now.”
A twinkle emerged in Isabel’s eyes as she whispered to him. “’Twas so brave of you to come to Hallie’s rescue.”
“Isabel,” Hallie warned.
“He did, Hallie. You’re just too stubborn to see it.”
“Off with you,” Hallie ordered, “ere I find more stockings for you to mend.”
The lass scurried out the door, sidling past a gray-haired man with his cap in his hands and a worried frown on his face.
“Sorry to trouble you, Hallie,” he said, “but the stallion’s loose in the lists again.”
Hallie gave a last longing look at the platter of food. “Enjoy your supper.” Then she followed the man out the door.
Despite his hunger, Colban was sorry to see her go.
Meanwhile, Rauve still stood in the doorway, scratching at his beard and glancing at the supper. The man must be hungry as well. Like Colban, he’d had no relief all day. He supposed it would be rude not to share.
“Come join me,” he said. “There’s enough for two.” To be honest, Colban was hungry enough to finish off both coffyns, the entire trencher of pottage, the two tankards of ale, and the pair of berry-topped custards winking at him from the tray.
Rauve tried and failed to look reluctant. “Perhaps I will,” he grumbled. “I’d go down to the great hall to sup, but no one’s here to relieve me. And Hallie’s got her hands full today.”
“So it seems. Come in.”
The coffyns were flaky, stuffed with smoky bacon and onions. Thick vegetable pottage filled a pair of trenchers. The tankards brimmed with cool, foamy ale. And the cream-colored custard was drizzled generously with honey and chopped rosemary.
Honey and rosemary. Colban shook his head. It seemed the scheming Isabel had done it again. He wondered if Rauve would fall prey to the lass’s love potion.
He didn’t. After wolfing down his portion, Rauve smacked his lips, wiped his beard, gave Colban a nod, and returned to his post.
And Colban returned to practicing letters, drawing them on the hearth with a piece of coal, then wiping them away with the sleeve of his shirt.
The shadows had grown long and his saffron sleeve was black with ash when he heard the sound of swordplay outside his window.
In the courtyard below, by the afternoon light, a well-rested Gellir battled with Brand. This time it was no wild and angry fight, but a controlled practice. The brothers moved slowly, studying each angle of attack, working out new defenses.
He watched them for several moments as they repeated the same movement over and over. Gellir slashed at Brand’s head. Brand deflected the blow with his shield. Then Gellir wheeled away, returning to lunge forward with a thrust to Brand’s heart.
Each time, Brand had difficulty crossing his shield quickly enough from high on one side to counter the strike on the opposite side.
“Brand,” Colban finally called down. “Instead o’ blockin’ his second thrust head-on with your shield, turn sideways. That way ye can dodge the blow and divert it with your blade.”
“What?” Brand asked, squinting up toward the window.
“No one asked you, hostage,” Gellir sneered.
Colban shrugged. “Just tryin’ to help the lad.”
“He doesn’t need the help of a Highlander.”
“Wait,” Brand said. “What did you say?”
“Don’t listen to him, Brand,” Gellir growled.
“After ye toss away his first blow,” Colban said, “turn sideways to him. Use your blade to deflect the second thrust.”
“Like this?” Brand lifted his shield high on his left, then turned to his left side, leaving his sword arm behind him.
“Nay, turn the other way, to the right side.”
“What would you know of real fighting anyway?” Gellir argued. “You’ve probably never even seen an Englishman.”
“True. But unless they’re twelve feet tall with horns and claws, I suppose they fight the same as any other men.”
“So like this?” Brand asked. After raising his shield, he turned to the right, sweeping his blade before him.
“Aye, exactly. Ye make a smaller target that way, and your blade does the work o’ defense.”
“Come at me, Gellir,” Brand said, facing his brother.
“’Tisn’t going to work,” Gellir warned.
“Come.”
Of course, it did work.
Brand was delighted.
Gellir was peeved.
“What else can you show me?” Brand asked.
“Traitor,” Gellir accused.
“’Tisn’t treason to steal the weapons of the enemy,” Brand countered.
Gellir fumed in silence.
Colban took that as a challenge.
“I have another maneuver,” he said. “But I doubt ye can do it.”
“What is it? I can do it,” Brand said. “Let me try.”
“I don’t know,” he said with a dubious grimace, rubbing his chin. “It requires a steady hand and a long reach. Maybe when ye’re older…”
“Show me.”
Gellir scowled. “Brand, he