But once she found his weakness—a lightness of foot that left him ungrounded—she swept him off his feet, winning the match and thanking him for a challenging skirmish.
The Sable Knight won again, this time against Sir Rauve. The stranger leveraged Sir Rauve’s own power against him, sending him tripping over his own blade more than once. When he downed him for the last time, he planted his boot on Rauve’s backside. The crowd found that more amusing than did Rauve, and Hallie longed to reward the Sable Knight’s cocky gesture with a humiliation of her own if they were matched in the next round.
Before the third round of matches, Laird Morgan, who’d advanced to the next level, approached Hallie. He nodded toward The Sable Knight, who stood on the far side of the field, inspecting his blade.
“Does that knight look familiar to ye?” Morgan asked.
Hallie pretended nonchalance. “Which one?”
“The man all in black.”
She pretended to study him. “Nay. Should he?”
Morgan shook his head. “He looks so much like—”
“Sir Dougal, aye?” Hallie quickly supplied, eager to distract Morgan. “The king’s man. Is it him? Do you think he would travel all the way here from Edinburgh to take part in the tournament?”
“Nay. I mean—”
“How exciting! Sir Dougal. Jenefer must be so thrilled.”
“Jenefer?” he asked with a frown. “She’s grumblin’. She lost in the first round, ye know.”
“Oh. Aye,” Hallie replied, just glad to be changing the subject. “But there’s still the melee. She loves the melee.”
Morgan didn’t reply, but narrowed his eyes once more at The Sable Knight. Then he shook his head.
Hallie breathed a sigh of relief when Isabel rang a bell to get everyone’s attention for the third round of matches and Morgan bowed in farewell.
Sixteen contestants remained. Of the five of the Rivenloch clan—Hallie, Feiyan, Deirdre, Helena, and Rand—only three survived to proceed to the next level. Sir Rand, Feiyan’s father, was defeated by a de Ware. And Feiyan fell victim to a small, quick fighter by the name of The Sparrow.
Hallie fought against Sir Thomas, scoring a narrow victory when she ducked under a particularly vicious blow and shoved him to the ground with her shield.
The last match was between Laird Morgan and The Sable Knight. Hallie held her breath as the two rivals faced each other. If that was Colban, Morgan would surely recognize him at once. They were practically brothers.
The Highlanders had not fared well in the tournament. Their claymores were a valuable weapon in warfare, where a single blow could lay a foe low. But in sparring, where killing was not the goal, they lacked the finesse and recovery to maintain ongoing combat.
Laird Morgan managed to land a hard first blow to the shield of The Sable Knight, one that made him stagger backwards. But while he prepared for a second attack, the knight swept in with his sword, doling out three blows of his own.
Again, Laird Morgan swung his claymore. This time, The Sable Knight ducked under the blade, and it swished through empty air, throwing Morgan off balance. Rather than let him recover, the knight planted his saboton in Morgan’s hindquarters and shoved him farther. Morgan tripped and fell on one knee, but to his credit, he recovered and came up with his blade swinging.
Hallie narrowed her eyes at The Sable Knight. She got the distinct impression he was toying with Morgan. He could have dispatched him easily. But he preferred to prolong the match, which was quickly becoming more brawl than battle, as the two men used their elbows and knees to shove each other. Just like two brothers, Hallie realized.
No sooner did she have that thought than the match ended. The Sable Knight, apparently tiring of the match, snagged the hilt of Morgan’s claymore with his sword, sending the heavy blade sailing in an almost graceful arc across the field. Then he used his shield to knock Morgan to the ground.
Unarmed, Morgan yielded. Hallie expected The Sable Knight to gloat then and perhaps plant his foot on Morgan’s chest. Instead, he offered a hand to his fallen opponent, helping him to his feet. He even gave Morgan a humble nod, as if to say he’d been honored by the battle.
“That Sable Knight is quite good,” Hallie’s mother said as they broke for another respite.
Now only three Rivenloch fighters remained—Hallie, her mother, and her Aunt Helena. They discussed battle strategies as they sipped ale. By the chance of the draw, they might well be pitted against each other as opponents. But