Page 150 of Laird of Steel
And while the French swordsman had a graceful and deadly style, he was no match for Gellir’s succinct efficiency.
Logan and his sister Jenefer went head to head, but their familial ties were their downfall. Their bout erupted in a shouting match, which ultimately led to casting aside their swords and wrestling in the dust. They were banned from any more matches.
Merraid next had to face her new Rivenloch brother, Brand, who had no qualms about sparring with a lass. Indeed, some said he secretly disliked the whole notion of women warriors and was always eager to disabuse them of the notion that maids should wield blades. It was no easy task standing up to his relentless blows. He was cut from the same mold as Gellir, and he was just as devoted to swordsmanship.
But Feiyan had been right. Merraid knew a few maneuvers Brand could not anticipate. By the end of their bout, though she was covered in dust and gasping with effort, she finally managed to use his strength against him, flipping him to the ground and holding the point of herjianat his throat.
Gellir next fought against the great Morgan Mor mac Giric, Jenefer’s husband. As broad-shouldered as Gellir was, the enormous Highlander was two hands wider. But in the end, Gellir proved the bigger they were, the harder they fell. When Morgan stumbled backward and hit the ground with a thud, Gellir moved in to force the surrender.
In the other matches, Deirdre and Pagan warred against each of the Moorish brothers. Colban fought an Italian knight. Dougal was matched with a grizzled old Highlander. And Colin and Rand crossed blades. Merraid didn’t see who won.
Her last bout was with Tian, Miriel’s son and Feiyan’s brother, who had also trained under the great master, Sung Li. There was no fooling him. And yet she found a certain satisfaction in sparring with someone who knew the movements so well. Their match was graceful. Lithe. Quick.
In the end, however, his reach won the day. She was forced to draw near to make contact, which left her vulnerable. When she strayed too close, he popped her sword from her grip in the blink of an eye, caught it in his free hand, and crossed the blades at her neck in victory.
It was hard to be upset. He was an amazing fighter. And their match had been fun. She yielded with a smile.
Retiring from the field, she watched as Gellir faced three more opponents.
One was his own father. Merraid noticed that a few times, he let Pagan have an advantage he hadn’t earned, just to keep the match going. It was a kind and diplomatic gesture.
The second was his sister Hallie’s husband, Colban. Raised in the Highlands, he had a rough fighting style, but Gellir was accustomed to defending against it. The match was short. Gellir emerged victorious.
His final bout was with the unknown lance-breaker from the joust. The man was equally as talented with a blade. His was a curious style all his own—a mixture of bold attacks and sly defenses. He was at once as strong as a bull and nimble as an acrobat.
Gellir had difficulty countering his ever-changing tactics, but eventually he wore the man down. When he staggered onto one knee, Gellir rushed in to flatten him.
With that final decisive blow, the king arose.
“We are pleased to announce the grand champion of the tournament is Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch.”
A huge cheer arose, and garlands of flowers were tossed onto the field by spectators. Gellir waved once, acknowledging the praise. But then, with perfect chivalry, he helped the unknown knight to his feet, and Merraid’s heart swelled with pride.
This was the man she’d married.
Sir Gellir Cameliard of Rivenloch might be a tournament champion. But he didn’t live for warfare and glory. He lived to defend the helpless. To be strong for the weak. To protect the innocent and punish the guilty. He lived for the honor of serving others.
Her throat thickened as she gazed at her noble knight. The hero she’d carried in her heart all those years. The one she’d loved forever.
Now that she’d finally found him the perfect match, nothing could temper the way she felt about him.
Until he called out to the king. “Your Grace, I should like to make one more challenge.”
The crowd cheered.
“Another?” the king said, laughing. “To whom?”
“To my bride.”
The crowd gasped.
Merraid had forgotten their wager. She’d made that threat to toss Gellir into the dust mostly in jest. After all, he was a seasoned champion, and this was her first tournament. Her remark and the wager had been only a bit of boastful prattle.
Did he seriously mean to fight her?
“What say you, Lady Merraid?” asked the king. “Will you take up his challenge?”
What choice did she have? All of Rivenloch was watching. The warrior maids. Her teacher Feiyan. The king. Everyone wanted to see an epic battle between a man and his wife.
