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Time and again she evaded his rapier, laughing at his bewilderment. She was proud of the way she handled the blade and hoped that Cador was watching. It had become more and more important to her that she truly win his approval. Whether the stories told of the wicked outlaw of Kildore were true or not, she had seen no villainy in him—and much to admire.
Perhaps too much, for as her thoughts slid to Cador, Nidd gained a slight advantage. She turned her wits to the task at hand. The angry youth bore in once more, pressing her sorely. He thrust beneath her rapier, only to have his quarry slide her blade along his. He charged in once more, in deadly earnest. By the saints, he’d make this upstart Trev sorry he’d ever set foot in camp!
It took only a few moments for Tressalara to realize that Nidd was not interested in merely besting her—he intended to do her serious harm. Now that she appreciated the danger, she fought back with all the skill she’d learned from Jeday. Her only hope of escaping injury was to let him see that she could hold her own—and more. She led Nidd to give her the next opening, then darted through with a time-thrust, lightly nipping his arm. It had taken great skill to nick him without going too deep, and for a tiny moment she was proud of her control.
Then Nidd staggered back, clapping his hand over his sleeve. The fabric was stained with a small spot of red from where she’d nicked him. How many times had Jeday told her that pride and anger had no place in such a duel? Tressalara lowered her rapier, remorse flowing through her.
“Let us cry friends, Nidd. Come, I will bind up your arm for you.”
The look he gave her should have been warning enough, but Tressalara didn’t see it. As she stepped toward him, he stood mute, his complexion changing from red to white and back again. To be shown up publicly by this scrawny boy filled him with unbearable shame. The flurry of snickers from the onlookers was like a spear in the side of a maddened boar.
Red mist covered his vision. Nidd stood with his foil half raised, made as if to pull back, then lunged in, aiming for her heart. A gasp went up from the crowd. Tressalara was caught off guard by his cowardly attack. Although she reacted with all due speed, it was too late to fend off the blow entirely. The tip of his rapier slit her sleeve and sliced a thin line of fiery pain up her arm toward the shoulder.
Fear and anger spurred her reflexes. As she was forcing his blade away, another flashed up between their crossed weapons, and her rapier went flying out of her numbed and tingling hand
“Enough!”Cador roared.
He stood before them like an avenging angel, broadsword raised and the morning sun creating a halo around his head. There was nothing angelic about his face, though. It was dark with fury. The princess had almost been killed in a brawl, and his wrath was so great it boiled up in his chest like lava. He could scarcely contain it. Another instant and he might have lost her. Tressalara might have been dead in a pool of blood, and the fault was his. His heart thudded with the echo of fear, and with the first stirring of emotion he did not dare acknowledge.
The onlookers stepped back as one, and Nidd cringed. Tressalara stood her ground and lifted her chin defiantly. Violet lights blazed in her eyes, although her voice shook slightly. “I need no one to fight my battles for me, Cador!”
“And I need no quarreling pups to tear the loyalties of this camp asunder!”
She blanched, but he had already turned away to vent his anger on Nidd. “Nor do I need to count among my followers anyone so dastardly as first to attack an unarmed colleague and then follow it up with a coward’s treachery! Nidd, son of Hewel, you are hereby banished from this company!”
He gestured with his shoulder, and two burly men stepped forward, disarmed Nidd, and ordered him out of the camp. The others watched in utter silence. Not a one spoke up in his defense.
Cador faced Tressalara. “For all your slender build, you are a noteworthy swordsman. Your teacher was a master of the art.”
“Yes. Jed…” She caught herself before admitting that it was Jeday, King Varro’s captain, who had instructed her. “My brother Jed taught me well.”
Cador’s eyes narrowed. Yes, he thought he’d recognized Jeday’s techniques in the way she’d wielded that blade to parry Nidd’s near-fatal blow. His heart had almost stopped when he’d seen it coming and known himself to be too far away to save her. He imagined the repercussions to their cause if the Princess Tressalara was murdered while under his protection.
There were other more disturbing considerations that he couldn’t acknowledge, even to himself. A film of sweat covered his forehead, and a fist of anger still knotted his stomach. There must be some way he could keep her out of any further trouble. Inspiration came.
“You need not think your swordsmanship will spare you from my punishment for brawling in camp, Trev. For the next few days, while I am away, you will be at the beck and call of the women of the camp, fetching and carrying wood and water and performing any tasks they may set you to.”
Tressalara swallowed a furious response. She wanted to protest the unfairness of being punished for a fight she hadn’t sought—but then she realized that she might discover far more about Cador and Brand’s motives among the women’s gossip than she could hope to learn from the more taciturn men. The women were more likely to see past the facade and into the heart of the matter. Or the man.
“As you will, Cador.”
He smiled reluctantly. “I hope I may always find you so meek and obedient.” From the set of her jaw, he somehow doubted it. All to the good. The sooner she admitted him to her confidence, the better.
He touched her arm with surprising gentleness. “I will see to your wound.”
At the contact Tressalara jumped back like a scalded cat. “Pah! A mere scratch. I’ll tend to it myself.” Clamping a hand to her bloody sleeve, she walked away with her head held high.
Brand joined Cador. “I see your instincts were on target. The new lad has a cool head and a well-trained arm. I was never more surprised.”
“Nor I!” Cador watched Tressalara’s proud retreat. A rare handful, that one! At least he didn’t have to worry about her while he was away; she could take care of herself. And he knew where to find her when the time came. Safe, among the women who cooked and laundered and saw to the mending. He wondered if, later, she would forgive him for that.
Brand frowned as Tressalara swaggered off into the trees. “That lad bears keeping an eye on. He’s got the makings of a fine warrior. I would never have suspected to find such skill at arms in a callow stripling.”
An odd smile played about the corners of Cador’s firm mouth, and he turned away to hide it. “Yes. I do believe that in time we will learn there’s far more to young Trev than meets the eye.”
It was not far to the riverbank, but the journey seemed to take an eternity to Tressalara. The strain of trying not to wince or grit her teeth against the pain took all her concentration. She was relieved to discover that the wound was superficial and would heal quickly. It would not do to have her sword arm stiff and unresponsive in the days ahead. When the rebel army attacked Lector’s stronghold, she intended to lead them.
She knelt on the sloping bank. The river’s cold would stanch the blood and ease the line of fire burning along her skin. It would do little, however, to put out the flame that Cador had ignited within her with his casual touch. That had had more effect on her than the deep scratch from Nidd’s rapier. In the span of seconds her heart had seemed to stop, then start again, beating doubly fast. Simultaneously her throat had gone dry, and her legs had felt as if they had turned to suet.