This Is All I Ask

In answer, Christopher lifted his lance.

  Colin called the start. Christopher was less than enthusiastic over the fact that he was facing Kendrick, but the whelp had been determined. Phillip he could have managed, but Kendrick was definitely more his father’s son in matters of warring. Even had he still possessed his sight, he might have been led to break a sweat unhorsing Artane’s son. Blinded, ’twas another matter entirely.

  “I’ll fetch some wine!” Colin bellowed.

  Wine in a cup in the right hand—Christopher hardly had to think about the signals anymore. He moved his lance immediately to the right and down.

  Christopher heard the impact before he felt it, and he definitely heard Kendrick’s hearty curses. He fancied he’d heard Robin’s gasp as well.

  “Again,” Colin called from the wall.

  “Damn,” Christopher muttered. He rode to the end of the lists and let the black turn them about on his own.

  “My lord, another lance,” one of his men said from his right.

  Christopher tossed aside the broken lance he held and grasped the new one. He balanced it in his hand and waited, feeling even less pleased about his immediate future than he had before the last pass.

  Colin called the start again. Christopher set his heels to his mount and the stallion leaped forward. He lowered his lance as if he could actually see where he intended it should go. Colin said nothing, so Christopher knew he was close to the mark.

  “Shield up!” Colin blurted out.

  Christopher lifted his shield higher but kept his lance trained where it had been. The impact almost knocked him from his horse.

  “By the saints!” Robin exclaimed.

  Christopher wheeled his mount around and waited for word.

  “He’s down!” Colin called, sounding inordinately pleased.

  Christopher turned his mount toward Colin’s voice and trusted the black to stop before he plowed into anyone, for he had no more stomach for concentrating.

  “Well done, Christopher!” Robin said.

  Christopher felt Robin take the reins. He dismounted while his ego was still intact. He found himself grasped by the shoulders and shaken vigorously. It had to be Robin doing the like. Only Robin would wrench him about as if he were again a lad of twelve summers.

  “Did you watch, Berkhamshire?” Robin demanded. “I trained this lad, you know. A bloody fine job I did, if you’re curious.”

  “I wasn’t,” Colin grumbled.

  Robin only laughed and gave Christopher another shake. “Saints, Christopher, but you’ve lost none of your skill. I couldn’t have chosen better for my son.”

  Christopher sighed. “A pity all he can do is watch me fight the air.”

  “’Tis enough,” Robin said. “I’m more than content with what he can learn with his eyes alone.”

  Christopher couldn’t help but feel relief at the praise, for there were times he truly wondered if Jason wouldn’t have been better off with someone else.

  “Aye,” Robin said, “you’ve made a fine showing this morn. And, Chris,” he added, his voice suddenly quiet, “I wouldn’t have known the difference, if I’d been a stranger to you and your trial.”

  Christopher felt a rush of pride sweep through him. There was no pity in Robin’s voice; there was only wonder and satisfaction. Perhaps it hadn’t been a wasted morn after all.

  “Thank you, my lord,” he said, just as softly. “I have trained hard to accomplish the feat.”

  “I’ve no doubt you have, lad.”

  “There are times I don’t succeed,” Christopher admitted.

  He heard Robin’s soft chuckle. “Well, lad, if the truth were to be told, there are times I don’t succeed either. But I tend not to speak overmuch of them.”

  “I shouldn’t think you would.”

  Robin only laughed. “Ah, Chris, I do miss you. Come, leave your mail behind and let us seek out your lady and pass the rest of our day pleasantly. We’ve had enough of warfare this morn. Here, careful that you don’t step on Kendrick.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Kendrick gasped. “What I need is a hand up, if you don’t mind.”

  “Ask your brother. Christopher and I are off to find his lady.”

  “Wait for me!” Kendrick called after them.

  “Can’t,” Robin called back cheerfully.

  Christopher smiled in spite of himself. “You have a cruel streak, my lord.”

  “Thank you,” Robin said, sounding as if he were smiling. “I do what I can to torment my children. They’ve already wrought their work on me. Now, where do you suppose your lady is keeping herself?”

  “The saints only know,” Christopher said, “but we’ll find her soon enough.”

  Though he doubted it could be soon enough. An ache welled up in his heart, a desire to see her that was suddenly so strong that it stole his breath. Saints, but he hadn’t passed enough of his time with Gillian. He’d hardly been able to, what with Kendrick and Phillip slobbering over her like hungry hounds. He frowned. Perhaps it was time Robin returned to Artane, before something happened to his heir and second son.

  • • •

  GILLIAN CAST A CAUTIOUS GLANCE ABOUT HER, THEN looked back at Jason. “You’re certain?” she asked. “No one will see?”

  Jason shook his head. “Nay, lady.”

  “But what if your sire comes from the lists?”

  “My lady, he will not. Have you ever seen him in the garden?”

  Gillian fingered the hilt of the wooden sword. “Nay,” she agreed slowly. Perhaps she would indeed have privacy for training.

  Jason had caught her pretending to slay her father in the tower chamber a pair of months earlier and had immediately volunteered to train with her. After the first day, when she hadn’t been able to lift her arms to feed herself because of the soreness, she’d almost quit. After all, training with a substantial opponent was far different than sparring against air–no matter how vividly she imagined that air to be her formidable sire.

  In the end, she’d reasoned that training with Jason was almost like training with Christopher himself and that had finished thoughts of ceasing. If nothing else, she might be able to guard Christopher’s back if the need arose.

  “Now, you must come at me truly,” he announced. “I vow, my lady, that you’ve been overly kind these last few days.” He lifted his sword and beckoned with the other hand. “Pretend you are irritated with me.”

  Gillian smiled. “Oh, but I never am, Jason. You’re a very sweet boy.”

  Jason scowled. “I’m no boy, lady. In a few years I’ll have my spurs and be a man indeed. Now, come. My lord has no trouble feigning irritation with me.”

  Gillian blinked. “I daresay he feigns nothing.”

  Jason only laughed. “No doubt, my lady.” He reached out and slapped her blade lightly. “Now, what did we practice yesterday?”

  “Controlled fury.”

  “Aye,” Jason stated in a fine imitation of Christopher, “and you are far from having mastered it. You don’t know that such a skill will save your life someday. I know it has saved my lord’s. My sire’s too,” he added. “Let us begin.”

  Gillian gripped the sword in both hands and fended off Jason’s very tame attack. He held the wooden sword with one hand, as if it weighed nothing. Then again, compared to a true blade, it likely seemed naught. Though Jason’s sword wasn’t so heavy she couldn’t lift it with relative ease, it was a far sight more substantial than a wooden blade. Christopher’s sword was even heavier than Jason’s. Though Gillian could lift it, it was far from being balanced for her hand. Christopher wielded it with ease. It must have taken him years to build the muscles necessary to use such a weapon—

  “Ouch!” she exclaimed. The mark the flat of Jason’s blade had left on her arm stung.

  “That was for dreaming. Do so in a real battle and you’ll feel no pain at all because your head will be resting on the ground beside your crumpled form. Now, again.”

  Feeling irritation was no trou
ble for her now. She found herself for the first time actually taking the offensive. Jason’s look of bored patience didn’t leave his face. That only irritated her the more. She swung wildly, wanting nothing more than to rid him of his look.

  The next thing she knew, her sword was on the ground, Jason had spun her around by the shoulders and the flat of his blade was pressed against her throat.

  “You’re dead,” he said grimly. “Lady Gillian, you let your passion get the best of you. If you must feel, let it be fury and let it be controlled!” He backed away and gestured to her fallen sword. “Fetch it and let us begin again.”

  “I don’t have to do this,” she muttered.

  “Quitting would be . . . cowardly,” Jason finished slowly.

  Gillian flipped her blade up with her foot, her eyes not leaving Jason’s. She glared at him.

  “Wisely done, lady.” He made her a small bow. “Think of me as someone you would like dead and let me see if all these hours have been wasted or not. Does anyone come to mind—”

  Gillian didn’t let him finish. Somehow, at her fingertips, lay all the anger she’d ever felt for her sire. First the fury made her shake; then it passed, leaving her feeling as hard and sharp as Christopher’s deadly blade. Everything she’d ever learned from William and all that she’d learned from Jason in the past two odd months came to her clearly. She went at her husband’s squire calmly, as if she’d done the like every day for the past score of years. The sword became light in her hands and she wielded it with skill she didn’t know she had.

  She pretended Jason was her father. She laughed grimly the first time Jason didn’t jump quickly enough and the blunted edge of her blade caught him under the ribs. She followed that up with an attack that left him stumbling backward. Pressing her advantage, she continued to push him back until he was stopped by a wall. She sucked in air, savoring a heady feeling of victory. She put the dull point of the wooden blade to his throat.

  “You’re dead, little lad,” she said, with a grin.

  Jason’s eyes were wider than she’d ever seen them, he was sweating and he was speechless—a condition she’d never expected to find him in.

  Then she realized Jason wasn’t backed up against a wall; he was backed up against his father. She looked up and met Robin of Artane’s gray eyes. He looked as surprised as his son.

  So did Colin, Kendrick and Phillip, who were standing in a perfectly formed line next to Robin.

  It was Gillian’s turn to be speechless. Color flooded to her face and she would have given anything to have been able to hide amongst the herbs and disappear from those warriors’ scrutiny.

  “Merciful saints above, Chris,” Colin whispered in awe, “she just bested your squire.”

  Gillian’s eyes flew to Christopher’s face. He stood next to Colin, his expression inscrutable. She dropped her sword and hurried to him.

  “My lord,” she began softly, “I’m sorry—”

  Christopher grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up high into the air, laughing as he did it.

  “Aye, you should be! Saints, Gill, the boy will likely never recover from such a thrashing.” He set her back down, kissed her hard on the mouth and laughed again. “Did you see that, lads?”

  “Amazing,” Phillip said.

  “Beyond belief,” Kendrick said. “I want to train with her next. Phillip, wait your turn like a good lad. Here, Jason, help me off with this mail, then give me your sword. Let us see if our sweet Gillian can best us all this afternoon.”

  Gillian put her arms around Christopher and held on. She pressed her face hard against his chest and would have crawled inside his clothes if she’d been able, for she had no desire to face any more of the Artane brothers over blades. Christopher, though, was actually trying to pry her away.

  “Go on, Gill,” Christopher whispered. “I for one would like to see Kendrick humiliated.”

  “But I didn’t humiliate anyone,” she protested.

  “Nay,” Jason said, recovering his powers of speech, “but you bested me fairly. Here, we’ll bind Kendrick’s right hand to his waist and make him fight with the left. Aye, I’ll wager a piece of gold on you, Lady Gillian.” He laughed. “I daresay you could take him should he fight with the right!”

  Kendrick shoved his brother. “Christopher won’t mind if I thrash you for your cheek, brother. I’m sure you have fond memories of how well I can do just that, so watch your tongue.”

  Christopher unclasped Gillian’s hands from behind his back. “Go on, Gill. Just don’t hurt him too badly.”

  It was the beginning of a very long afternoon. Gillian bested Kendrick, though she was the first to admit that he spent more time flattering her than he did attending to his swordplay. Phillip was also easily dispatched. He cried peace after she tripped him into a puddle of mud.

  After a bit of refreshment, Robin himself took up the blade against her. Gillian begged off after only a few moments. She pressed Colin into the service of humoring Lord Artane and sought the shelter of her husband’s arms as he lay in the shade of the hall. He pulled her down onto the mossy place next to him and kissed her soundly.

  “Such a fierce dragoness,” he said. “How is it I hold her?”

  “’Tis either your fiery temper,” she said, “or your fetching blue eyes, my lord. I vow I never can decide which I love more.”

  He smiled in return. “I can see why not, as both are so appealing.”

  Gillian smiled as she laid her dirty palm against his cheek. “I haven’t seen nearly enough of you of late as I like, my lord.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Think you we might slip away for a time? Perhaps for an hour or two at the shore?”

  “Slip away?” Kendrick echoed from where he sat behind her. “Without us? Surely not, lady.”

  Gillian watched Christopher’s expression darken considerably.

  “As you have been bested twice this morn, whelp,” Christopher said with a growl, “perhaps you would care to retreat to your chamber and take your rest.”

  “Rest?” Kendrick said, bounding to his feet. “Don’t need one. I feel as rested as if I’d passed the night on the king’s finest goosefeather mattress. Come, my lady Gillian, and let us wend our way to the shore.”

  “No doubt my lady Gillian is faint with pleasure over the idea,” Christopher said, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “I daresay, however, that she needs a cloak for the journey. Why don’t you press on ahead, my lad, and see to a comfortable spot? We’ll join you straightway.”

  Gillian watched as Kendrick herded his father and brothers out of the garden, onto their mounts and through the inner gate.

  “Sir Ranulf!” Christopher called.

  Gillian watched as her husband’s captain made his way across the inner bailey to the low garden wall.

  “My lord?”

  “Lock the gates for the afternoon, won’t you?”

  “But, Artane and his lads—”

  “—will be quite occupied at the shore for a few hours. When Robin begins to threaten my ability to continue the Blackmour line, then you may let them in. Until then, I’ve a mind for some peace with my lady.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Ranulf disappeared down the way. Gillian watched her husband lie back and hold up his arms for her. She stretched out beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Ah,” Christopher said, with a long, heartfelt sigh, “this is what I’ve been lacking the past pair of weeks.”

  Gillian smiled. “And what is that?”

  “A saucy maid in the midst of my herbs.” He pressed his lips against her hair. “What say you we throw Robin’s baggage over the walls and keep the gates locked for another few months?”

  “Oh, Christopher,” she said with a laugh, leaning up on her elbow and looking down at him. “Surely you don’t mean it.”

  He put his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her down to kiss her firmly on the mouth. “Ah, but I do, my l
ove. Much as I’m fond of him, I’ve seen too much of Robin and not nearly enough of you.”

  “You see me every night.”

  Christopher shook his head. “It isn’t enough. We haven’t napped in the afternoon in over a fortnight. I haven’t had the peace or quiet to sing for you in at least that long. Saints, Gillian, I haven’t even talked to you enough to know which servants you’ve been tormenting of late!”

  “I haven’t tormented anyone,” she said, with a shake of her head.

  “Other than Kendrick.”

  “I’ve hardly tormented him.”

  “But you have,” Christopher grumbled. “The lad groans continually about your wedded state. As if you’d have him if you were free!”

  “He’s full of flatteries, my lord,” she said, smiling at his gruff expression, “but I daresay he doesn’t mean them.”

  Christopher frowned. “Of course he does. And well he should. The lad has a keen eye for beauty and ’tis obvious he cannot say enough about yours.”

  Gillian felt herself begin to blush. “Oh, my lord—”

  “Perhaps ’tis merely that I begrudge him the looking at it,” Christopher said with another frown. “Aye, it irritates me mightily that he can see what I cannot, though I will admit I have enjoyed his descriptions of it.”

  “He is given to excessive speaking,” Gillian admitted.

  Christopher grunted. “Aye, that is truth indeed. And I daresay I could stomach it if his tormenting of me ended there,” he continued, obviously warming to the topic. “As if it weren’t enough to listen to him babble on for hours, what does he do next but send for minstrels! Saints, but I can hardly bear the thought of another ballad!”

  “Silence can be pleasing,” Gillian offered.

  “You can hardly blame me for tiring of it after two weeks of nothing but.”

  “Nay, I cannot.”

  “And the way they linger at the table,” Christopher groused. “You would think those two determined to eat through my larder! I’m almost to the point of suggesting they return home and decimate their father’s stores.” He scowled up at her. “What think you?” he demanded.

  “Well, my lord—”

  “And while we’re discussing it,” Christopher finished, “let me say that Kendrick is the very last person I want to speak of. Now that we’ve managed to rid ourselves of him for a time,” he added.