Queen Of Knights (16 page)

He lifted a short tunic and handed it to Gwendolyn.  She put it on quickly, adjusting it, and smoothing it until it hung properly.  When she looked down, she saw its hem reached barely to mid-thigh,

When Miles lifted the cuirbouilli, he smiled at her.  "This was my first scale armor.  My father had it made for me when I was fourteen." He unbuckled one side and put it over Gwendolyn's chest.  When it was buckled, Gwendolyn was protected from her neck to the top of her thighs.  The scale armor was made of wax-dipped leather, and its burnished color and deep-gouged scars told Gwendolyn much of Miles's early training.

Next Miles put on the cuirbouilli cuisses, the waxed leather pads that would protect her thighs.  When that was done, he knelt before her and laced on the first of the maille she would be wearing.  The chausses were in good condition, and their dark metallic color shone under the torchlight.  Miles laced them until they reached her knees, where they stopped.  When both legs were done, Miles stood.  The only thing left was the heavy coif-de-maille, and that would wait until he was dressed.

Stepping back, Miles inspected Gwendolyn and took a deep breath as he did.  She stood proudly, her shoulders straight, her head high as she met his gaze with her own.  Already, she looked like a fighter.  Her height was emphasized by the armor, and for the first time since he'd met her, Miles suddenly believed she would indeed become a knight.

"Do I look so strange?" Gwendolyn asked after a few more moments under his silent scrutiny.

"Not strange—powerful," he whispered.  "Come," he said in a louder voice.  "Now you must do the duties of the squire."

Gwendolyn nodded once, and went to Miles's armor.  His pile was similar to hers, except that he had no scale armor.  Instead, he had chosen a short hauberk of maille.  A half hour later, Miles was dressed.  Then, he put on Gwendolyn's coif-de-maille and attached it to the leather armor.  Next, he put on her shortsword, then her dagger, and finally attached the bow to her back.

"Why a bow?" she wondered aloud, knowing that a knight never fought with such a weapon.

"To learn its use and to eat.  What would you catch our food with? Or do you think a fast of a week will aid your strength?"

"We take no supplies?" she asked, surprised at his words.  "None," he declared, slipping his shortsword into its scabbard.

Gwendolyn went over to Valkyrie's perch.  She slipped on the leather wristband and extended her arm.  Valkyrie gazed at her unblinking.  She held her arm before him for a moment, until the large eagle finally lifted one clawed foot from its wooden perch and ascended onto her wrist.

Ready at last, Gwendolyn turned to Miles.  Silently, he pushed aside the tapestry that was their door.  They stepped into the old passageway and descended to the inner keep, where they walked silently past the sleeping servants, until they reached the barbican.

The night was clear, and the multitude of stars looked like a jeweled heaven.  The moon was absent this night, but the stars themselves lighted the land and illuminated a path for Miles and Gwendolyn.

They descended the incline and walked along the sparsely treed path leading down into the Valley of Wye.  An hour later, Miles changed direction, leading Gwendolyn through another, more narrow path.  Then they were in a forest, and the further they walked, the darker it became.  Gwendolyn felt only excitement run through her veins as she luxuriated within the feel of the armor.  For the first time, Valkyrie rode on her now-protected shoulder, freeing her arm.  One hand rested on the hilt of her sword, while the other swung free, enabling her to move swiftly along the rocky terrain.

The maille covering her head did not bother her, nor did the unfamiliar binding that held her breasts so securely.  Her eyes never strayed from Miles's broad back, and her feet maintained their balance perfectly.

"Miles," she whispered, speaking for the first time since they started out three hours before.  Miles stopped and turned to face her.

"Are you tired?" he asked quickly.

"No, I am happy," she replied.  "I am content," she added.

"That is good, for you will need all your contentment in the coming days." Then he turned from her and began to walk faster.

Gwendolyn smiled at his back.  She had known, from the moment Miles had acceded to her wishes, that he would be a hard taskmaster.  She had accepted that.  She would not let him down, and wanted only the best of training.  And Miles, because of his love for her, would be a relentless trainer and mentor.  When they were done with the training, Gwendolyn knew Miles would have made her strong.

With those thoughts firmly fixed in her mind, Gwendolyn continued to follow Miles.  She did not complain, did not speak again, and even when she fell across the thick roots of an old tree, she did not call out, but merely stood again and quickly caught up with her husband.

<><><>

The sun rose, turning the sky blue with its brilliance and chasing away the gray clouds that had been with them for the last two days.

Miles stretched on the ground, and then turned to gaze at his wife.  He smiled at the sight that met his eyes.  Gwendolyn waited, perched above the river, as still as a statue, the long bow drawn fully, a shaft notched and waiting between her two fingers.

He did not know how long she had been like that, but when he spied the quivering of the muscles in her arm, he knew it had not been a short period.

The last six days had been more than just the beginning of Gwendolyn's training; they had been a series of revelations to him as well.  He had watched his wife, dressed in her armor, walk uncomplaining through twenty miles of forest, climb a steep hill, and then spend an hour trading sword blows with him.

He had seen her watch him, as he taught her the use of the bow, and had observed Gwendolyn practicing when she thought him to be asleep.  He had never seen anyone learn to use a bow as quickly as she, nor had he ever seen anyone apply such total concentration to a task in the way she did.  There was nothing that he showed her that she had not learned quickly, and mastered in less time than even he had taken.

Each day since they'd left the old keep, Miles had maintained a schedule.  In the morning, they would rise-he dressed in only a loincloth, she in loincloth and breast bindings, with their swords strapped to their backs.  They would run along the edge of the river for half an hour before turning, to run back along the same path to their camp.  High above them, Valkyrie would fly.

After returning to the camp, both he and Gwendolyn would take their bows to the river's edge to kneel motionless with their arrows notched until a trout swam beneath them.

Only when they had caught at least four fish would they undress completely and enter the cool water to bathe.  Cleansed and refreshed, they would eat their breakfast, dress, and begin the heavy training.

For the morning hours, Miles would work with her on the sword, building up her muscles, and teaching her how to utilize her wrists, rather than fight with her shoulders.  They would trade blows for hours, until, at last, they would fall to the ground breathless, to sleep for an hour before rising to again run through the woods.

The afternoon run was filled with excruciating pain, for Miles forced them both to run within the heavily wooded forest, where he would unexpectedly stop to spin and face her with a drawn sword.  In the tight confines of the trees, he fought her mercilessly, until there was no moment she was unguarded.

Yet, throughout it all, she had not once uttered any word of complaint.  Each night when they fell asleep, they did so in each other's arms, but, by the time the sun had set, neither husband nor wife could do more than hold each other before succumbing to the drugged sleep that the day's exercises had brought on.

The sudden twang of the bowstring brought Miles back to the bank of the Wye.  He saw Gwendolyn quickly rise and enter the water to retrieve her arrow and the large trout that was now struggling on the shaft.

When she straightened and turned, his breath caught.  She wore only the loincloth, and her breasts shimmered from the sun.  She saw him gazing at her, and a soft smile curved her lips.

Miles rose and walked to her, uncaring that he was naked.

Today was the last day they would be alone together, and when the night arrived, it would find them at the keep.  Today, there would be no training; today was a day for them.

Gwendolyn watched Miles walk toward her, and as he did, she released the arrow and let the fish fall to where the other three were lying.  She loosened her loincloth, and when it fell to the ground, walked to meet her husband.

Silently, as had been their way for this entire week, they embraced and kissed.  Then Miles led her to the stream, where they bathed leisurely.  When they returned to the shore, they lay on the soft grass and held each other close.

The warmth from the sun dried them even as their lips met and their passions rose.  Beneath the warm summer sun, with the sounds of birds and animals floating in the air, they again joined together.

As their hands roamed across each other's bodies, Miles was conscious of the new muscles he felt beneath his finger- tips.  The harder, firmer flesh that he knew so intimately did not bother him; rather, he reveled within the silken touch, knowing that no other woman could ever hold him the way Gwendolyn did.

Suddenly, Gwendolyn moved, spinning them until Miles was on his back and she was poised above him.  Her mouth descended onto his, kissing him fully for a moment before she tore her lips away and traced a path of maddening kisses across his chest.  Her hands, so much stronger than before, gently caressed him, stroking him, and bringing him harder within her fingers' embrace.

Her mouth burned with intensity as she captured him within it, to kiss and caress him wildly, until he thought he would be able to hold back no longer.

But she stopped and drew her mouth away, only to rise above him again.  Then she lowered herself onto him, taking his hard length within her.  Her cry echoed loudly within the forest as she began to move upon him.

Her eyes were open and staring at her husband as he filled her.  Then she cried out again as she reached a swift climax before she realized what was happening.  She stopped, her head falling to his chest, but his hardness still throbbed powerfully within.

Then Miles shifted, sitting up, but holding her close.

Gwendolyn's legs wrapped around him, her ankles locking behind him as her hands wound through his hair and brought his mouth to her nipple.  His teeth gripped the tender tip, but did not hurt her.  Then he began to move, thrusting against her forcefully, until all she could do was hold on to him.  At last, he released his heated seed within her, and they fell to the ground, stroking and caressing each other until their breathing returned to normal.

A half hour later they sat across from each other, the fire between them, their fingers greasy from the trout, their silence saying more than any words would be able to.

But when the meal was done, Gwendolyn sensed some impatience within Miles.  "What?" she asked, and heard Miles short laugh when she spoke.

"You know me so well, for knowing me so short a time." "I have known you all my life.  I have waited for you all my life.  I cannot help knowing your moods, or sensing when you want something," Gwendolyn explained in a low voice.

"I do not pretend to understand all that has happened,"

Miles began, his voice deep and serious as he searched for the right words.  "But I have accepted you, and everything that seems to happen around you."

"Miles, I wish that you could have been with me, that first time in the cave, when I discovered ..." Before she could continue, Miles stood and came over to her.  He stopped her words with a look and drew her to her feet.

"You are two people, Gwendolyn.  You are my wife, and someone I do not know.  I have accepted both.  Leave it rest at that."

Gwendolyn gazed at him for a moment before nodding in understanding.  She saw within his eyes the truth of his words.  She also saw he was not afraid of the ethereal things Gwendolyn had seen and learned, but rather, would not have his mind fogged by those things which he did not understand.

"Yes, Husband, it shall be as you wish."

"Good.  It is time to return to the keep, and the next step in your training."

They dressed, put out the fire, and began the fifteen-mile walk that would bring them back to the keep, where Miles would begin her formal training in arms.

Chapter Eight

THE
summer passed quickly for the five people inhabiting the old keep.  Their days started early, and ended only when the sun had dropped from the heavens, and darkness blanketed all.

Both Arthur and James grew to know and respect Gwendolyn's abilities as a fighter.  They watched in awe when she battled Miles, the sounds of their swords echoing loudly within the stone walls.  Even Roweena, who had sworn an oath that she would not reveal what she witnessed, had grown to accept her mistress's role as a knight-in-training.

She learned, with Miles's aid, to massage her mistress and to ease the pain and soreness which had become a daily part of Gwendolyn's life.  She also had seen the way Miles had wrapped her mistress's breasts, and had despaired at the bulkiness of the man's loincloth draped across Gwendolyn's hips.  Roweena had taken new material and had made several garments for Gwendolyn that would be more comfortable, and offer more protection.

She had sewn leather pads into material, turning it into a halter for Gwendolyn's breasts, so that there would be no strain upon her neck or shoulders from the bindings, the thickness of leather adding extra protection to the delicate tissues of her breasts.  For a loincloth, Roweena had again sewn material, folded carefully and thickened so it would protect her mistress's private area.  This loincloth, rather than being knotted, used two small clasps to hold it in place.

With these aids, Gwendolyn's scale armor fit more comfortably.

As summer gave way to fall, and the weather turned crisper with each morning, Gwendolyn rose to perform her duties.  They always dressed together, helping each other into the armor which Miles ordered worn, before going into the stone-walled interior of the outer keep, to learn, practice, and bring to perfection the art of knightly fighting.  Each evening, when the sun had gone, and the five had eaten their fill, they would retire to their chambers, to sleep and rest in order to be fresh for the long hours of the next day.

And, as he did every night when they entered their chamber, Miles looked at his wife while she undressed.  Gwendolyn had changed in the four months they'd already spent in Wales.  Although she had been well-muscled when they'd married, Miles saw how much more she had developed.  The hours, weeks, and months of training had refined Gwendolyn's body, bringing out the perfect definition of rippling muscles on her abdomen, thighs, and buttocks.  But Miles did not desire her less for this.  Even with her magnificently muscled body, she did not have the build of a man.  Rather, her body was smooth and lean, and hid well the fact that beneath the satiny skin that covered her, Gwendolyn's muscles were as firm and strong as iron.

Above it all, she was the very essence of femininity.

Every movement she made, every gesture she used, was that of a woman.  Only when she put on her armor or hefted a sword, did the woman disappear.  But in her place a man did not appear.  When Gwendolyn wore her armor, only a warrior loomed.

"Turn to me," Miles commanded in a low voice, as he watched her remove her undergarment in the torch-lit chamber.

Gwendolyn turned to stare at him.

"Come closer," he asked.  When she stepped toward him, he saw what he was looking for.  Beneath her right breast, across three ribs, was a spreading purple stain.  He inspected it closely, running his fingers across the bruise.  He heard her wince, but continued to probe the area carefully.

"Nothing is broken," he told her as he threw his cover away and stood.  "Perhaps tomorrow we shall rest."

"No!" Gwendolyn said in a tight voice.  "Time is running out."

"You cannot train tomorrow if you are in pain," he told her, "it will only make it worse."

"Miles," Gwendolyn whispered as she looked into his eyes.  "I will not hold back.  I cannot."

Miles, reacting to the sound of her voice, nodded his head.

"Then come to bed, Wife, so that I may hold you and comfort you until the morning."

Gwendolyn fingered the bruise lightly before she followed his command.  A moment later she was lying next to him, drinking in the comfort of his body while his arms held her close.

But when she awoke in the morning, and the dull gray light filtered in through the narrow openings in the stone walls, her side hurt even more than the night before.  With each movement she made, lances of pain shot along her length.  Cautiously, not wanting to wake Miles, Gwendolyn left the bed and walked across the chamber to a long chest set against the far wall.  She opened it to reveal its contents to her eyes.  On top of everything was her sword, wrapped within its timeless chamois cover.

Lifting it carefully from the chest, she sat cross-legged on the stone floor.  She had made up her mind to try to learn if, among the other secrets of the sword, she could find some ability to heal herself.  Gwendolyn grasped the sword tightly and felt its power within her hands.  Closing her eyes, she lifted the sword high above her head.  Then she cleared her mind of everything and accepted the power vibrating through her very being.  A gentle heat, and the soft, familiar light of the sword filled and surrounded her.  Within her mind, she directed the energy of the sword to her side, and to the bruise that ached so badly.

At first she was aware of nothing, but a moment later she felt warm tentacles of power run along her skin and pass over her breast.  The gentle heat burrowed inward, to spread across her entire side.  She sat still, the sword held aloft, while the power and warmth worked upon her.

A few moments later, with her mind floating peacefully, she lowered the sword and breathed deeply.  Then she rose and replaced the sword within the chest, closed it, and stood straight.  Looking down at her ribs, Gwendolyn saw the bruise was gone.  Touching the area lightly, she found there was no pain.  Gwendolyn closed her eyes and whispered her thanks.

"Take the sword out again," said Miles.  Gwendolyn whirled at the sound of his voice to stare into the open eyes of her husband.

"I did not know you were awake."

"Now you do.  It is time to test your blade," be informed her.  "We will practice with it today."

"But the jousting?" Gwendolyn protested, not sure why she did so.

"We never joust two days in a row.  The body needs to recuperate ...at least some bodies do," he added pointedly.

"I did not think you awake."

"It does not matter.  Your powers are good; they will help you in the future.  But Gwendolyn, if for no other reason than my love for you, you must learn to rely on yourself.  You have trained your body; do not forsake it for otherworldly help.  Use the sword if you must, but do not waste its energy foolishly.  A bruise will' heal quickly by itself, remember that."

Gwendolyn's eyes filled with moisture as she listened to her husband's words.  Slowly, she nodded her head and went to their pallet.  "I will remember the words of both my husband and my teacher.  I will not squander the powers of the sword," she promised as she went into his arms.

<><><>

"Strike! Strike! Strike!" Miles shouted from the parapet.

Ten feet below, Gwendolyn, wearing full-scale armor, fought both James and Arthur.  The longsword she hefted flashed in the sun, deflecting both squires' blades neatly.  She handled herself well, Miles noted, seeing just how far Gwendolyn had come since he'd first seen her fighting off the men-at- arms in Devonshire.  But he was watching her carefully, knowing that the heavy weight of the longsword would soon take its toll upon her strength.

Yet be could not stop his pride from swelling as she battled the two squires valiantly.  Her maille head was held high, and her leather-covered feet moved quickly.  No one, unless they stood directly in front of her, would ever guess she was a woman.

"Back!  Back step!" he shouted when Arthur attacked low, and James came head on.

Gwendolyn parried Arthur's swing, and ducked low when James's sword flashed near her shoulder.  She spun and used her wrists effectively to catch James's blade against hers.  When she heard Miles's hurried shout, she flicked her wrists, flinging James's sword away, and stepped back quickly.

"Hold!" Miles called.  Then he left the wall and came to the three fighters.  "Good! James, Arthur that was an effective attack.  But remember, you must not look at each other.  Rely on your training to keep you moving in accord.  James, when Arthur attacked her legs, you waited to see if his stroke would reach.  You should have swung at the same instant."

Miles sighed and looked at Gwendolyn.  "And you should have stepped back immediately upon the attack.  Instead of giving them the advantage, if you had stepped back, Arthur would have been off-stride, and you could have defeated them both before they had a chance to strike."

Gwendolyn stared at him, his words running shock-like through her mind.  She had thought she'd done the right thing, but today, like most other days, she'd learned she had not.

"But you always say to press the attack when outnumbered," she defended.

"Yes, but back-stepping is not running away.  If you had back-stepped, one man would have fallen.  Your sword deflects the second man's blow, you stab the first, and then press the attack on the second!"

Gwendolyn closed her eyes and pictured his words.  A moment later she realized his meaning and nodded her head.  "I understand."

"Good.  Arthur, bring my longsword.  James, there is a sword in its sheath near the keep's entrance.  Bring it to Lady Gwendolyn."

Both squires ran off to do Miles's bidding.  As they went, Gwendolyn gazed at her husband.  "I have never used the sword."

"I know, but the time has come.  We have only a little while left before we return to Radstock.  You must learn this sword of yours now."

Before anything else could be said, the squires had re- turned and attached the swords to their owners.  James finished linking Gwendolyn's sword and then stood behind her.  Arthur did the same for Miles.

Then they were ready.  Carefully, Miles drew his longsword and hefted it over his head.  He whirled it several times, testing its weight before lowering it to his side.  He bowed formally to Gwendolyn, a sardonic smile on his face.  "Madame," he whispered.

"Sire," she replied as she drew her father's blade and lifted it high.  She felt it hum in her hands, but no bolt of light flew from it.  She whirled it above her head, as Miles had done, and felt its featherlike weight adjust within her hands even as she heard the whistle of the blade cut through the air.

Suddenly the air within the keep grew heavy.  The squires looked at each other, their eyes wide with understanding.  Today was a test.  What kind they weren't sure, but it was a day of testing nonetheless.

Miles and Gwendolyn circled each other warily, their blades hovering above the ground, their eyes never wavering from each other's.  In a moment that seemed faster than light, both swords rose in the air and met.  A loud clash echoed, and the blades hung timelessly above.  Then the slithering sound of metal grated upon everyone's ears when the blades drew apart.

"Very good," Miles said with a quick bow of his head.  It took all his will power not to show the pain that had raced along his arm from the first contact.  He watched Gwendolyn's face, but saw no reaction from it.

Moving quickly, Miles spun in a circle, his sword flashing out at Gwendolyn's shoulder.  As the blade reached her, she, too, spun, the silver sword flying upward to deflect the blow.  Before Miles recovered from his attack, Gwendolyn had completed her turn and reversed her arms.

The sword weighed nothing in her hands, and its vibrations filled her every movement.  Her blood rushed through her body, and her mind rejoiced within the fight.  When Miles had turned, reversing his ground to attack her from the side, she had moved as he'd taught her and caught his sword well away from her.  Following both her instincts and her new training, she completed the short circle, her wrists flicking backwards to attack Miles before he had recovered.

She swung at a spot in front of him, but found her blade deflected.  Angered that he had read her movements so accurately, Gwendolyn summoned up her energy from deep within and began to attack Miles relentlessly.  They were both rooted to the spot, staring into each other's eyes as they fought.  And fight they did.  Neither gave an inch.  Their blades met time and time again, sweat pouring from their faces, burning their eyes, half blinding them, but still neither gave in.

Then, in a blurring of motion which Gwendolyn could barely follow, Miles ducked beneath her blade, rolled on the ground, and regained his feet behind her, just as she turned to face him.  But she was too late.  The tip of his sword rested at her neck.

She lowered her blade and gazed at him.  "I yield, Sir Knight," she whispered.

"Accepted," he replied as he lowered his blade.  "Gwendolyn, you are my equal," he declared.

"No!" she spat suddenly, unwanted tears welling in her eyes.  "No! If I were, you would not have beaten me so easily."

"I did not beat you easily, far from it.  It was only my experience which aided me," he told her.

"Again," she said suddenly.

"Are you still so eager?"

"I would have another chance," she replied.

Miles nodded, and she saw his lopsided grin come fully into being.  "Madame," he said formally.