Page 154 of Bride of Ice
The Highlanders had not fared well in the tournament. Their claymores were a valuable weapon in warfare, where a single blow could lay a foe low. But in sparring, where killing was not the goal, they lacked the finesse and recovery to maintain ongoing combat.
Laird Morgan managed to land a hard first blow to the shield of The Sable Knight, one that made him stagger backwards. But while he prepared for a second attack, the knight swept in with his sword, doling out three blows of his own.
Again, Laird Morgan swung his claymore. This time, The Sable Knight ducked under the blade, and it swished through empty air, throwing Morgan off balance. Rather than let him recover, the knight planted his saboton in Morgan’s hindquarters and shoved him farther. Morgan tripped and fell on one knee, but to his credit, he recovered and came up with his blade swinging.
Hallie narrowed her eyes at The Sable Knight. She got the distinct impression he was toying with Morgan. He could have dispatched him easily. But he preferred to prolong the match, which was quickly becoming more brawl than battle, as the two men used their elbows and knees to shove each other. Just like two brothers, Hallie realized.
No sooner did she have that thought than the match ended. The Sable Knight, apparently tiring of the match, snagged the hilt of Morgan’s claymore with his sword, sending the heavy blade sailing in an almost graceful arc across the field. Then he used his shield to knock Morgan to the ground.
Unarmed, Morgan yielded. Hallie expected The Sable Knight to gloat then and perhaps plant his foot on Morgan’s chest. Instead, he offered a hand to his fallen opponent, helping him to his feet. He even gave Morgan a humble nod, as if to say he’d been honored by the battle.
“That Sable Knight is quite good,” Hallie’s mother said as they broke for another respite.
Now only three Rivenloch fighters remained—Hallie, her mother, and her Aunt Helena. They discussed battle strategies as they sipped ale. By the chance of the draw, they might well be pitted against each other as opponents. But they all wantedsomeonefrom the Rivenloch clan to win the day.
“He might be good,” Helena snorted. “But did you see what he did to poor Sir Rauve? I’d like to wipe that cocky smirk off the lout’s face.”
“What face?” Deirdre said. “He hasn’t shown his face all day.”
Hallie broke in, eager to steer the conversation to other fighters. “The Sparrow seems dangerous.”
“Aye,” Deirdre agreed. “I suspect ’tis a woman.”
“Do you think?” Helena asked.
“Small, fast, clever,” Deirdre said. “Took Feiyan completely by surprise.”
Hallie nodded. It was hard to take Feiyan by surprise.
“And what about the Frenchman?” Helena asked.
“De Ware?” Hallie said. “I’d like to fight him.” The de Wares had almost as much notoriety in France as the Rivenlochs had in Scotland. It would be satisfying to defeat him.
In the following rounds, however, it was Helena who was paired with Sir Evrard de Ware, who unfortunately sent both her sword and shield flying.
Deirdre defeated The Sparrow, making sure afterwards to praise the knight’s great bravery and skill. There weren’t many lasses with the courage to take up the sword, and this one was worthy of respect.
The Sable Knight trounced the Flemish Sir Guillaume, cutting short the man’s flashy and flamboyant maneuvering with blunt force.
And with a distracting swipe of her shield and a strategic sweep of her sword, Hallie eliminated the last of the mac Giric warriors left in the tournament.
None of the finalists spoke during the next break. Now every warrior was truly on their own. No one could predict which of the four would be pitted against whom.
Hallie hoped she wouldn’t have to fight her mother. Though Hallie was younger and stronger, her mother could read her like a seer and anticipate her every move.
But the first two names Isabel drew were Hallie of Rivenloch and Sir Evrard de Ware, which pleased Hallie greatly. She wouldn’t mind putting the knight in his place after the drubbing he’d given her Aunt Helena.
It was easy to say. Not as easy to do. De Ware was strong and fast and clever. He made her defend herself at a breathtaking pace, hardly leaving room for attack.
Eventually, she managed to take the upper hand, mostly because she fought outside the bounds of polite French swordsmanship and relied on her wits, doing the unexpected. Her moment of victory came when she’d retreated, drawing his slashes far and wide, giving him the impression he was driving her against the fence, and then rolled forward suddenly in the dust to come up at his throat.
He took his defeat with good-natured grace, chuckling in amusement at her trickery and bowing deeply in her honor.
Then the contest between her mother and The Sable Knight began.
Their battle was intriguing, more like a contest of wills and wiles than a physical fight. Rather than coming at her with a forceful attack, he held back, as if testing her mettle. Laird Deirdre too withheld her fiercest blows, forcing him to take the lead. This went on for several moments as they circled, their blades making only occasional contact.
The crowd began to lose patience, calling out for the fighting to begin.
