“Eight,” the new competitor replied with a grin as he advanced. Two other knights belonging to the earl’s garrison stepped onto the field, another three followed on their heels. When two more appeared at Gareth’s right, wielding an axe and mace, Madoc, watching from the edge of the field, unsheathed the two long swords dangling from either side of his hips. He took a step forward, resting both blades over his shoulders, but Gareth motioned him to go back to the others.
Watching, Tanon clutched her mother’s hand. “He refuses aid! Is he mad?”
“Non,” her uncle answered softly, his voice stilled on a breath of anticipation. “He’s sure.”
On the field, Gareth’s golden armbands glinted beneath the afternoon sun as he slowly looped his sword over his head. In position, he beckoned FitzSimmons with a slight jerk of his blade.
Tanon’s nerves coiled into springs about to launch her to her feet when FitzSimmons swung. The man was huge. She could almost feel the thundering vibration in her own arm when blade smashed into blade.
Gareth spun, bringing his sword around in a wide arc. He feigned a blow to the right, and then gained the first point when his blade struck FitzSimmon’s shoulder. Another man leaped forward and lunged at Gareth’s belly. The prince sidestepped, and as the knight passed him, Gareth swiped his blade across his opponent’s mailed back with enough grinding pressure to fire sparks. He strode toward the next competitor with all the unbridled arrogance of a king, his long tawny hair swaying off his shoulders, his sharp eyes gleaming like blue steel, taking in every movement around him.
Watching him, Tanon’s breath quickened as his every move became a sensual feast for her eyes. Free of the fear that he might be injured fighting so many men, her gaze drank in the tight slabs of muscle that gave power to his thighs as he lunged and leaped. He didn’t need to brace those legs, for he was perfectly balanced. His doeskin pants stretched snugly around alluring angles, tempting her gaze to linger, curious about how it might feel to brush against him. She felt overwhelmed by his sheer virility. Here was a man. Not the boys her uncle Dante laughed at, teasing that they couldn’t woo a sheep to their chambers on a cold winter’s night.
He grew more deadly, more brutal with each new man who came against him, delivering chopping wounds his opponents would be nursing for the next se’nnight. He ducked, parried, and swung all in the time it took to blink. His point was earned with a loud cry as his opponent sank to his knees, blood spurting from his calves.
There was one man left, one point to be won. Gareth tossed his head back as he cut a direct path to where the knight stood waiting for him, looking a bit uneasy.
“He draws blood. He’s enjoying this, brother,” Tanon heard her uncle say.
“Oui,” her father agreed, his cerulean gaze narrowed on the Welsh warrior. “He’s fighting his country’s enemy with the king’s permission. Andmerde,he’s doing it well.”
Tanon inhaled sharply as Gareth leaned left to avoid a clean swipe to his arm. He whirled around, dropped to one knee and drove his sword backward into the knight’s armored belly without injury.
The stands went wild. But the sounds of their cheers went unnoticed by Tanon as Gareth, still on one knee, looked up, knowing exactly where she was in the crowd, and smiled at her.
Tanon was grateful that she hadn’t stood up, for every bone and muscle went weak. Saints, but he still had the most wondrous smile. For one maddening moment, when his mouth curved, it no longer mattered that he was going to take her away. She wanted to touch him, to feel his heart pounding hard in his chest. She wanted to run her fingers down the sinuous, sweaty contours of his arms, and revel in his supreme strength and skill. Just looking at him gave birth to images so perversely sexual, she nearly choked on the shame of it when her mother squeezed her fingers.
“He comes.”
Gareth paused only to wipe his blade before he sheathed it. He looked determined. Unstoppable. When he reached her, he turned only for a moment to her father.
“Sir,” he said, his breath short with exertion. “with your blessing.” He reached over the wall and took Tanon’s hand, bringing her to her feet. “I claim your daughter.”
Chapter Six
It was beyondarrogant. It was downright barbaric the way Gareth had “claimed” her. Was she some prize to be won like chattel at the whims of men? Why, he behaved like a victorious warlord from a less civilized time. Tanon had almost expected him to haul her over his shoulder and carry her away.
She quivered while two of her personal handmaidens hastened to dress her. At her shoulder, her dearest friend and nursemaid, Rebecca, wove her long tresses into a heavy plait.
Swabbing her clammy cheeks with the backs of her knuckles, Tanon wished her body would decide if it was hot or cold.
He’d caused this. An utterly primal man whose eyes were sharp and intelligent, and fired with the many layers of who he was. That fire kindled strange occurrences in her body. She wouldn’t burden her mother with her troubles, but if she didn’t speak to someone, she would go mad.
“Rebecca,” she asked softly. “I would speak with you about this power Prince Gareth has over my thoughts.”
“Nay, Eloise,” Rebecca stopped braiding her hair and called out to one of the handmaidens laying out Tanon’s gown on her bed. “Not the dark blue. Tanon will wear the amber tonight.”
“Tomorrow,” Tanon went on almost oblivious to Lorette fitting a clean linen shift over her head. “I will be his wife.” Gripping Eloise’s shoulders, Tanon lifted one foot into her hose, and then the other.
Lowering her eyes to conceal the shame of her thoughts, Tanon purged on. “He makes me feel quite…odd. And not at all like a lady.”
Rebecca smiled, her gaze softened with understanding. “He’s awakening your womanhood.”
Tanon’s blood rushed to her face so swiftly she nearly passed out. “Well, what if I don’t want…That is, I cannot seem to control my own thoughts. He makes my stomach feel as if it’s on fire. What if I cannot…” She floundered around for the right words. Heavens, she never worried about sharing Roger’s bed. She would do what was required of her, and hope he left her alone the remainder of the time. But she worried over it with Gareth. She slapped her palms against her thighs. “I’ve never even been kissed!”
“Your body will know what to do when the time comes,” Rebecca assured her with a gentle pat on the arm. “If he has a tender hand, your body will react. Simply let it.”
“And if his hand is hurtful?”