realizing that I was doing exactly what I’d sworn I wasn’t going to do. “Never mind. It doesn’t concern you.”
“You say that, and yet it was to my tent you came when you were frightened by these men, not to your lover’s arms.”
“That’s because I don’t know where Gregory is. Your deranged monk woman drove him off.”
“I was naked. You did not leave my tent. You stayed there and chatted with me, pretending that you were not interested in my body, and yet even now I can see the desire in your eyes.” He leaned in close to say softly, “You want me, Gwen. It is written on your face just as it is written in your heart.”
I pushed him back, my lips narrowing. “And you are delusional. There’s only one man in Anwyn who I want, and you are not him. So stop hitting on me, or I’ll make you one sorry no-name warrior.”
“You think to threaten me?” he asked, his eyebrows rising.
“Got it in one.” I turned on my heel and marched away, feeling that was a suitable exit line.
TWELVE
I muttered to myself as I hurried along the aisle to my tent, where I found Marigold waiting with my shiny new armor.
“Stupid, conceited man. Oh, hi, Marigold.”
“Lady Gwen. Who is stupid and conceited?”
“Doug. Er . . . whatever the name is of the guy who’s in charge.”
She looked startled for a moment, but evidently decided it was better to stick to business. She held up the lovely metal skirt. “Master says that if it doesn’t fit, she will have to add another row of teardrops.”
“Oh, that’s truly beautiful.” I examined the additional bit that Antoinette had to put on to fit my girth. The addition was woven seamlessly into the existing skirt. “She does lovely work.”
Ten minutes later I was clad in what amounted to quilted long johns to prevent injury, a mail shirt, and the lovely floral teardrop skirt, a metal breastplate, and matching arm and shin protection.
“This is almost too pretty to wear,” I told Marigold as I left my tent. “I’d hate to get it scratched or dented.”
“You bear the Nightingale of Dawn,” she said, handing me the now-cleaned sword. “Surely you would not wield such a sword as that if you were unable to keep others from striking you.”
“Yeah,” I drawled slowly, deciding it was better that I not go into the whole thing about me not being an actual warrior. “Here’s hoping my tongue is faster than my sword.”
She looked confused, but I just thanked her for her help and marched off to the battleground. There were no large men lurking around the edges of the camp, so I assumed that the guards had either captured them or driven them off. I encountered no one as I made my way to the slight hill that sat smack-dab under the roiling red center of the sky. A lone figure was there waiting for me.
“Hello,” I called out conversationally as I approached. “My name is Gwen.”
“Oooh,” was the reply. I couldn’t see the person’s face, since a helmet obscured the sight of it, but the voice was definitely female. “You aren’t supposed to tell me your name, are you?”
“I’m a substitute warrior,” I said, stopping at the top of the hill to consider my opponent. She sounded reasonable enough. “So everyone knows my name. What’s yours?”
“Peaseblossom.” She lifted a mailed hand. “Um. I’m new, so you’ll have to tell me how we start. Do I just begin hacking away, or do you get first swing since you are the senior warrior?”
I would have slumped in relief, but the gorgeous armor gave me very good posture. I did, however, relax mentally. “Oh, mercy, no. How about we chat for a bit, so we can get to know one another, and then we’ll get around to the actual fighting. Peaseblossom is an interesting name. Was your mother a fan of
“I don’t think so,” she said, pulling off her helm. Her face was red and sweaty from being confined in the helmet. “You have very pretty armor.”
“Isn’t it nice?” I modeled it, turning around so she could admire the intricate mail skirt. “Antoinette said it was made for the queen but she never showed up to claim it, so I get to wear it for a bit. It’s a lot lighter than you’d think it would be.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re wearing the queen’s armor? My leaves and twigs! You must be a very great warrior indeed. I am honored with the opportunity to meet you in battle, although I fear that my inexperience will shame me.”
“Bah,” I said, swaggering just a little as I strolled around the top of the mound. I waggled my sword in what I hoped was a casual manner. “I’m the same as anyone else. So, whereabouts are you from?”
“Is that the Nightingale?” She pointed a shaky finger to my sword. I thought for a moment she might hyperventilate. “You wear the queen’s armor and bear Lady Dawn’s sword? I am doomed! Doomed!”
“Not if we don’t actually fight,” I said in a low voice.
“We must fight! It is what we have sworn to do.”
“Actually, I didn’t swear to fight . . .”
“But you are a warrior of Aaron. It is your duty to protect the name of your lord.”
“About that . . . look, I’ll level with you—the truth is that I don’t want to get this armor damaged. It’s just too pretty, and Antoinette had to do a rush job on the skirt and all. So why don’t we just sit and chat away our shift? That way no one will get her armor scratched, and no one will be doomed.”
“We are warriors,” she said stubbornly, but with less vigor. “We are meant to fight. It would be wrong to disregard our duty.”
“I think so long as we’re up here for the full length of our time no one is going to care. Or notice. See? Everyone in your camp is over at the picnic tables having dinner.” She turned to look where I was pointing. “No one is so much as glancing our way.”
She bit her lower lip, considering this. “I cannot hold up my head knowing that my sword did not even touch yours—”
“Easily enough done,” I said, hefting the Nightingale. “We can bash the swords together a few times, and then you can say, in all honesty, that we did our warriorly thing.”
After a minute’s silence, she blurted out, “I will agree, but only on one condition.”
“Oh?” I was wary of what that might be. “And that is?”
“I would dearly love to fight like someone who is as great as you. Would you teach me a few things?”
It would take a better person than me not to be flattered by her admiration. The knowledge that I had less skill than she did was not, however, something I was going to admit. “Sure thing. Go ahead and hit my sword— carefully, because it’s pretty, too—a couple of times, and I’ll teach you a few things, and then we can have a nice chat.”
Her sword, a great big beast of a weapon, had been placed in a wooden stand meant for holding spare weapons while combatants beat the crap out of each other. She struggled to lift it up and out of the stand, finally getting it free. The tip immediately dropped to the ground with a scraping sound that had me wincing on behalf of the finely honed blade edge. “It’s . . . it’s a bit heavy,” she said, panting as she tried to heave the sword up.
I watched her for a few minutes, grunting and sweating, before I took pity. “That sword is way too big for you.”
“I know, but it was all that Sir Colorado had. He said he would have a smaller one made for me, but that I could use this one today.” She rubbed at her palm, making a pained face. “Now I have a blister.”
“That’s a sign that we should just call this good and get down to the chatting part of the battle.”
“I would never be able to hold my head up if we didn’t clash swords,” she said in a pathetic voice.
“Yes, but you can’t even lift your sword.”
She stared at me in mute appeal.
I sighed.
“If anyone had ever told me that one day I’d find myself on the top of a minute battlefield in the afterlife, having to fight with swords, I’d have declared them to be certifiable.” I held out the Nightingale with one hand, grunting as I heaved up her sword in the other hand, and banged their blades together a few times.
