Warrior (36 page)

came time for her to select her

clothing, she selected a demure riding

habit

that

she’d

brought

from

Lytheria. It wasn’t a dress and the

skirt that usually made it formal could

be removed, as fashionable women’s

breeches were underneath. As such, it

would not get tangled between her

feet during the event that she was

almost sure would take place. After

donning it, Jaisyn sat before the fire,

absorbing the heat into her body and

picturing her encounter with her

husband.

The servants bustled around in her

room. Magda placed the chainmail

and armor into an empty chest and a

Lytherian soldier came for it. He did

not speak as he took it but passed a

cautious glance to his queen before

leaving. Magda had picked up Jaisyn’s

sword, intent was she on placing it

back in the chest with the jewels,

when her queen halted her with a

raised hand.

“No,” Jaisyn told her firmly, staring

at the amber-gold, emblem at hilt of

her sword. Each of the swords her

father had commissioned had the

same

mark.

It

was

almost

a

rectangular shape, curling down at the

edges, with a boar etched into the

middle. Jaisyn shook her head for

greater emphasis. “No, Maggie, leave

it there.”

Magda did as she was asked, though

she looked surprised at the request.

She wasn’t left wondering long

because the king suddenly threw open

the doors.

They smacked against the wall

loudly and the three women in the

room jumped visibly before giving him

their attention. He was no longer in

full armor but still wore chain mail,

and the expression on his face was

thunderous, perhaps murderous.

Before he could say anything, Jaisyn

told her maids in a calm voice belying

the situation, “Please leave us.”

Asha did not need to be told twice.

She was closest to the door and as

such, she was the first out of it.

Vulcan turned his angry glare to

Magda, who was staring at Jaisyn.

“Out!” he ordered angrily.

Jaisyn sent her most loyal servant a

small smile and nodded. Magda

walked from the room, passing a

pleading glance at Vulcan, who was

too busy glaring at his wife to notice.

As soon as Magda stepped from the

room, the door was slammed shut.

“You!” Vulcan accused, stepping

further into the room, approaching

her, stalking her like a large, brooding

jungle cat.

Jaisyn held his gaze. “Yes, Vulcan.

Me!”

He came to stand directly next to

her chair, but she did not move. His

hands swooped down and dragged her

from the chair. One minute he was

glaring at her and the next, he was

shaking her.

“You little fool!” he exclaimed as

her head bobbed uncontrollably on

her body. “I could have killed you!”

She managed to push herself away

from him and placed the chair

between them. It wasn’t enough. He

easily shoved it out of the way.

“Milord, you misjudge the reach of

your skill,” Jaisyn said bitingly, still

reeling from the shaking he’d just

given her. “It would have taken much

more from you to kill me.”

***

Vulcan’s teeth snapped together

audibly. Was his wife telling him that

she was more skilled than he on the

battlefield? From what he’d gathered

from the soldiers, Jaisyn of Lytheria

had been practicing her sword from a

young age. Apparently, Lytherians did

not see anything wrong with having

swordswomen; they saw nothing

wrong with sending a female, a person

who was supposed to birth and

nurture, into a battle! When she’d told

him that her father had wanted a son,

she’d forgotten to mention that he’d

also raised her like one!

“You are never to use a sword again

or I swear upon all I believe, I will

take you over my knee and throttle

you!” Vulcan roared, his face

contorting angrily.

Jaisyn’s brows lifted at that before a

frown marred her face. “You would

throttle your own wife?”

Caught off guard by the question,

Vulcan replied immediately, “I would

throttle
you
!”

“What has you more angry, my

liege?” Jaisyn snapped angrily. “That I

am skilled with the sword or that I

came close to defeating the great

Northern Wolf before his men today?”

Eyes narrowing dangerously, lips

thinning in determination, Vulcan

began a slow walk to her. He was

stalking her once more. Jaisyn’s eyes

darted to her sheathed sword, resting

against the side of the hearth. She

slowly backed up, moving with arm’s

reach of the sword.

Vulcan stopped inches from her. “It

seems that I am to make good on my

promise to throttle you before you

bend to my will.”

***

With that, he swooped in on her.

She was anticipating it. She easily

sidestepped and grabbed her sword.

As he spun to find her, she

unsheathed it and tossed the scabbard

away.

The look on her husband’s face

would be called priceless by some,

comical by others. He blinked a few

times, as if knowing that somehow his

wife did not actually have a sword in

her hand, before he flew into a rage.

Well, a greater rage.

“You would draw your sword on

your king?” he demanded, stalking to

her, weaponless. Jaisyn retreated, and

seeing that he was going to back her

into her door, she swung at him. It

wasn’t close enough to hit him, but

close enough for him to register that

she wasn’t going to hand over the

sword, nor was she going to willingly

bend over his knee for that throttling.

He stopped abruptly, glaring at the

tip of her sword, which was now

pointed at his chest, before glaring

into her eyes. His mouth opened, but

she spoke. Her voice was soft and

steely.

“I am your wife, Vulcan of Morden.

I am not your slave. If you wish to

throttle me, you will first have to take

my sword!”

***

Vulcan heard her words above the

roar in his ears and before he could

think better of it, he was pulling his

broadsword from his scabbard. The

shock and anger and fear he’d felt

when he found out that his wife had

faced him at sword point had vanished

and one thing remained: blind rage.

He pointed the blade at his wife and

said softly, in a voice reserved for the

worst of his enemies, right before he

dimmed their lights, “So be it. I will

take your sword and destroy it before

I take you over my knee. You forget

that you are my wife, and in so much

as wives go, you belong to me!”

With that, he lunged.

***

The sound of sword meeting sword

coming from the private chambers of

the queen drew the attention of many

servants. Many wished to open the

doors and find out what was going on

but an older woman prevented them

from doing so. She sat, as calm as

ever, as if unaware of the loud sounds,

before the doors leading to the

queen’s private chambers, doing her

sewing.

“Wha’ is that?” a servant asked the

woman,

a

Lytherian

from

her

coloring.

“By

the

Gads,

sounds

like

someone’s attacking the queen!”

another yelled frightfully.

Magda lifted her head from her

work and replied calmly. “The king

and queen are being entertained by a

troupe of actors. They’re performing

a play for ’er Majesty.”

Many of the faces relaxed at hearing

that but a few remained skeptical. The

commotion behind the queen’s doors

had reached the ears of Ingrid, who

pushed her way through the crowd

and listened to the resounding crash of

steel on steel before telling Magda to

move out of the way.

Magda stared up at the chatelaine,

who glared back with obvious venom,

before lowering her sewing to her lap.

“The King told me to keep anyone

from stepping foot into that room.”

Her voice was calm but firm. “Would

ye defy our king, Ingrid?”

A murmuring went up among the

servants and Ingrid’s dislike of Magda

intensified.

“I would like a word with the queen

when the troupe is gone,” Ingrid said

haughtily, swiping her pale hand

against her hair, which was already in

a tight bun.

Magda nodded. “And when the

troupe leaves, I shall tell her yer wish.

In the meantime, ye may all disperse.

The king won’t be pleased to find ye

shirking duties.”

As soon as she said that, many of

the servants began moving away,

murmuring still. In a few minutes,

everyone had left except for Ingrid,

who was listening intently to the

clashing noises behind the door.

She glared down at Magda. “I

wonder what they are performing in

which a battle lasts this long.”

Magda returned her glare and

smiled. “I wouldn’t know. Ye should

ask the queen when ye meet up wit’

her.”

***

Jaisyn’s sword arm hurt, but she

pressed on. Vulcan had not once hit

her body, even with the flat of his

sword, and she had the feeling that he

was consciously making an effort to

keep from doing so. Still, that did not

keep him from attempting to knock

her sword out of her arm. His heavier

sword had clanged loudly with each

contact. He placed all of his power

behind each thrust, trying to cause her

to release her sword. She held on for

dear life, sidestepping, using his

disadvantage—that he would not hit

her body—to her advantage. She

parried one of his thrusts and pressed

forward, flattening her sword against

the chain mail that covered his hard

stomach.

Vulcan

flinched

back,

glaring down at her all the while. Her

husband looked positively savage. In

no time, he rebounded, cornering her

until she was braced against the wall,

his sword against hers the only thing

between the two of them. She placed

all of her weight into dislodging him,

but it was useless. Vulcan outweighed

her and was stronger and taller than

she was. It had been skill and cunning

versus brute strength and with her in

this position, brute strength seemed

likely to prevail.

***

“Will you yield, stubborn woman?”

Vulcan demanded softly.

She shook her head.

“Yield!” he commanded.

Jaisyn considered yielding for a few

seconds before dismissing the thought

completely. Yielding to her husband

would only make him think he’d won

because he was the man and that was

the way of the world. She would not

give him the satisfaction.

“Never!” she hissed out, feeling her

heart pound rapidly against her chest.

She stared directly into those eyes of

his, trying to anticipate his next move

so she could counter it.

“Yield, damn you!” he roared once

more.

Jaisyn held her ground, using what

was left of her strength to push against

him. Neither he nor his sword budged.

“No!”

She half-expected his next move. He

pushed away from her as his eyes

glittered viciously. Jaisyn shook out of

her arm and prepared to engage again.

Instead of the rapid-fire attacks she

was sure she was going to have to

fend off, her husband lowered his

sword to the ground. Unsure of what

he was thinking, Jaisyn did no such

thing. She slowly edged away from