Read The Highlander's Bargain for Free Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Longley
came to him. “Another show?”
“Yep. Sword fighting. It’s very popular.”
“I would see this exhibition, if you dinna mind stopping.”
“By all means.”
The crowd let them through easily enough once they saw how they were garbed. Robley watched the two knights. The rush he always got at the possibility of engaging in swordplay raced through his veins. Their form was sloppy and their technique poor by his standards.
“You call this swordplay?” he shouted. The two knights glanced his way. He thrust out his chest in challenge. “I call it child’s play.” The two stopped their mock battle, the glint in their eyes unmistakable.
“Think you to challenge us , both blooded knights?” the one wearing a black tunic under his chain mail shouted back, strutting toward him. His crest was embroidered in gold thread upon his breast.
“Aye, and both at once.” Robley drew his claymore, striding forward to meet him. “You two fight like squires, no’ blooded knights,” he threw out. “Unless by blooded you mean easily defeated. I’ve no’ yet spent time in the lists this day. ’Twill provide me with a bit of sport, nothing more.” He flexed his shoulders, rotated his neck and sent his sword turning in a series of arcs to warm up. “Do ye accept the challenge, lads?”
His opponents watched his movements, their expressions eager. He took up a battle-ready stance. “Come then. I vow to disarm you both.”
They both lunged for him at once, their swords swinging wildly. Robley blocked one blow, then the other. He planted his foot in the center of the black knight’s chest and sent him flying, pivoting to engage the single opponent coming at him. Bringing the edge of his claymore against the other man’s blade, he circled it, waited for his opponent’s wrist to assume just the right position, pivoted and applied pressure. The knight’s sword flew from his hand. The spectators applauded and cheered. The lad bowed slightly, retrieved his weapon and backed away.
Robley turned to face the more skilled, larger knight. “Have at me, squire. ”
The knight in black laughed. “Squire is it? I shall reduce you to mincemeatbefore the hour is done.” He circled him in a boastful stride, looking Robley over with a scornful smirk.
“Come then. Dinna waste my time.” Robley stood his ground, looking bored. Letting loose a battle cry, the man came at him. Robley blocked his blows and worked him back with several well-placed strikes. Gleefully, he settled in for some much-needed physical exertion. “I am called Robley,” he said in an even tone, making a point of showing that his breathing hadn’t yet deepened. “By what name are you known, squire ?” Steel on steel rang out, and the crowd widened the circle to accommodate them.
“My name is Mark. Mark Pilon.”
“Ah, a Norman. I’ve fought side by side with Normans against the Sassenach many a time. We are allies.”
“True enough.” Mark began a series of offensive moves, taking Robley by surprise for an instant, before he retaliated with his own tried-and-true tactics. Shutting out everything else, he set himself to his task, to the battle of wits and brawn. His muscles were warm and loosened, and he drew a long, slow breath, savoring the activity.
Swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, jousting and hunting had always been his favorite pursuits. He thrived on action and exertion. The sense of accomplishment following a good bout never failed to bring him contentment. Aye, physical activities, including a tumble or two with one of the village widows, were all that had kept him sane this past year.
Mark dripped with sweat and breathed heavily, grunting with each blow he parried and with each strike of his sword.
“More time in the lists will build your stamina, lad,” Robley taunted. Mark’s glance darted toward Erin. Robley scowled. Did she glance back? He couldn’t risk finding out. Time to end this, though he was nowhere near expending his
“Yep. Sword fighting. It’s very popular.”
“I would see this exhibition, if you dinna mind stopping.”
“By all means.”
The crowd let them through easily enough once they saw how they were garbed. Robley watched the two knights. The rush he always got at the possibility of engaging in swordplay raced through his veins. Their form was sloppy and their technique poor by his standards.
“You call this swordplay?” he shouted. The two knights glanced his way. He thrust out his chest in challenge. “I call it child’s play.” The two stopped their mock battle, the glint in their eyes unmistakable.
“Think you to challenge us , both blooded knights?” the one wearing a black tunic under his chain mail shouted back, strutting toward him. His crest was embroidered in gold thread upon his breast.
“Aye, and both at once.” Robley drew his claymore, striding forward to meet him. “You two fight like squires, no’ blooded knights,” he threw out. “Unless by blooded you mean easily defeated. I’ve no’ yet spent time in the lists this day. ’Twill provide me with a bit of sport, nothing more.” He flexed his shoulders, rotated his neck and sent his sword turning in a series of arcs to warm up. “Do ye accept the challenge, lads?”
His opponents watched his movements, their expressions eager. He took up a battle-ready stance. “Come then. I vow to disarm you both.”
They both lunged for him at once, their swords swinging wildly. Robley blocked one blow, then the other. He planted his foot in the center of the black knight’s chest and sent him flying, pivoting to engage the single opponent coming at him. Bringing the edge of his claymore against the other man’s blade, he circled it, waited for his opponent’s wrist to assume just the right position, pivoted and applied pressure. The knight’s sword flew from his hand. The spectators applauded and cheered. The lad bowed slightly, retrieved his weapon and backed away.
Robley turned to face the more skilled, larger knight. “Have at me, squire. ”
The knight in black laughed. “Squire is it? I shall reduce you to mincemeatbefore the hour is done.” He circled him in a boastful stride, looking Robley over with a scornful smirk.
“Come then. Dinna waste my time.” Robley stood his ground, looking bored. Letting loose a battle cry, the man came at him. Robley blocked his blows and worked him back with several well-placed strikes. Gleefully, he settled in for some much-needed physical exertion. “I am called Robley,” he said in an even tone, making a point of showing that his breathing hadn’t yet deepened. “By what name are you known, squire ?” Steel on steel rang out, and the crowd widened the circle to accommodate them.
“My name is Mark. Mark Pilon.”
“Ah, a Norman. I’ve fought side by side with Normans against the Sassenach many a time. We are allies.”
“True enough.” Mark began a series of offensive moves, taking Robley by surprise for an instant, before he retaliated with his own tried-and-true tactics. Shutting out everything else, he set himself to his task, to the battle of wits and brawn. His muscles were warm and loosened, and he drew a long, slow breath, savoring the activity.
Swordplay, hand-to-hand combat, jousting and hunting had always been his favorite pursuits. He thrived on action and exertion. The sense of accomplishment following a good bout never failed to bring him contentment. Aye, physical activities, including a tumble or two with one of the village widows, were all that had kept him sane this past year.
Mark dripped with sweat and breathed heavily, grunting with each blow he parried and with each strike of his sword.
“More time in the lists will build your stamina, lad,” Robley taunted. Mark’s glance darted toward Erin. Robley scowled. Did she glance back? He couldn’t risk finding out. Time to end this, though he was nowhere near expending his