dark as his face. His cock was engorged, and his eyes dangerous.
She stood too and turned on her heel to run. Splashes behind her said he was after her. She tried to grab a few garments to save them as she aimed for the reeds.
“Walter!” the younger one’s voice shouted, but not in condemnation. In warning.
The splashing stopped. She ventured a look back.
Both men were in the water again. The blond one was pointing up-river. Elinor’s gaze followed that gesture. There, in the shallows of the river’s edge, sat a knight on horseback, watching. Zander.
“The Devil’s Blade,” the young man murmured.
Zander’s horse paced forward a bit, then stopped. He gazed down at the two men. Elinor’s breath caught. The fires of hell burned in those eyes.
“Have either of you been to the Holy Land?” His voice carried despite being unnervingly calm.
They looked at each other, astonished, then shook their heads.
“The Saracens have this way of using their swords that is interesting.” He withdrew his sword. “They charge, with the sword held out straight from their sides, like this.” He extended his arm out straight, with his sword continuing the line into space. “It works like a scythe in removing heads from bodies.” He held up his sword and looked at it. “Of course, they have those special swords that are curved and amazingly sharp, and that might make it more merciful. Still, I have always wondered. . .” He looked right at them. “Don’t move, and we will see whether I can manage so clean a death for you.”
Shock masked their faces. “You’ve no cause!” the younger one cried.
“There was no denying your intentions with this woman. I not only have cause—I have a duty. I’ll be sure there is enough space to get my horse to a gallop. Without enough speed I will make a mess of it, and finishing will be disgusting for all of us.” He began backing up his palfrey.
Curses. Splashes. Two white naked bodies, now with very flaccid cocks, scrambled toward the river bank. Not bothering with the garments they had discarded they ran through the mud up the bank, past the drying laundry, and plunged into the reeds.
As she bent to lift one of her linens that their muddy feet had soiled, Zander’s horse blurred past her, chasing them.
She knelt and threw the soiled linen back into the water.
“You should not have come here alone.”
She turned as the familiar voice sounded right behind her. Zander stood watching her labor, his horse’s mane visible on the other side of the reeds.
“It seems not. I thank you for your protection. I am sincerely grateful. However, you should go away. I said we would not talk again.” She returned to the linen, handling it more gently.
He came to her and sat in the grass. “We don’t have to talk. I’ll just watch and make sure no other men decide to save the cost of the whores.”
“As you wish.” She made a display of wringing out the linen, then smoothing it on the grass to dry. She plucked the last item from the basket.
Time slowed while she washed it. She could not ignore his presence four feet away. It grew awkward having him just sit there and watch her doing this humble chore. A power he possessed made the air between them tremble.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something knightly?” she asked. “Winning combats? Practicing for the next one? Inspecting your arms?”
“I have jousted this morning. I am ready for whatever comes next. When it comes.”
“Does no one want to fight Sir Alexander de Mandeville in a personal challenge?”
“Several do. Two today. More tomorrow. And of course Sir Hugo, eventually. Everyone is waiting for that one.”
“When a man with a cause fights, I expect it is more interesting.”
“It isn’t that. There is a rumor that someone will die.”
His words caught her as she was wringing out the new piece of wash. She froze, the water dripping over her tight hold on the fabric. She watched those drops snake down ever so slowly, as if time became sluggish.
Most tournaments only saw accidental deaths, if any at all. Sometimes, however, when an important personal conflict was being settled, knights met in deadly combat quite deliberately.
“Is Lord Yves permitting that here?” She tried to sound unconcerned.
“If a good reason is presented, he might allow it.”
“Perhaps he will decide the reason is not good enough.”
“It is a powerful story your father tells, and of course, I have my honor to defend.”
A spike of anger