Page 37 of Alliance Bride
Their wooden swords crashed together in a blur of strikes and parries, the sharp crack of wood ringing out. Unlike the earlier matches, this fight seethed with hostility. Each blow was meant to wound and humiliate, not just to win. The fight appeared even at first, each woman matching the other’s strength and speed. Yet, the differences soon became clear. Heida remained calm andcomposed, measuring each strike, while Oda fought with raw anger, her movements sharper and less controlled.
With a furious yell, Oda lunged, but Heida sidestepped, shield up, letting Oda’s momentum carry her off balance. Then, in a smooth, brutal motion, Heida slammed her shield into Oda’s, catching her square in the face. Blood blossomed from Oda’s lip.
She howled in rage and attacked wildly, but Heida was ready. She parried, dodged, and waited. As soon as Oda’s anger burned itself out, Heida pressed in until the other woman stumbled. Losing her footing, she fell to her knees. Before she could rise, Heida pressed her sword to Oda’s chest, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
Heida said something low and harsh before turning her back on her defeated opponent. As she strode from the ring, she exchanged a nod with Aevar. Eadlyn wasn’t sure what it communicated, but they both appeared pleased. Behind her, Oda threw down her shield and sword with a clatter and stalked away, blood dripping from her chin.
Aevar clapped Erik on the shoulder, the weight of another victory settling between them with easy pride. His brother had yet to lose a single bout, proving not only his strength but his worthiness as a future king. Hopefully, the gods granted their father many more years on the throne, but it was good for Erik to carve his place now.
With Erik’s match finished and Braan still locked in a bout with one of his future brothers-in-law, Aevar was up. He lifted hisshield, adjusted his grip on the worn wooden sword he had chosen, and stepped into the ring. He searched the crowd, not looking for just anyone. Heida had handled Oda. Now it was his turn to answer the insult dealt that morning.
He raised his voice above the murmur. “I challenge Sig Sigvidsson.”
A ripple passed through the spectators. Conversations fell into a tense hush, as if everyone sensed this bout was not just for sport. Across the ring, a pair of men stepped aside to reveal Sig, grinning like a wolf scenting blood. He swaggered forward, and Aevar let the tension coil in his limbs. He would end that grin soon enough.
Aevar raised his shield and braced himself. As the one challenged, Sig would strike first. However, he took his time, strolling a few paces closer and sweeping the crowd before locking on Eadlyn.
“You sure you want your new wife seeing this? She might wonder if there were better warriors she could’ve married.”
Aevar snorted. “What she’ll see is me putting a loud-mouthedfíflin the dirt where he belongs.”
Sig’s smile faltered, rage flaring in its place as he sprang. Aevar caught the blow on his shield, and the jarring impact jolted up his arm. He answered with a quick swing of his sword, striking Sig’s exposed ribs. Not a hard hit, but enough to sting. Laughter bubbled from the sidelines, and that would wound Sig deeper than the blow.
They circled, boots grinding into the churned dirt. Sig attacked repeatedly, but his strikes were sloppy, his shield drooping as frustration ate at him. Aevar let him wear himself out, conserving his own strength. When the next opening came, Aevarstruck with a jab to the chest that sent Sig stumbling back with a grunt.
Reckless now, Sig tried to shoulder into him with a wild roar. Aevar sidestepped and tripped him with a sweep of his sword. When Sig crashed into the dirt, Aevar planted a boot against his chest to keep him down. Pressing the tip of his blade into the hollow of Sig’s throat, he leaned in close enough to see the rage and humiliation battling in the man’s eyes.
“Stay away from my wife,” Aevar growled low enough only Sig would hear, “or the next time you face my blade it will be a real one.”
He gave a slight push with the sword, making Sig wheeze, before straightening and turning away. The crowd erupted around him, voices blending into a rough, roaring cheer. Erik and Kian were grinning as he approached, yet his gaze drifted to Eadlyn. She stood near Ranvi, a smile blooming on her face, something unexpectedly proud and fierce.
But then her expression shifted. Her eyes went wide, her mouth parting in alarm.
A shout tore from somewhere nearby. “Look out!”
Instinct roared through Aevar. He spun around. Sig charged at him, sword raised high. It slammed into the side of Aevar’s head. Pain exploded in his skull. The world tilted. He staggered but forced his body to obey, raising his shield to block the next vicious blow.
Hot, blinding fury crashed through him. The roar in his ears was no longer the crowd. He wrenched Sig’s sword aside, their shields colliding with bone-shuddering force. This was no competition now. This was a fight for honor. Sig fought like a corneredanimal, wild and dirty. Aevar dodged the clumsy swings and drove him back step by step.
With a crack that rang across the ring, Aevar slammed his sword into Sig’s knee. Sig let out a strangled curse, but Aevar was already following with a jab to his stomach, cutting off his breath. Sig stumbled, shield sagging. Aevar knocked it out of his hands and sent it spinning to the dirt. Discarding his own shield, Aevar gripped his sword two-handed and advanced.
He struck again and again until Sig struggled to raise his sword fast enough. Then Aevar landed a vicious blow to his ribs that made him cry out and crumple to his knees. Sig gasped, dropping his sword and holding his side. He raised his hand in weak surrender. Aevar stood over him, chest heaving. Every muscle screamed to strike again, to make him stay down, but he forced the urge away. Let everyone see Sig shamed like this. Broken, bleeding, beaten.
Without a word, Aevar turned his back. Something trickled into his eye. He swiped it away with his wrist and scowled when his hand came away slick with red. Around him, voices swelled—Erik, Kian, his mother—all speaking and reaching for him at once. He tried to brush them off, not needing their fussing, but Erik grabbed the back of his head to hold him still and peered at the wound.
“Looks worse than it is,” he pronounced, clapping him on the shoulder.
Móthir fretted about getting it cleaned, but Aevar barely heard her. His attention had already found Eadlyn again. Her face was pale as she eyed the trail of blood, yet she held herself steady, not appearing to grow weak at the sight of it like some womenmight. He met her eyes, and in them he found genuine concern. Perhaps only because their newly formed alliance could so easily collapse, but something told him it was more than that.
Strangely moved, he offered her the reassurance he had not given anyone else. “I’m fine.”
Eadlyn waited until most of the guests were well into their cups before excusing herself for the night. Hopefully, this way, no one noticed her early departure and started to whisper. Aevar’s family did not seem to mind, but she didn’t want to stir any gossip that might suggest she didn’t respect the hard work and traditions of the Gathering.
Closing the door behind herself and muting the commotion from the hall, she let out a breath and yawned. Though she had not taken part in any of today’s competitions, simply watching had exhausted her. Especially the bout between Aevar and Sig. Her stomach still knotted at the memory of Sig attacking while Aevar’s back was turned. A blow like that might have killed him.
She changed into the heavy linen shift she’d been sleeping in and wrapped a thick shawl around her shoulders. Gently, she opened her Scripture pages to where she’d left off before Aevar came in last night. He had appeared to be enjoying the night with his brothers and Kian, so she didn’t expect to see him againuntil morning.
But not ten minutes later, the door opened, and he slipped inside. Last night he’d come to check on her. What might have brought him in early tonight?
