Page 10 of A Bluestocking for the Wicked Duke
“Yield or die,” he said.
William felt the sting of the gash running through his arm like waves. He was entirely at the mercy of the Duke. But that didn’t matter to William; he would never stain his honour by yielding to an opponent, especially one winning under fortuitous circumstances.
“Never,” he screamed. “You would have to kill me first.”
He saw Duke Nicholas smile, his teeth a red colour due to his bloodied mouth.
“I would do that gladly,” he replied.
Duke Nicholas raised his sword; William braced himself for the lethal impact when he saw his mother throw herself on him, covering him from getting killed.
“It’s me. Nicholas, it’s me Henrietta.”
She had removed the shawl and scarf, leaving her face open for Duke Nicholas to see.
“He yields. He yields,” she screamed.
“Saved by his mother,” he said softly before turning around with hands raised in a gesture of victory.
William was shocked. He tried pushing his mother but he felt weak and the pain in his arm was too much. He felt a deep hurt that threatened to bring tears to his eyes when he saw the Duke walk back to his stewards with his hands raised.
It is better to die in a duel than to yield to the will of another man.
“I do not yield,” William screamed with incredible fury. He placed the palm of his other hand on the injury, trying to stem the bleeding as he attempted standing.
“I do not …..”
He had not shouted the second sentence when his mother slapped him with great force. He looked to her. That was the first time she would do something like that.
“If you don’t behave yourself William, I’ll repeat the feat,” she said, her eyes spitting fire.
The crowd erupted in unbridled furore. There were too many surprises, too many anomalies for the people not to be interested. William saw the crowd drawing closer. He could see Duke Nicholas on a horse, flanked by his second and the stewards. There was a mood of celebration everywhere. He tried standing up but his arm burnt like fire, the blood escaped unperturbed. William grunted as he forced himself to his feet.
“Lie down boy,” Duchess Henrietta said.
“No, I think I can …..”
William couldn’t finish the statement before slumping into Lord James’ hands. William looked into his friend’s face. There was fear written all over it. He felt Lord James raise him and put him on his shoulder. His head bobbed up and down as his friend ran with him to his horse.
“I think I can mount it, James,” William told his friend.
“No, you can’t,” Lord James replied as he pushed William on the horse.
William could feel his vision cloud. His head felt heavier. He tried opening his eyes but the lids refused his command.
*******
William woke up feeling dazed. His head was heavy but his eyelids were even heavier. After battling to open them for a few minutes, he had his eyes open. William looked around, he had been placed is in his room, on his bed. He tried to sit up but there was a sharp shooting pain that began from just before his wrist. William bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from crying out.
The memories of how he got here were stark and bitter.
How could I lose to Duke Nicholas Hardwater?
And how can a sword shatter in combat?
William bit down on his tongue, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to sit up despite the searing pain in his arm. His arm had been bandaged cleanly. William suspected he had been too unconscious to even feel the pain of the cleaning. He looked out of his window and saw that things looked normal. The gardener was cutting off some rebel branches while a steward was making small talk with him, obviously distracting him from what he was doing.
“Marcus, Marcus,” William shouted to the steward talking to the gardner.
