Page 11 of The Sword and the Damsel

She patted his hand again. “That’s nice, dear.”

“What are you two chattering about?” asked Alais, halting in front of their blanket. Both she and Socorro were breathing heavily. Her face was flushed from the exercise. She was radiant in the bright autumn sun.

Victor stood to help her down from Socorro. She slid against his chest until her face was level with his with her toes barely touching the ground, her lips so close and kissable.

No. None of that.

He released her and stepped away briskly. Oh, he was going to keep Jane busy tonight.

Lady Alais was remarkably quiet on the way back to the castle. When they got to the stables and dismounted, she put a hand on his arm, and he immediately drew back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand and blushing. “I wanted to say thank you for letting me ride Socorro. And I should apologize for my behavior earlier. I know you’re only doing your job. I shouldn’t make it hard for you.”

She turned and walked into the castle. Dora winked at him and then followed. Victor watched Lady Alais go, taking guilty pleasure in the view.

Satan’s salty roasted balls on a stick.

He was in trouble.

Chapter Five

Alais sat withfour other young ladies near her age on a blanket laid on a grassy field next to Winchelsea’s west gate, watching knights arrive for next week’s tournament. The tall, crenelated city wall loomed beside them, showing patches of lighter stone where repairs had been made after last year’s battle. Vines twined up the square sides of the watch tower by the gate. The mottled aquas and indigos of the bay rippled in the distance and the crisp, sea-salted air that rolled off of it made their blanket and clothing billow in the breeze.

Alais and her friends had an excellent view of the ancient Roman road to Hastings without being close enough to be overheard by passersby. Dora was sitting with them and knitting. Sir Victor sat at a discreet distance, sharpening his sword, looking like a thundercloud ready to ruin her sunny day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Sir Victor?” Alais called over to him.

“Very sure,” he called back.

“But I was hoping you’d let me braid your hair,” she teased, making her friends erupt in uncontrollable giggles. Dora gave her a scolding look.

“Absolutely not,” he answered, setting to work on his sword with renewed vigor.

Alais turned to Dora. “I know I shouldn’t tease him, but it’s so hard to resist. He’s been so grumpy lately.” She couldn’t saywhy, but nothing pleased her more than getting under his skin. He tried so hard to be stoic and impassive. It was delicious fun to see his façade slip, even if it was only to express annoyance at her.

Dora shook her head and then went back to her knitting. Alais turned back to her friends.

“So what’s your ideal man, Lady Alais?” Lady Eugenie asked, taking an apple from the picnic basket before looking back at the road below, and then tucking a golden lock behind her ear.

“My ideal man? Hmm.” Alais smiled and looked up at the clouds, narrowing her eyes, as if she had to think about it. As if she hadn’t listed his attributes a thousand times in her head. “He’s brave and loyal and true—”

“That goes without saying,” Lady Eugenie objected.

“He’s clever and witty—” Alais continued.

“Boring!” interjected Lady Mathilda, brushing away a fly that had landed on her raven hair, and rolling her deep brown eyes.

“And handsome, of course!” Alais persevered. It was hardly the most important factor for her, but she knew what her audience wanted. The distant sound of sword sharpening suddenly picked up pace.

“Elaborate,” demanded Lady Simone, her round, baby face sporting a wicked smile as she folded her arms beneath her ample, pillowy breasts.

“He’s tall and lean and well-muscled. He’s graceful of bearing. He has blond hair and piercing blue eyes that set my heart aflame. When he looks at me, his eyes become haunted and hungry. He can’t eat or sleep for the love of me, but he’s ready to fight all comers to win me. None can withstand his sword. He sings me love poems, woos me with sweet words, and gives me precious gifts, and I pretend to be aloof and unmoved but still he persists. I don’t give in to his courtship or show him any sign of my affection until he demonstrates his love throughsome grand gesture, like slaying a leviathan, defeating an evil tyrant, or better yet, providing a dramatic rescue.Myrescue, preferably.”

The ladies leaned in around Alais, nodding and murmuring approval as she pontificated. Their brightly colored skirts puddled around them, rustling in the ocean breeze. The sound of the sword sharpening stopped.

“And then, and only then,” she added in a confidential murmur, “will I grant him the kiss he so fervently seeks. His kiss will be a delicious torment, filling us both with desire and longing, and he’ll propose on the spot because he can’t live without me. He needs to hold me naked in our bedchamber, or he will surely die.” The sword sharpening started again.

“Alais! Don’t say things like that,” Iselda yelped in shocked tones, looking remarkably like their older sister, Carenza, at that moment.

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