“Hold your shield higher,” Jamie instructed.
He was practicing with Martin in the enclosed courtyard behind the palace.
Martin lifted his shield, and Jamie gave it a good crack with the flat of his sword that sent Martin back three paces.
“That is the way,” Jamie called out when the lad came back swinging.
Martin had a natural skill with the sword and was improving daily. But instead of following through as he should, Martin checked his swing and dropped the point of his sword.
“What is the matter?” Jamie said. “I did not call a halt.”
Martin widened his eyes and began making an odd motion to the side with his head.
“By Saint Wilgefort’s beard, Martin, just say it!”
“She is here,” Martin said in a whisper loud enough to carry a mile.
There was only one woman who could make his squire act like the village idiot.
That made two of them.
Jamie steeled himself to see Linnet before turning around, but his effort was for naught. The sight of her made him wretched with longing. Aglow in a cream and gold gown, she looked like an angel sent from heaven to brighten the world for lowly man.
He reminded himself she was no angel. This was Linnet.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Martin make his escape. No lesson needed; the lad knew when to beat a hasty retreat.
Was Linnet here to attempt to change his mind? He told himself she could not do it… but he knew he lied. One brush of those long, slender fingers, and he would weaken. He missed her like the devil. Her absence was an ache that never left him. Perhaps he was wrong to hold out against her. Would he suffer more with her than he did without her?
“If you’ll sheathe your sword,” Linnet said without a hint of humor, “I would speak with you.”
Clearly, she was not here to pledge her undying devotion and beg him to take her back. He heaved a sigh as he slid his blade into the scabbard at his belt. Then he folded his arms to indicate he was ready to listen.
“Something unexpected has happened,” she said, her voice pitched high with tension.
What was this?Linnet was clutching her skirt, and her knuckles were white.
“Unexpected?” he asked.
“I cannot speak of it here,” she said, glancing up at the dark windows overlooking the empty courtyard. “We must be somewhere private.”
He narrowed his eyes, taking in the rigidity of her stance, the lines of tension in her face. Something had upset her enough to swallow her pride and come to him.
It seemed unlikely anyone could overhear them in the courtyard—but apparently it was not private enough for what she had to tell him. His curiosity grew.
“There is an old armory off the courtyard that is no longer in use,” he said, gesturing to a weathered wooden door. “No one will hear through the stone walls.”
The door creaked as he opened it for her. In the gloomy light that filtered in from the small windows near the roof, he saw broken shields and other weapons beyond repair piled against one wall. Two long benches were covered in a thick layer of dust.
“I have no cloak for you to sit on.” Puffs of dust filled the air as he swiped at one of the benches with his sleeve.
“I don’t wish to sit, thank you.”
What made her so nervous? It was so unlike her. He watched her closely as he waited for her to tell him. As her gaze flitted around the room, a thought began to grow in him.
When she still did not speak, he prompted her. “You had something unexpected to tell me?”
“Aye, quite unexpected. At least to me.” Her gaze came back to rest on him for a moment and then flitted away again. “I thought you would want to know. That you would want to help me. You see…” She paused to lick her lips. “You see…”