The Commander's Desire (9 page)

All pretense of games disappeared from the
Commander’s demeanor. His stick moved blindingly fast, and pressed
forward. She refused to fall back. Like lightning, her stick
whipped, clashing with his.

Other warriors gathered to watch.

The Commander was the best swordsman she had
ever encountered. Quickness and precision were Elwytha’s strengths.
They appeared to be his, as well. But he had an advantage she
didn’t. Brute strength. Although she was in top condition, she knew
he would far outlast her. Already she felt a tremor in her arms.
How long had the match gone on? Twenty minutes? Thirty?

Warriors cheered now for the Commander, and
surprisingly for herself, as well.

But Elwytha still had a trick up her sleeve;
one her beloved brother had taught her. She quickened her tempo and
pressed into offensive action, forcing him to parry her moves.

Elwytha was hot, now. Sweat trickled down her
forehead and dripped inside her dress.

In swift succession, she executed the
well-remembered moves. Thrust, parry…thrust, thrust, parry…then
three moves, in blinding succession, designed to trick him and
throw him off balance. She sensed him turn too fast and tilt on his
heels, and made her final lunge. All victory, this move…or all
defeat. It was her only chance. In a minute she would need to cry
defeat from pure exhaustion.

Her stick thrust through the air…and bounced
off his brown jerkin. It seemed to happen in slow motion. She saw
the dent in the cloth, surprise flicker across his mutilated face,
and then heard the approving cheers of the crowd.

Panting, she dropped her stick, her arm
shaking.

The Commander lowered his stick and regarded
her, his breaths still even. She could not read his expression.

He turned to his men. “The spectacle is
over.” His deep voice sounded mild.

With hoots and cheers, the men scattered.

Silently, the Commander held out a hand for
the stick, and after a hesitation she gave it to him. She felt
uneasy. Did he feel fury for being defeated by the hand of a
woman?

But she had prevailed. She was victorious.
And when she battled him in eleven days she would not choose sword
play—or anything that required endurance—to battle him. She had
learned much about her opponent, which had been her intention from
the start.

Head held high, she entered the armory while
he put the sticks away. Still, she sensed no emotion from him.
Boldly, she challenged, “Are you angry you lost to me?”

The Commander walked toward her, forcing her
out of the armory and back into the sunlight. He latched the door
behind him. “You mean a woman…or a warrior?”

She did not answer.

“
Still, you deny it?” Was
that contempt in his eyes?

Anger stiffened Elwytha’s spine. Was he
accusing her of lying? As well she had been, she admitted. Another
character failing this treachery required of her. It made her feel
sick. How could she reply without admitting the complete truth, and
thereby endangering her own safety?

She said, “I would give no advantage to my
enemies.”

He captured her hand and unexpectedly pulled
her closer. Fear flared, then settled. “Do I remain your enemy,
Elwytha?” He stared down at her.

“
How could you be anything
but my enemy?” she returned. Anger twisted inside of her. “We’ve
been at war all of our lives.”

“
Our kingdoms have. Not you
and me.”

Fury burned in her. How could he not be her
enemy, after striking down her brother in cold blood? Did he think
she didn’t know? Surely he hadn’t forgotten—one horror among too
many to count for him?

“
Unhand me,” she spat.
“Pray, do not molest me.”

“
Have I yet?” She heard the
anger in his deep rumble.

“
Nay,” she admitted. “And I
will thank you to keep it that way.”

“
In eleven days I will claim
you for my own. Perhaps you should pray for peace with me
instead.”

“
I would sooner fall on my
sword.”

Shock recoiled across his features, as though
she had slapped him. Satisfied, Elwytha spun and left.

* * * * *

The Commander felt shaken by the hatred he
had seen in Elwytha’s eyes. He had not suspected the depth—that she
would sooner die than have peace with him, or allow him to be a
husband to her.

He clenched his fist. Every attempt he had
made to forge peace between them had hit a stone wall of
resistance. Hatred simmered deep within her. Her swordplay proved
it. She was clearly skilled. A warrior. One of the best
swordsmen—women—he had ever battled. But he had sensed the vicious
fury behind each thrust. She had wanted to hurt him. He believed
she would have killed him if she could.

Because he had killed someone she loved?
Again, he wondered who.

He shoved the heel of his hand across his
prickly scalp. A stalemate lived between them. A fortified
barricade towered around her heart.

If he wanted her for his wife, he would have
to find the tool to weaken the foundation. And he did still want
her, despite all the reasons why not. He liked Elwytha, and her
spunk and fire and passion for life. If only her passion for him
was not hatred.

The Commander frowned, thinking. No more
tiptoeing around the problem she refused to tell him. The wall
would come down. He would discover the truth.

He recalled the visible emotion playing over
her face as she had battled him. Yes. He knew exactly how to weaken
that wall. And then how quickly it would crash.

He smiled in satisfaction and planned his
next moves. As he headed for the castle, however, a few of his men
reappeared and hooted and cat-called him. He should have expected
this.

“
She’s befuddled your brain,
Commander,” gibed one man.

He smiled, but unsheathed his sword. His
warriors needed to remember respect. With an edge of menace, he
said, “I would battle any man who wants to challenge me.”

“
Mayhap her sweet form
caused your eye to wander,” taunted another.

He rolled his great shoulders and thundered,
“Pick up your sword.” The men scattered, which satisfied him. Their
continued snickers did not.

* * * * *

Elwytha sped inside the castle, intent on one
purpose only—to find her blades.

“
Hagma!” She spied the maid
scuttling down a side hall. “Take me to the throne
room.”

With a questioning look in her eyes, the girl
crept closer. “Has the Prince called for you?”

“
I require knowledge of this
castle. I wish to walk and not get lost.”

“
The Prince would not be
pleased if I brought you to the throne room.” Hagma looked
disturbed.

“
Bring me to its doors, and
then leave me,” Elwytha offered the maid a comforting smile. “I
will not trouble the Prince. Never fear.”

“
What does the Commander
say? Perhaps I should ask him what I should do.” The maid wrung her
hands.

Elwytha frowned. “The Commander does not need
to know everything. If you won’t help me, I’ll find it on my
own.”

Dismayed and irritated, she spun on her heel
and strode toward the great hall. When she glanced back, Hagma had
disappeared. Mayhap to alert the Commander to her castle
wanderings? Elwytha quickened her steps, and sped through the
halls. Good thing she hadn’t told Hagma her true destination.

Elwytha hurried through hall after hall,
using the great hall as her starting point. She began to understand
how the castle was built. The old parts were fashioned of great
stones, and the newer parts were made of smaller stones and wooden
timbers. The old halls were narrow, and the new wider. She knew the
room where she had bathed was large, with small stones and wooden
beams overhead. Likely it was in an outer wing of the palace.

Her slippers sped swiftly and silently down
one hall after another, and then, quite by accident, she came
across the throne room. She only knew it was the throne room
because a guard slipped in through a great double door and white
quartz sparkled out.

A small smile crossed her lips. Now to find
that bathing room. With unerring steps, she recalled that first,
terrifying journey with the Commander. Her memory did not fail
her.

At last. She stopped before the familiar
carved door.

Elwytha tugged on the door latch. Locked.
Dismayed, she rattled the latch again. Still locked. Elwytha spun
and slid down the wall to the floor. Denied. Again her weapons
would be denied her. Frustration simmered. Saddled with the brutish
Commander, blades irretrievable…now what would she do?

She took deep, even breaths, trying to
formulate a plan. Perhaps she could check back every day, perhaps
at different times, in order to see if the room was left unlocked
by accident. Perhaps she could break into the armory and steal
weapons at night. She needed three, in order to prepare for her
final battle with the Commander. This plan appealed. Or perhaps she
could pilfer the Commander’s own blade from his chamber in the
middle of the night.

This last plan appealed the most of all. It
would be a fitting punishment. His blade had ended her brother’s
life. His blade would end his own, as well.

Elwytha sprang to her feet, plan fully
formed. This very night the Commander’s reckoning for his many sins
would begin.

* * * * *

That evening, Elwytha was again forced to
endure another meal with her betrothed and his knaves. This time,
however, instead of joking about her, they jested the Commander’s
defeat at her hands this afternoon.

“
Pray, what is this?” the
Prince inquired, his black eyes narrowed and amused. “Tell all,
Commander.”

“
She’s put a spell on him,”
hooted one man.

“
Wed her soon, Commander,”
yelled another.

“
He canna think straight,”
leered the lout at her side. “Nor I. I lose all sens’bilities,
looking at her.” To her horror, the lout edged closer and slurred,
“You’re s’sweet. Favor me w’ a smile, Princess.”

Oh, for a blade! “Remove yourself from my
presence,” she ordered, flaying him with a cold glare.

He chuckled and patted her leg. Horror
convulsed through her. Unthinkingly, she jerked sideways, into the
Commander. He looked at her, still scowling from the men’s
jests.

She shoved the man’s hand off her. “Leave
me,” she hissed. She felt the Commander stiffen, and suddenly he
surged to his feet. The next thing she knew, he had dragged the
lout by the jerkin from the table. The smaller man hung from the
Commander’s fist, feet dangling above the floor.

“
You would touch my bride?”
The deep rumble bristled with menace.

Elwytha cringed, waiting for his great fist
to smash into the man’s face. She appealed, “He’s drunk. He knows
not what he does.”

This testimony did not appear to please her
betrothed. He turned his glare on her and growled, “You would allow
his touch before mine?”

Dismay speared Elwytha. “I wish neither. But
I don’t want violence done on my behalf. Throw him out. That would
please me.”

The Commander shoved the drunkard into the
hands of two guards who had appeared. Then he settled his great
form on the bench beside her. He did not look at her.

“
How valiantly the Commander
defends you, Princess,” the Prince said, clearly mocking. “Have you
captured his heart already?”

The Commander shoved his dagger into a lump
of meat. “I would defend her honor. Read no more into it.”

The Prince smiled. “And what of you, Elwytha?
Has the Commander’s valor won your heart?”

He sported with them both. Coldly, she
returned, “You forget your manners, Prince. It is unseemly to probe
into another’s affairs.”

“
Then you admit to an
affair. I am pleased you are so well matched.” A smile gleamed from
the Prince.

Elwytha glared, again itching for a blade.
Instead, she decided to ignore the mocking Prince. Clearly, the
idleness of his mantle left him bored. He wished to annoy others
only to entertain himself.

The Commander and Prince thereafter spoke of
castle matters, which led to talk of the latest tribute demanded
from the Northumbrian King, Osred.

“
You will pay it?” the
Commander asked, spearing up a final hunk of meat.

“
You think I should
not?”

“
I do not think Osred will
attack us.”

“
True. He has other things
to occupy his mind.”

The Commander nodded. “The Picts, to the
north.”

“
Among other things.” The
monarch sent Elwytha a narrowed glance, as if curbing his tongue
for her sake.

He needn’t. Sweetly, she said, “His nuns? I
hear he is a debauched, wicked young man. Perhaps your role model,
Prince?”

His jaw tightened, and she felt well pleased
with this small victory.

The Prince said, ignoring her, “Osred has
kept his word of peace. As long as he remains ruler, I will pay. I
have no wish to fight the Northumbrian hordes.”

After supper, Elwytha excused herself. With a
fake, gracious smile to her host, and one that barely acknowledged
the Commander, she made her exit.

In her chamber, she happily readied for bed,
anticipating her mission that even; securing a blade as soon as the
Commander snored into slumber. It would be the first of the three
she would need for her final battle with her brother’s
murderer.

How shamed he would feel tomorrow morn, to
discover his coveted blade gone missing. Elwytha smiled to herself.
Yet another benefit to her task.