Sir Leland came at him again, all taunting forgotten as the sound of their swords striking hard rang through the morning air. I barely had time to draw a breath before they had gone from standing nearly still to an incredible frenzy of metal and flesh against the backdrop of the sandy battle arena.
Sir Leland swung low, and Branford pulled his sword across his body to block it before countering with a quick swipe toward Sir Leland’s head. Branford neatly dodged his opponent’s blade as he turned to the side, and they struck swords with a mighty clang. Again and again, their swords thrust together, pulled apart, parried, and thrust again. There seemed to be no end to it.
As my own panic regarding Branford’s safety heightened, Sir Leland stepped forward, swinging low as Branford jumped over his opponent’s blade and countered with a swing to his head. He missed but came right back again, swinging, dancing easily to the side to avoid another blow and then swinging again. It was then I heard the sharp clang of metal on metal and then the sudden intake of breath as Sir Leland’s foot hit Branford in the stomach, and he went flying backwards, landing a few feet away in the sand. He kept his sword in his hand, and when Sir Leland moved to stab toward Branford’s side, Branford blocked it neatly with the flat edge of his blade. He rolled to his side, righted himself, and lunged at Sir Leland, knocking him off his feet and spinning him to the ground.
From where I stood off to the side, I could see Sir Leland’s hand as he ran it through the sand and filled his palm with the grains. I immediately knew his intent though there was no time to either do or say anything. He took his handful of sand and threw it into Branford’s face as he turned back around. Branford dropped, his hand over his eyes, rubbing at them as he tried to blink and see his opponent while Sir Leland stalked to one side of him. Branford held his sword out in Sir Leland’s direction, still obviously unable to see but listening to the footsteps in the sand.
A small noise escaped from my throat, and Ida’s free hand reached over and grabbed mine. She held both of my hands tightly. I couldn’t look at her—my eyes would not leave Branford. His hand still covered his eyes, swiping at them with near desperate movements to remove the grit as he swung out blindly in Sir Leland’s direction. He could not find his mark.
With a kick into Branford’s face, Sir Leland was suddenly on top of him, and his boot stepped down hard on Branford’s wrist, pinning his sword to the ground. The strain in Branford’s voice was apparent as he tried to free himself and failed.
I heard Sir Leland’s dark laugh—the same one I had heard inside the stables—as he stood over Branford with his sword pointed at Branford’s throat. I pulled my hand from Ida’s grip and took several steps toward the arena before I felt Parnell grab my arm.
“Release me,” I said, though there was little command in my voice.
“Not this time, Lady Alexandra,” he said softly.
I knew he was right though it did not make me want any less to go to my husband. I looked quickly to Parnell. His eyes had moved back to the fight, his worry apparent on his face. I tried to swallow, but my throat was unwilling. I looked back to Branford where he lay on the ground with Sir Leland’s sword so dangerously close to his flesh.
“Maybe you are not quite the man you think you are,” I heard Sir Leland yell out. “Maybe I will have to show your lovely new wife what a man is really—”
Everything occurred so quickly and all at once, it was hard to determine exactly what happened first. I heard what could only be described as a roar coming out of Branford’s mouth. Sir Leland’s malicious grin dropped quickly from his face, and blood began to drip to the ground.
“Dear God,” Parnell muttered under his breath.
Sir Leland’s wide eyes looked at the blade of his sword, which was firmly grasped in Branford’s left hand. Branford twisted it sideways as blood poured over his wrist and arm. He pulled it toward himself and off to one side, dragging Sir Leland off balance as he fell toward Branford’s supine body. Branford’s feet rose up and kicked at Sir Leland’s middle, and the knight toppled to the ground with an audible thud. A moment later, with his bloodied hand still holding the wrong end of his opponent’s sword, Branford was on top of him. Sir Leland tried to grab the hilt of the sword, but Branford grasped the sword in both of his hands as he held the blade across Sir Leland’s throat. Sir Leland could only grip Branford’s wrists to stop the blade from entering his neck.
“Surrender!” I heard Branford yell down at him. “Surrender of your own will now, or I will kill you where you lie.”
Both men were completely still, the only movement from their bodies, the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed heavily. Sir Leland stared up at Branford for a long moment before he released his grip on Branford’s wrists and dropped his head back into the sandy ground.
“I surrender to you, Sir Branford.”
Branford pushed back from the defeated knight and stood up tall, his shoulders rising and falling with his exertion. I watched his left hand as the fingers slowly uncurled from the blade of the sword before Branford tossed it far to the side. He kicked once at the dirt near Sir Leland’s face, tossing dust into the air around his eyes, and then walked backwards a few paces to retrieve his own sword from the ground. He sheathed it as he turned and walked out of the arena.
With his head tilted forward as he trudged away from a battered Sir Leland, I felt as unsure about what to do as I had on our wedding night. Branford’s eyes looked glazed as he stared at the ground, and blood from the gash across his hand continued to fall in drops to the dirt below. Michael approached hesitantly with a strip of cloth, which Branford snatched away from the page and then wrapped it loosely around the wound. He used the back of his other hand to wipe the blood off the cut on his lip.
I desperately wished to throw my arms around him, but I was not sure if that was the proper course of action, and there was no time to ask Ida for advice before he was near us again, telling Michael to get Vanquish back to the stables and prepare both him and Romero for the journey home. Our
eyes met only briefly before he looked away again.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out and brushed my fingers over his mail-clad arm. He looked down at my hand and then back up to my eyes.
“Branford…” I did not know what to say and instead reached to his face and touched his battered lip with my fingertips. He did not flinch but pressed his lips lightly to my fingers.
He seemed about to speak when footsteps came from behind him, and we both turned to look. I tensed as Sir Leland approach but noticed his shoulders were slumped somewhat. His sword was sheathed, and his look was one of chagrin. As he walked past Sir Rylan, he grabbed at Janet and dragged her behind him.
“Here,” Sir Leland said, his free hand still rubbing at his own bloodied face. He took Janet by the shoulders and shoved her in Branford’s direction. “She is all yours.”
“Master?” Janet looked at him, then back to Branford.
“Not anymore,” Sir Leland grumbled.
The girl looked back and forth a few times, confusion clouding her expression. Sir Leland had obviously told her nothing about the possible outcome of the competition. She slowly moved over toward Branford and dropped down to her knees.
“Am I yours now?” she asked quietly.
“Hrmph.” Branford grumbled. He did not look down at her but watched Sir Leland and his entourage as they gathered up their belongings and left the arena. Branford took a long, slow breath and then looked down to the girl at his feet. “I have no need for slaves.”