But then he continued as if he’d said nothing unusual. “Just make sure you do as you are required before and during the wedding. After that you are your husband’s problem.”
Catherine was still shocked at her brother’s first comment and insisted, “I don’t intend to be anyone’s problem.”
Boris snorted a laugh and shook his head. “You’re a woman. Women are always a problem. It’s in your nature to disobey, it’s in your nature to be tempted from honor, it’s in your nature to lie about it.”
“I obey in all things.” Though Catherine knew she was tempted by Ambrose, but she also knew she’d never give way to temptation.
“And it’s in your nature to argue.”
“Isn’t it in every intelligent person’s nature to argue against something that is wrong?”
“I’m not wrong.” Boris kicked on his horse, shouting, “Now stop the chatter and ride.”
Catherine looked back. Her maids were not in sight, and she had no choice but to keep up with Boris. They cantered down the track to the beach and across the sand to the shallow water, Boris riding slightly ahead. The beach was long and narrow and they rode fast to the far end, water and wet sand splashing up. It was years since she and Boris had ridden together. He was a better rider than her, as he always had been, but now he was so much a man that she could barely remember the boy he had been years ago.
Boris took the path past the dunes that led back to the castle through a patch of scrubby woodland and grass. Catherine, Ambrose, and Peter followed it to a small stream and a rickety wooden bridge where, to Catherine’s surprise, three riders waited on the far side. They wore the uniform of the Royal Guard so Catherine wasn’t concerned for her safety, but something felt wrong; these men weren’t here by chance.
“Who are these men?” Catherine asked Boris as they crossed, keeping her voice level.
Boris halted by them, saying, “This is Viscount Lang. And this, Dirk Hodgson, second son of the Duke of Vergen. The young man over there is Sir Evan Walcott.”
Catherine recognized their names but not their faces. There was something about them together that was overwhelmingly masculine and aggressive.
Boris said, “You challenge him first, Lang. The bridge is ours. Keep it that way.”
“My pleasure, Your Highness.” Viscount Lang moved onto the bridge, blocking the path for Ambrose and Peter.
“What’s happening?” Catherine asked.
“You asked earlier what this was about.” Boris turned to her. “Respect for the king is what this is about. That Norwend scum stares at you as if you’re his. At the execution you couldn’t take your eyes off him. And today you left your maids behind, contriving a situation where you could be alone with him. You were warned. You won’t be executed as a traitor—whatever happens, you will wed Prince Tzsayn—but this traitorous piece of shit is going to pay, and you are going to watch.”
Ambrose and Peter had halted ten paces from the bridge. Lang pointed to Peter. “If you wish to cross the bridge, sir, you may.” Pointing at Ambrose, he said, “You, sir, may not cross without proving your honor.”
“No!” Catherine said. “Ambrose is my guard.”
“Ambrose is not fit to be in your guard,” Boris snarled. “He barely denounced his traitorous sister. He wept like a woman at her death. Noyes would like nothing more than to get his hands on Ambrose, but I am saving him the trouble. I deal with the cowards and traitors in the Royal Guard myself. Loyalty is not just in words and deeds but in spirit. And I see no loyalty to the king in him.”
“Do you intend to stay there and snivel like a coward, Norwend?” called Lang.
Ambrose squared his shoulders. “I am here as bodyguard to Her Highness, to protect her, as is my sworn duty, and you should not hinder me.”
“Then you must cross the bridge to do your duty.”
“It’s right that you should offer the alternative, Lang,” shouted Boris. “He may hand over his spurs.”
“It would disgust me to touch them, but I would accept them as an alternative, Your Highness.” Then Lang shouted to Ambrose, “Surrender your spurs and you can ride over my bridge and back home to cry by your fire. I hear you weep like a woman.”
“I’ll not hand over anything to you.”
“Then we fight.” And Lang drew his sword.
Catherine said, “Boris, please stop this. There is nothing between Sir Ambrose and me.” No doubt, if he didn’t fight, Ambrose would be taken by Noyes to some dungeon, but Boris would only choose the best of his fighters and Catherine had no idea how good Ambrose was with a sword.
However, Boris’s eyes were fixed on Ambrose, and he didn’t reply.
Ambrose drew his sword and told Peter, “Your duty is to protect Her Highness, not stay with me. Do your duty.”
“Ambrose, I—”
“Go.”
Reluctantly Peter kicked his horse on and crossed the bridge as Lang rode forward toward Ambrose.
Ambrose backed his horse away, glancing about nervously.
Lang charged.
With a cry, Ambrose kicked his horse hard and rode forward. They passed each other with a clashing of swords, turned, and rode at each other again, but this time Ambrose’s horse reared, hooves clawing at the air. Lang’s horse backed up and instantly Ambrose was charging, slashing down with his sword. There was no contact between the swords, but Lang’s horse screamed and reared. Its reins were cut on one side, as was its neck.
Lang dismounted easily, using his horse to shield him from Ambrose’s sword until he could release the panicked beast, as it was more of a danger than protection. The horse galloped away and Ambrose charged at Lang. Swords clashed and Lang staggered back.
“Dismount and fight honorably,” Lang shouted.
“It’s not my fault you can’t protect your horse or yourself,” Ambrose replied, and sliced at Lang as he rode past. Again the swords clashed, but Lang staggered and turned too slowly as Ambrose whipped round and cut him across the wrist, almost severing his hand from his arm. Lang screamed and dropped to his knees, blood splattering his face, his hand hanging loose and touching the sand. Lang stared at it.
Ambrose dismounted and walked over to Lang.
“Do you agree, sir, that I have proved my honor?”
Lang muttered something Catherine couldn’t hear.
Ambrose shook his head. “I have bested you. Say I have won and I’ll let you live. You can learn to fight with your other hand.”
Lang raised his head and said, “Fuck you. And your whore of a sister.”
Ambrose’s hands were shaking as he walked round behind Lang and raised his sword.
“No!”
Catherine didn’t know why she cried out. But at the sound of her voice Ambrose hesitated. Then he brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of Lang’s head. Lang collapsed unconscious onto the ground.
Boris said, “I don’t believe he has proved anything other than he fights like a villain. Dispatch him, Hodgson.”
“What! No, Boris! Ambrose has won.”
“Hodgson! Do it!”
“It’s you who are the villain, Boris,” hissed Catherine. “Ambrose defeated Lang. It’s dishonorable to send in another man, giving him no time to recover.”
But no one was listening. Hodgson rode forward, slowly drawing his sword.
“Ride him into the ground!” yelled Boris.
Hodgson kicked his horse toward Ambrose, blade raised, but Ambrose dived and rolled forward before Hodgson had the chance to strike. The startled horse jumped over Ambrose, who rose to his feet as Hodgson struggled to control his mount. Ambrose cut across Hodgson’s back. The knight cried out but turned his horse and kicked him forward. Once more, Ambrose ducked, then lunged to stab Hodgson’s leg. As before, Hodgson grunted and slashed at Ambrose, who dropped flat to the ground and rolled under the horse.
Hodgson urged his horse to trample Ambrose, but the horse backed away. Ambrose got to his feet before Hodgson charged again, but this time the horse caught Ambrose and knocked him back to the ground.