To Kiss in the Shadows (10 page)

Now, if Kendrick won, things would become stickier. How was it one went about challenging one's own brother for the right to a woman? And to the death? His father would surely find that less than pleasing. Then again, he supposed it had been done in the past. Mayhap it could be done in the future.

He heard the clash of metal on metal and realized that Kendrick and William were already at it. Swords, apparently, which gave Kendrick the advantage. Actually, it wouldn't have mattered what the weapon or the battlefield. Jason knew his brother's skill—and he knew what bumbling idiots Sedgwick produced. William would lose, and as his lifeblood drained from him, he would rage about the injustice of having grown up in a keep full of rats, with poor food, and lack of handsome women to bed. That his father was a fool, as his father had been before him, would never enter into the argument. The fault would have lain at Artane that no one there had sent help. Never mind that help would have been summarily rejected.

Jason watched Kendrick fight and found it less exciting than nauseating. His brother was skilled, so skilled that the sight of it should have been enough to give Jason pause. Kendrick had the advantage of five years more training, five years more warring, five years more life on the earth.

But he didn't have the advantage of a desperate desire to wed with Lianna of Grasleigh.

He looked at the field to find Kendrick had gone down on one knee.

But his brother rolled, came up, and cast himself back into the fray without a grunt or a curse. Jason had to admit that it was fascinating to watch the oaf fight, for he did it with the beauty of a dance.

A deadly dance, to be sure.

Time wore on. Jason wished desperately for a very long stick to shove down his back and relieve him of the itch that seemed to have lodged a hand's span below his ribs. The sun beat down on him, leaving him feeling rather like a meat pie, roasting in his mail.

And still the battle continued.

Jason yawned widely, wishing Kendrick would get on with the business at hand. It might have provided Kendrick with amusing entertainment for the morning, but Jason had things to see to.

William, in the end, went down. Kendrick stood over him with his sword at the other man's throat.

“Yield,” Kendrick commanded.

“Never,” William spat.

“Then die—”

“Nay! I yield, I yield!”

“Coward,” muttered Jason. “Like his father before him.”

Kendrick pulled his sword away, turned, and went to kneel before the king. Jason closed his eyes and prayed.

“Kendrick!”

Jason scarce managed to stop Lianna before she bolted onto the field to save his fool brother, who was near to having himself slain by William of Sedgwick, who had come upon him suddenly from behind. Kendrick rolled, and William's stroke merely grazed him instead of impaling him.

The battle began again, but it was short-lived. With a negligent flick of his wrist, Kendrick sent William's sword flying from his hand. William found himself immediately surrounded and overcome by the king's men who swarmed onto the field.

Jason spared little time wondering what would happen to his cousin. He could have passed the rest of eternity rotting in hell and Jason wouldn't have cared. What concerned him was how he was going to keep his brother from taking Lianna to wife. Could a challenge possibly go wrong?

Kendrick had scarce opened his mouth to flatter Henry before Jason had stepped out into the field, quickly before Lianna could stop him, and strode across to kneel before the king.

“Your Majesty,” Jason said, bowing his head, “I challenge Kendrick of Artane for his right to the lady of Grasleigh.”

Where there had been low murmuring before, there was a deafening silence now.

Or perhaps that deafness came from the blood thundering in his ears.

Or the waves of Henry's displeasure that washed over him in a thunderous rush.

Jason couldn't tell and didn't dare lift his head to look.

“You, Lord Jason, are not who we would choose for our ward,” the king announced in less-than-dulcet tones.

Jason kept his head down. “Artane blood runs through my veins as well, Majesty. I can be an asset and an ally to the crown in the north.”

For which his father would blister his ears and likely his arse as well if he could manage it, but there were times a man said what he had to in order to have what he desired. He would be the king's man until it was in his best interest not to be. And with the growing discontent surrounding Henry's extravagant ways, that day could come sooner than Henry might wish.

But for now, he would give as much fealty as his honor would allow and fight his brother for the prize.

Assuming Henry would give him the chance.

It seemed to take the king an inordinate amount of time to come to a decision. Or perhaps he was trying to decide how best to kill Jason so no dark forces were loosed. Jason wasn't sure what the king was thinking, and he didn't dare look up to examine the king's expression.

A sudden and quite ferocious trumpet blast fair gave him a permanently crooked neck from jerking his head up so quickly. Apparently, leave had been granted for him to try to kill his brother.

“To the death, my liege?” Kendrick asked smoothly.

“It seems a pity,” the king said thoughtfully, “to lose one of such a fine family.”

Jason began to give thanks.

“But all in the name of chivalry, we suppose. Do what you must, my lords.”

“Perfect,” Jason muttered under his breath as he rose to his feet and looked at his brother.

“I'm bleeding,” Kendrick said with what for him was a pout. “Be gentle.”

“I'll cut off your head as tenderly as I know how,” Jason replied.

“I daresay 'twould grieve our king to lose us both. I'll see that he loses the lesser of us, so his grief is not so heavy.”

“I'll play your favorite ballad at your wake,” Jason shot back. “And practice much beforehand, that your blighted spirit might not need flinch as you listen.”

Kendrick lifted his sword. “A final chance to cry peace and save your wretched life.”

“And watch you wed my beloved? I'd rather die.”

“Death it is,” Kendrick agreed with a regretful sigh.

“Yours.”

“Nay, yours I'm afraid.”

“You could only hope.”

“Shall I use the right or the left?” Kendrick asked, studying his hands. “I believe I used to fight you using the left and yet I was still able to best you thoroughly.”

“You'll find, my lord, that my skills are much improved. I'd use the right, were I you.”

Kendrick smiled, an unpleasant baring of teeth. “No casting of spells, Jas. That wouldn't be sporting.”

“I'll brew you a numbing draught to ease the pain as you expire,” Jason promised. “Now, be about this business. I've a wedding to see to.”

“But no raising of a ghostly ruckus when I take Lianna to wife,” Kendrick warned, waving his sword at Jason. “I'll have your word on that now, before I send you to the afterlife.”

“You'll be the one doing the haunting,” Jason said, flexing the fingers of his free hand and wondering if knifing his brother suddenly would be considered poor manners. At least that way he wouldn't have to listen to any more of Kendrick's incessant chatter.

But then he remembered that such was one of Kendrick's ploys to throw him off guard. And he remembered it the heartbeat before his head almost came away from his neck. He looked at his brother in shock.

“You intend to kill me.”

“The king commands it.”

“He didn't!”

Kendrick shrugged and continued a very relentless and brutal assault. Jason cast a final look at Lianna before throwing up his sword to avoid another lethal swipe. Kendrick's blade screeched as it traveled the length of Jason's and was stopped by the hilt.

“Fight me or die,” Kendrick growled.

“Whoreson,” Jason spat.

He wished, absently, that he hadn't said that.

And he wondered, quite seriously, if that might be one of the last things he would regret saying.

 

 

 

 

Lianna of Grasleigh, now Lianna de Piaget, still of Grasleigh,
rode next to her newly made husband and wondered just how his parents would take to her, given what it had cost to win her. She fretted, she worried, she twisted her reins in her hands and thought she might be ill. It wasn't just a matter of them acquiring a new daughter-in-law. There was the matter of the life-and-death battle she'd been the prize for not a se'nnight earlier. And the tremendously serious outcome of that battle.

That being the humiliation of one de Piaget brother by another before the king's court, of course.

“Are you well, wife?” came the question from the man beside her.

“Well enough, husband.”

“You look nervous.”

She looked at her husband of a se'nnight and smiled—nervously. “Will they blame me, do you think?”

“Blame you for what? My victory?”

“Nay, your brother's defeat.”

“Does he look defeated?”

She looked to her left to find the aforementioned defeated one, Kendrick of Artane, smiling pleasantly at her. “Don't be fooled,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I allowed Jason to win.”

“Ha,” Jason said scornfully. “Your memory fails you.”

“I could not rob you of your love, Lianna,” Kendrick continued. “I considered it my chivalric duty to let him win.”

Jason snorted. “You've no reason to fear for his ego, my lady. He'll repeat the story for years and end it with you warning him of William's attempted treachery. Somehow he will come away smelling sweetly, and there will be no mention of him kneeling at my feet, weeping for mercy.”

“I did not weep.”

“Tears were coursing down your face.”

“I was sweating.”

“You were weeping. And begging. I could not in good conscience slay you.”

Kendrick leaned closer to Lianna. “He feared his mother would take a switch to his behind for the deed. I daresay it isn't too late to annul your marriage to him. I am, as you might have noticed, still quite available.”

Something whizzed past her nose and connected quite perfectly with Kendrick's. Perhaps there hadn't been much blood on the battlefield before the king, but there was certainly ample draining onto Kendrick's tunic now.

“Damn you,” Kendrick snarled, trying to staunch the flow with his sleeve, “can you not fight like a man? Throwing fruit! Who ever heard of such a womanly tactic!”

Lianna found it rather practical at the moment, so she had no argument with it. Kendrick, however, gave his brother a look full of promise and spurred his horse on ahead.

“He's plotting your death,” Lianna said wisely, having grown accustomed to the habits of her husband and his brother over the past pair of weeks.

“Aye, likely,” Jason said serenely. He looked at her. “Are you happy, my lady?”

“Of course, my lord.”

He looked at her for several moments in silence, then his smile faded to be replaced by a look of seriousness.

“Are you?” he asked quietly. “Happy with such a one as I? Henry could have wed you to a man with power and status. I am, as it happens, but the third son.”

She shrugged. “What is power but wealth? I daresay you now have enough of that to satisfy any lust you might have for power.”

“Aye,” he said with a shiver. “Your father had enough of both, and to spare.”

“And you wouldn't have known it to look at him. He was much more content discussing pigs than he was bits and baubles for his court clothes. I daresay you'll follow in his footsteps easily enough.”

He looked startled enough that she wondered if she'd said aught amiss.

“Jason?”

He shook his head. “Idle thoughts.”

“Tell me of them.”

“Well, if you must know, the day I arrived at court, I was lamenting the foolishness of courtly conversation that focused on the cut of a tunic or the color of cloth. How much more, I thought, would I have rather been talking to the swineherd about the feeding of his charges, or discussing with the steward whether or not barley and hops might grow well in the north fields, or loitering in the blacksmith's hut to see him at his labors.”

“My father would have been pleased with you,” she said.

“I could only hope.” He reached over for her hand and squeezed it. “If I'm ignorant of something, I'm not too proud to ask for aid. I'll try not to shame you or your sire's memory.”

She nodded, but in truth she was thinking less about how he might shame her than she was about how blessed she had been to have found someone with whom she had found a home. For that alone, her father would have loved Jason of Artane. Or Jason of Grasleigh, as it was. The Falcon of Grasleigh, as he would be known. She wondered what he would think when they arrived at her father's keep and she showed him her father's coat of arms.

A falcon with a dragon pinned under its foreclaw. A falcon with its head thrown back in victory.

She could only hope he saw the humor in it she did.

They rode on in companionable silence for the rest of the day. As dusk fell, Lianna was startled to see several men bearing down on them. Jason and Kendrick immediately drew their swords, then Jason called a greeting and was answered in the same tone. Lianna looked at him in surprise.