She kicked helplessly as he laughed. “Don’t overextend yourself that way, even when it looks like a clean kill. You’ve good speed, but you press too much. Learn patience. Wait for a clear opening, therf attack. You overbalance that much and you’re dead.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and pushed her unceremoniously away.
Carline stumbled forward, regained her balance, and turned. “Rogue! Make free with the royal person, will you?” She advanced on him, sword at the ready, slowly circling to the left. With her father away, Carline had pestered Arutha into allowing Roland to teach her swordplay. Her final argument had been, “What do I do if the Tsurani enter the castle? Attack them with embroidery needles?” Arutha had relented more from tiring of the constant nagging than from any conviction she would have to use the weapon.
Suddenly Carline launched a furious attack in high line, forcing Roland to retreat across the small court behind the keep. He found himself backed against a low wall and waited. She lunged again, and he nimbly stepped aside, the padded point of her rapier striking the wall an instant after he vacated the spot. He jumped past her, playfully swatting her across the rump with the flat of his blade as he took up position behind her. “And don’t lose your temper, or you’ll lose your head as well.”
“Oh!” she cried, spinning to face him. Her expression was caught halfway between anger and amusement. “You monster!”
Roland stood ready, a look of mock contrition on his face. She measured the distance between them and began to advance slowly. She was wearing tight-fitting men’s trousers—to the despair of Lady Marna— and a man’s tunic cinched at the waist by her sword belt. In the last year her figure had filled out, and the snug costume bordered on the scandalous. Now eighteen years of age, there was nothing about Carline that was girlish. The specially crafted boots she wore, black, ankle-high, carefully beat upon the ground as she stepped the distance between them, and her long, lustrous dark hair was tied into a single braid that swung freely about her shoulders.
Roland welcomed these sessions with her. They had rediscovered much of their former playful fun in them, and Roland held the guarded hope her feelings for him might be developing into something more than friendship. In the year since Lyam’s departure they had practiced together, or had gone riding when it was considered safe, near the castle. The time with her had nourished a sense of companionship between them he had previously been unable to bring about. While more serious than before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.
Roland stood lost in reflection a moment. The little-girl Princess, spoiled and indulged, was gone. The child grown petulant and demanding from the boredom of her role was now a thing of the past. In her stead was a young woman of strong mind and will, tempered by harsh lessons.
Roland blinked and found himself with her sword’s point at his throat. He playfully threw down his own weapon and said, “Lady, I yield!”
She laughed. “What were you daydreaming about, Roland?”
He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. “I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama became when you first went riding in those clothes and came back all dirty and very unladylike.”
Carline smiled at the memory. “I thought she would stay abed for a week.” She put up her sword. “I wish I could find reasons to wear these clothes more often. They are so comfortable.”
Roland nodded, grinning widely. “And very fetching.” He made a display of leering at the way they hugged Carline’s curvaceous body. “Though I expect that is due to the wearer.”
She tilted her nose upward in a show of disapproval. “You are a rogue and a flatterer, sir. And a lecher.”
With a chuckle, he picked up his sword. “I think that is enough for today, Carline. I could endure only one defeat this afternoon. Another, and I shall have to quit the castle in shame.”
Her eyes widened as she drew her weapon, and he saw the dig had struck home. “Oh! Shamed by a mere girl, is it?” she said, advancing with her sword ready.
Laughing, he brought his own to the ready, backing away. “Now, Lady. This is most unseemly.”
Leveling her sword, she fixed him with an angry gaze. “I have Lady Mama to be concerned with my manners, Roland I don’t need a buffoon like you to instruct me.”
“Buffoon!” he cried, leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted, nearly striking. He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own along hers until they stood corps a corps. He seized her sword wrist with his free hand and smiled. “You never want to find yourself in this position.” She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast. “Unless the Tsurani start sending their women after us, most anyone you fight will prove stronger than yourself, and from here have his way with you.” So saying, he jerked her closer and kissed her.