steal across his face, somehow managing to stifle the guffaw of laughter that teased his throat.
The girl frowned and set the blade to one side. She reached up beneath her chin and, after a brief tussle with laces, dropped the cumbersome weight of her overtunic onto the floor. Dressed only in a knee-length pelisson, she swept the Castilian sword like a scythe, attacking the discarded pile of wool and sending it whirling away into the shadows.
Oblivious to the eyes following her every move, she lunged and parried, smote and hacked at her enemy with a two-handed vengeance that lured Eduard closer and closer to the open doorway. He could feel a dampening of his skin between his shoulder blades just as he could see a similar finesheen gleaming at the girl’s temples and across her brow. His heart was thudding loud in his chest. So loud, he reasoned afterwards, it must have been the noise of it that caused the girl to stop mid-stroke and stare out into the passageway.
The sight of two glowing eyes set in a disembodied head caused her to gasp and sent the sword flying out of her hands. It clattered into a nearby rack, unseating a brace of other swords as well as various pieces of armour plating. The metal clanged and banged, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls and bouncing out into the corridor.
Eduard bent to catch a steel disc as it rolled unerringly through the gap in the door, and the movement startled another choked gasp from the girl’s throat.
“Who are you?” she cried. “What are you doing out there?
How long have you been standing there spying on me?”
Eduard had his attention momentarily distracted by the sight of the long, willowy legs clad in silk to the knees. The pelisson would normally have allowed a gap of only a few inches above the garters, but part of the hem had become caught up under her arm with the happy result that a portion of her thigh was bared from her waist to the tops of her hose. His gaze, understandably reluctant to abandon such a comely sight for the blazing fury of her eyes, took its time making the ascent, lingering on the trim little waist and the agitated rise and fall of firm, round breasts.
“I asked you a question, Churl! Come forward at once and offer your answer!”
Eduard straightened to his full height and met her hot stare.
“Forgive me, demoiselle,” he murmured. “I should have made my presence known.”
“Indeed, you most certainly should have,” she retorted. “I ask you again: Who are you and how long have you been standing out there spying on me?”
Eduard laid the flat of his hand on the door and pushed it wider, letting the light from the torch attach his head to his shoulders and cast a partial glow over his features.
“It was not my intention to spy on you,” he assured her.
“Or to frighten you. As it happens, I had to pass this room on the way to the wine stores and—”
“And you thought you might as well stop and amuse yourself at my expense?” The look she gave him was one of utter and complete contempt—a look usually reserved for a creature of low birth who would dare lift his gaze to the level of his betters. Eduard remembered then that he had dressed in worn clothing that morning, intending to spend a sweaty afternoon in the practice yards. His shirt was of the same coarse linen worn by tillers of the soil; his hose were wrinkled and dusty. Because of this, she thought him a common, ignorant lout and, despite being half-naked in an isolated room with a man easily twice her size and strength, showed not a shred of hesitation in challenging him.
“In truth, I was more curious than amused,” he said. The smile he was having difficulty concealing tugged at his mouth as he strove not to look down at the enticingly exposed hip. “You hold a battle sword as if you were no stranger to it. An unusual accomplishment for someone of such youth and …
bearing.”
The blaze of green eyes narrowed, reducing the intensity, but not the
The girl frowned and set the blade to one side. She reached up beneath her chin and, after a brief tussle with laces, dropped the cumbersome weight of her overtunic onto the floor. Dressed only in a knee-length pelisson, she swept the Castilian sword like a scythe, attacking the discarded pile of wool and sending it whirling away into the shadows.
Oblivious to the eyes following her every move, she lunged and parried, smote and hacked at her enemy with a two-handed vengeance that lured Eduard closer and closer to the open doorway. He could feel a dampening of his skin between his shoulder blades just as he could see a similar finesheen gleaming at the girl’s temples and across her brow. His heart was thudding loud in his chest. So loud, he reasoned afterwards, it must have been the noise of it that caused the girl to stop mid-stroke and stare out into the passageway.
The sight of two glowing eyes set in a disembodied head caused her to gasp and sent the sword flying out of her hands. It clattered into a nearby rack, unseating a brace of other swords as well as various pieces of armour plating. The metal clanged and banged, the sound echoing off the damp stone walls and bouncing out into the corridor.
Eduard bent to catch a steel disc as it rolled unerringly through the gap in the door, and the movement startled another choked gasp from the girl’s throat.
“Who are you?” she cried. “What are you doing out there?
How long have you been standing there spying on me?”
Eduard had his attention momentarily distracted by the sight of the long, willowy legs clad in silk to the knees. The pelisson would normally have allowed a gap of only a few inches above the garters, but part of the hem had become caught up under her arm with the happy result that a portion of her thigh was bared from her waist to the tops of her hose. His gaze, understandably reluctant to abandon such a comely sight for the blazing fury of her eyes, took its time making the ascent, lingering on the trim little waist and the agitated rise and fall of firm, round breasts.
“I asked you a question, Churl! Come forward at once and offer your answer!”
Eduard straightened to his full height and met her hot stare.
“Forgive me, demoiselle,” he murmured. “I should have made my presence known.”
“Indeed, you most certainly should have,” she retorted. “I ask you again: Who are you and how long have you been standing out there spying on me?”
Eduard laid the flat of his hand on the door and pushed it wider, letting the light from the torch attach his head to his shoulders and cast a partial glow over his features.
“It was not my intention to spy on you,” he assured her.
“Or to frighten you. As it happens, I had to pass this room on the way to the wine stores and—”
“And you thought you might as well stop and amuse yourself at my expense?” The look she gave him was one of utter and complete contempt—a look usually reserved for a creature of low birth who would dare lift his gaze to the level of his betters. Eduard remembered then that he had dressed in worn clothing that morning, intending to spend a sweaty afternoon in the practice yards. His shirt was of the same coarse linen worn by tillers of the soil; his hose were wrinkled and dusty. Because of this, she thought him a common, ignorant lout and, despite being half-naked in an isolated room with a man easily twice her size and strength, showed not a shred of hesitation in challenging him.
“In truth, I was more curious than amused,” he said. The smile he was having difficulty concealing tugged at his mouth as he strove not to look down at the enticingly exposed hip. “You hold a battle sword as if you were no stranger to it. An unusual accomplishment for someone of such youth and …
bearing.”
The blaze of green eyes narrowed, reducing the intensity, but not the
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