Bride of Ice (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #2) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,119

tournament.

All night long, Hallie fought combatants in her sleep. And lost. In her dreams, each time her conqueror removed his helm—whether he was short, tall, stout, thin, dressed in red or yellow or black—it was Colban. By morn, shaken by suffering so many imaginary losses, Hallie rose early, determined to regain her fighting confidence.

An hour on the practice field did her good. She sparred with Jenefer and Feiyan, who had risen at dawn. In no time, she’d found her center again. Renewed and laughing with her cousins, she looked forward to the contests ahead.

Gellir and Brand were still too young to compete in the matches. But rather than observing from the rows of stands constructed on the tournament field, they took up a position as close to the fighters as possible. They mingled with the knights at the perimeter of the field to study their weapons and watch their techniques. Ian joined them, making sketches of the various pieces of armor, inspecting greaves and poleyns and questioning the knights about the pieces’ strengths and weaknesses.

Because there were so many contestants, the first few rounds of matches would occur simultaneously, with two challenges on the field at any given time.

Isabel had been awarded the honor of drawing the names of the competitors from a basket filled with slips of parchment. The winners of each contest would continue to the next match until the field was winnowed down to two combatants. The winner of that final match would be the tournament champion.

For the first match, Feiyan’s name was drawn, along with that of Sir Renard de Bois. Because her fighting style was so unusual, full of clever acrobatics, she handily won the match.

Meanwhile, Sir Rauve triumphed by brute force over his opponent, The Blue Knight.

Over two dozen matches followed, featuring warriors from all over Scotland and beyond. Among the contestants were a Nubian fighter of great renown, a Bavarian knight who claimed to be descended from the Huns, and a warrior from the infamous de Ware family from France. One unidentified combatant was even rumored to be an English knight who had stolen across the Border to compete.

The fighting was thrilling, full of as much mercy as ferocity and as much good will as good skill.

The Rivenloch clan claimed some victories. Hallie’s mother dispatched Jenefer’s father. Laird Morgan defeated Hallie’s father. Jenefer’s mother easily conquered Sir Johannes of Bamberg. Feiyan’s father sent Sir Morris of Stirling limping from the field. And Hallie left her Highland opponent, William of the mac Giric clan, in the dust.

Then Isabel announced the final two bouts of the first round—Sir Thomas of fighting Angus mac Ivey and Jenefer of Rivenloch fighting someone called The Sable Knight.

Hallie narrowed her eyes at her hotheaded cousin’s competition. The Sable Knight was her mystery man.

No longer wearing his hooded cloak, he was dressed in full armor and a helm that concealed his face. Neither his black tabard nor his shield bore insignia of any kind. But his height and bearing still convinced her it might be Colban.

As soon as The Sable Knight began fighting, however, she changed her mind. She’d seen Colban fight. It was nothing like this. Colban was a Highlander, accustomed to delivering the slow, deliberate blows of a two-handed claymore.

This man fought as if he’d been born with a longsword in his hand.

Despite Jenefer’s fierce attacks, The Sable Knight dodged them with a nimbleness uncommon for a man his size. He spun and thrust, countering her slashes with his shield, glancing them aside as if they were no more bothersome than Ian’s parchment birds.

Still, there was something so familiar about him. The way he lunged. The way he powered forward with his shoulders. The way he hesitated in a gesture of chivalry to let his opponent brace for the next volley. If it wasn’t Colban, it was someone with a hell of a lot of his mannerisms.

Jenefer eventually tired, and when, in angry exasperation, she overextended her blade, he rushed in close to disarm her. With the edge of his sword at her throat, she had no choice but to yield, spitting curses from inside her helm.

There was a brief respite for refreshments, and Hallie sipped at her watered ale, looking for the elusive Sable Knight. But he’d disappeared again.

The second round went more quickly. This time, Hallie was pitted against the Nubian warrior, Mashshouda. It was a tough battle. His technique was unusual, and he used his shield as a weapon just as much as his sword.