Page 149 of Laird of Steel
Lady Miriel slipped around her left side, arching a dark, slender brow. “Youdohave a sharp sword though, aye?”
Merraid nodded, touching the hilt of thejianFeiyan had given her.
Lady Helena crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at Merraid and giving her a grim smile. “Unleash hell, lass.”
Nodding brief salutes, they left. With their blessing, Merraid felt ready.
There was only one other warrior from whom she wished to hear.
As if she’d summoned him with her thoughts, Gellir murmured from behind her, “Be sure to save your strength.”
“For the melee?”
“Nay,” he said, whispering against her ear. “For the bedchamber.”
His words sent a thrill through her. But she had no intention of holding back in the fighting.
“Not a chance,” she told him. “I’ve waited four years for this. I’m goin’ to leave it all on the tournament field. We have a lifetime o’ lovemakin’ ahead of us. Ye can bed me when ye recover from the arse-kickin’ I’m about to give ye.”
He chuckled at that. “Arse-kicking? You think so?”
“Aye.” She’d defeated him before. She could do it again.
“Shall we make a wager on that?” He lowered half-hooded eyes to her lips.
She gulped. Faith, she hoped he wouldn’t look at her like that when the tournament began. It would completely ruin her concentration.
“What kind o’ wager?”
“We’ll spar,” he murmured. “And whoever wins reigns in the bedchamber tonight.”
His breath sent a shiver through her. But she dared not let him distract her. “Fine.”
“Good luck.”
He departed with a glance meant to fire her blood. And it worked. Far too well.
Thankfully, the king arrived at that moment to take his place on the throne erected in the stands. There was a grand cheer, clapping, and stomping as Malcolm waved to the crowd. And as he announced the beginning of the tournament, Merraid forgot all about her tempting husband.
Merraid didn’t compete in the events on horseback. She’d never ridden a horse. But it was exhilarating to watch the knights joust on their destriers, riding full-tilt at each other. To hear the thunder of hooves. The creak of the tack. The crack of the lances.
Gellir was the best of all of them, of course. Riding a destrier unfamiliar to him, he still charged along the fence with a bold aggression that intimidated his opponents and took her breath away. He unseated every man he met, even the unidentified knight who’d broken the lances of all his former challengers.
There was a break for bread and ale. And then the archery began.
Merraid had never fired a bow, so she contented herself with observing as contestants from near and far took aim at the ringed target. A warrior from Cathay shot with a jeweled bow. Two Moorish brothers used arrows with exotic feathers. A mystery archer in a green hood and a mask inspired murmurs of speculation, firing arrow after arrow in quick succession. And a German knight bested nearly all of them, shooting with smooth precision.
But none of them, not even Gellir, could beat Jenefer of Rivenloch. Her bow seemed like a natural extension of her arm. Needing no preparation, she simply lifted her weapon and fired with ease and accuracy.
Another respite followed with food and drink. But Merraid ate little. She fought better with an empty belly. And the swordfighting was next.
To accommodate dozens of warriors, six bouts occurred simultaneously, weeding out the weakest fighters.
Merraid’s first two opponents were rather easy to defeat. They had never faced a woman in battle, so they were distracted by the novelty of it. They not only had to fight her. They had to fight their instinct not to harm ladies. She introduced them gently to the notion of defeat at the hands of a woman.
Meanwhile, Gellir battled against some of the foreign swordsmen. Even when one of the fighters from the Orient hacked at him with a wide, curved blade, he was able to knock it aside and swoop in with a shuddering blow from his trusty steel.
He jabbed the German after the man had tried to lop off his head, serving up a punishing poke to his arse that made him yelp in pain.
