Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,123

Sigward and his regret for that enemy’s death, Nicola sent up a prayer that however Daryl died, it truly would be justice.

A great stirring turned all three atop the gatehouse, and when they crossed to the opposite wall, her heart ached over sight of the man she loved crossing the outer bailey with her brothers and cousin. On one hip was a sword whose scabbard identified it as belonging to Dougray. On the other was her eldest brother’s dagger. As Nicola had heard Vitalis had worn the D’Argent dagger during Guarin’s captivity, it made her heart convulse.

Her husband looked up, and she held his gaze until he lowered his. Closing her eyes, she felt Vitali’s brooch beneath her fingers—then a hand on her arm.

The king was no longer at her side. It was Prince Richard, and though he offered a smile nearly identical to his sire’s, his appeared genuinely sympathetic, and it was so striking she knew many a maiden’s heart would melt when he began pursuing the fairer sex in earnest.

When first I came to England, ere I looked upon Vitalis, my heart would have, she thought.

“Come, Lady Nicola. With day on the wane, there will be no lingering, and I doubt Vitalis will be long in putting finish to one unworthy of serving my sire.”

“I pray you are right, Prince, and I thank you for championing my husband’s cause.”

“The effort was sincere. I only wish my sire had not made a game of it.” He blew out a breath. “Much anger I have for him, but also respect and…as near to love as is possible. But now that Vitalis has opened a door between us, do I rise to my sire’s expectations, mayhap he shall rise to mine.”

Nicola sensed there was more he wished to say so she might better understand how great that hope and its source, but William called, “It commences!”

“So soon?” she gasped as Richard hastened her forward. This time when she halted alongside the king, the prince placed himself on her other side and kept hold of her arm.

She was certain it was only meant to reassure her, but as she laid eyes on Vitalis below, William’s head came around. “Be wary of other men’s wives, Richard, especially those wed to warriors twice your size.”

Nicola expected the prince to release her, but if it was also his sire’s assumption, he disappointed. And she was glad.

Vitalis stood in the upper left corner of that makeshift battleground, ten feet behind him a warrior with one hand on the sword hung from his belt and the other gripping a spear whose end was set on the ground. It was the same with the others forming the walls. All that was to come would take place within that space.

Nowhere to run, Daryl, she thought as Vitalis bound back his hair, just as Lady Hawisa had taught Nicola to do when they sparred. She almost smiled, knowing that was as Guarin had taught his lady to do whilst they were enemies and Hawisa’s braid flying out behind her allowed him to catch hold of her.

Hand around his sword hilt, Vitalis set his legs apart and eyes on Daryl whose hair was cropped and face clean-shaven in the style of the Normans, his stance the same as his opponent’s.

“Hear me, Sirs Vitalis and Daryl,” William shouted. “A fight to the death is preferred, but victory in which the defeated is brought exceedingly low is acceptable.”

Daryl craned his neck to peer up over his shoulder at his king.

“Ready!” William bellowed. “Swords!”

Vitalis’s blade exited the scabbard so swiftly it was a blur of silver flashing golden light.

“Begin!”

Chapter Thirty-One

With great strides, they ran at each other. Before impact at middle ground, they launched themselves high, then Vitalis bellowed and the crossing of swords sounded.

No coincidence both chose that as the best opening attack, Vitalis knew. Just as Daryl’s stance had mirrored his former trainer’s, he mirrored again. Some things taught him at Wulfen Castle had stuck. Now to discover what had not.

As Vitalis used the momentum and force of their meeting to spin away, Daryl lurched past and nearly went to his knees, some of his miscalculation due to the weight of chain mail, some the inability to match his opponent’s strength.

Unstuck, Vitalis silently pronounced as the roar he had loosed in Daryl’s scabbed face faded, leaving only the sounds of those atop the walls—shouts of approval, clapping, words there was no time nor need to make sense of. They were spectators and