and beyond. Among the contestants were a Nubian fighter of great renown, a Bavarian knight who claimed to be descended from the Huns, and a warrior from the infamous de Ware family from France. One unidentified combatant was even rumored to be an English knight who had stolen across the Border to compete.
The fighting was thrilling, full of as much mercy as ferocity and as much good will as good skill.
The Rivenloch clan claimed some victories. Hallie’s mother dispatched Jenefer’s father. Laird Morgan defeated Hallie’s father. Jenefer’s mother easily conquered Sir Johannes of Bamberg. Feiyan’s father sent Sir Morris of Stirling limping from the field. And Hallie left her Highland opponent, William of the mac Giric clan, in the dust.
Then Isabel announced the final two bouts of the first round—Sir Thomas of fighting Angus mac Ivey and Jenefer of Rivenloch fighting someone called The Sable Knight.
Hallie narrowed her eyes at her hotheaded cousin’s competition. The Sable Knight was her mystery man.
No longer wearing his hooded cloak, he was dressed in full armor and a helm that concealed his face. Neither his black tabard nor his shield bore insignia of any kind. But his height and bearing still convinced her it might be Colban.
As soon as The Sable Knight began fighting, however, she changed her mind. She’d seen Colban fight. It was nothing like this. Colban was a Highlander, accustomed to delivering the slow, deliberate blows of a two-handed claymore.
This man fought as if he’d been born with a longsword in his hand.
Despite Jenefer’s fierce attacks, The Sable Knight dodged them with a nimbleness uncommon for a man his size. He spun and thrust, countering her slashes with his shield, glancing them aside as if they were no more bothersome than Ian’s parchment birds.
Still, there was something so familiar about him. The way he lunged. The way he powered forward with his shoulders. The way he hesitated in a gesture of chivalry to let his opponent brace for the next volley. If it wasn’t Colban, it was someone with a hell of a lot of his mannerisms.
Jenefer eventually tired, and when, in angry exasperation, she overextended her blade, he rushed in close to disarm her. With the edge of his sword at her throat, she had no choice but to yield, spitting curses from inside her helm.
There was a brief respite for refreshments, and Hallie sipped at her watered ale, looking for the elusive Sable Knight. But he’d disappeared again.
The second round went more quickly. This time, Hallie was pitted against the Nubian warrior, Mashshouda. It was a tough battle. His technique was unusual, and he used his shield as a weapon just as much as his sword. But once she found his weakness—a lightness of foot that left him ungrounded—she swept him off his feet, winning the match and thanking him for a challenging skirmish.
The Sable Knight won again, this time against Sir Rauve. The stranger leveraged Sir Rauve’s own power against him, sending him tripping over his own blade more than once. When he downed him for the last time, he planted his boot on Rauve’s backside. The crowd found that more amusing than did Rauve, and Hallie longed to reward the Sable Knight’s cocky gesture with a humiliation of her own if they were matched in the next round.
Before the third round of matches, Laird Morgan, who’d advanced to the next level, approached Hallie. He nodded toward The Sable Knight, who stood on the far side of the field, inspecting his blade.
“Does that knight look familiar to ye?” Morgan asked.
Hallie pretended nonchalance. “Which one?”
“The man all in black.”
She pretended to study him. “Nay. Should he?”
Morgan shook his head. “He looks so much like—”
“Sir Dougal, aye?” Hallie quickly supplied, eager to distract Morgan. “The king’s man. Is it him? Do you think he would travel all the way here from Edinburgh to take part in the tournament?”
“Nay. I mean—”
“How exciting! Sir Dougal. Jenefer must be so thrilled.”
“Jenefer?” he asked with a frown. “She’s grumblin’. She lost in the first round, ye know.”
“Oh. Aye,” Hallie replied, just glad to be changing the subject. “But there’s still the melee. She loves the melee.”
Morgan didn’t reply, but narrowed his eyes once more at The Sable Knight. Then he shook his head.
Hallie breathed a sigh of relief when Isabel rang a bell to get everyone’s attention for the third round of matches and Morgan bowed in farewell.
Sixteen contestants remained. Of the five of the Rivenloch clan—Hallie, Feiyan, Deirdre, Helena, and Rand—only three survived to proceed to the next level. Sir Rand, Feiyan’s father, was defeated by a de Ware. And Feiyan fell victim to a small, quick fighter by the name of The Sparrow.
Hallie fought against Sir Thomas, scoring a narrow victory when she ducked under a particularly vicious blow and shoved him to the ground with her shield.
The last match was between Laird Morgan and The Sable Knight. Hallie held her breath as the two rivals faced each other. If that was Colban, Morgan would surely recognize him at once. They were practically brothers.
