The table erupted in laughter, all except Aramis. Being insulted in front of men was one thing, but being insulted in front of a woman was quite another. “I see that I have not beat you nearly hard enough, de Lara, for your mouth continues to runneth over,” he growled. “Next time I shall cut out your tongue.”
The table was still laughing but Ghislaine wasn’t so sure why when de Russe was leveling threats. She believed him even if the others did not. “I do not believe that about you, my lord, truly,” she said to de Russe because she didn’t want him spewing threats at her, too. “I am sure Lord de Lara is mistaken.”
Luc was grinning even though Ghislaine was very nervous. “Do not fear him, my lady,” he said, putting an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and away from de Russe. “He would not dare strike me with you as my protector.”
Aramis simply shook his head, sighing heavily as he turned back to his drink. “Only de Lara would have a woman as a protector.”
“I would not discount her so easily,” Gaetan, across the table, pointed out. “I have seen her fight. She is not to be trifled with.”
Aramis cast Ghislaine a long glance. “Is that so?” he said. He then looked her up and down with those dark murky eyes. “How many men do you command, my lady?”
Ghislaine was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the discussion and the fact that de Lara had his arm around her waist. Although seemingly a kind enough man, and a handsome one, she was vastly uncomfortable with him touching her. In fact, the entire situation had her wanting to run for cover.
“Two hundred men,” she said, wondering if her voice sounded as nervous as she felt. “Mostly archers.”
Aramis seemed to turn more of his attention to her, now seriously inspecting the lady warrior they’d brought with them. The highly alcoholic mead was loosening them all up, even those who normally didn’t speak much, de Russe included.
“I see,” he said. “But do they fight in hand to hand combat?”
Ghislaine nodded. “They have.”
“Have you?”
Again, Ghislaine nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Aramis rolled his head sideways, looking at the men around the table. “This is something I must see for myself,” he muttered, a flash of a grin on his face. “Someone give her a sword. I want to see how she can fight.”
There was jest and joviality to the conversation and the knights around the table were grinning as one of them turned to the squires sitting against the wall by the door, demanding a short sword.
Ghislaine, however, was mortified. Terrified and mortified. Was it really possible that the enormous knight wanted to fight her? Worse still, she could see men pulling out their coin purses and plopping silver coins onto the table, evidently betting how long it would take for her to either surrender or be disarmed by de Russe.
Ghislaine couldn’t decide if she was more insulted by what was going on or more frightened. De Lara still had a grip on her as one of the squires ran up and handed her a beautifully made sword that was fairly lightweight, but it was something Ghislaine had never fought with before. It wasn’t her weapon and she wasn’t used to it. So they expected her to fight with this, did they?
She could hardly believe this was happening.
But it was happening, indeed, and men were putting money out to bet on the spectacle. Feeling increasingly frightened, Ghislaine looked to Gaetan to see if he would stop the fight but he was looking at her most appraisingly over the rim of his cup, his bronze eyes dark in the dim light of the hall. As de Russe collected his sword and came away from the table, pulling her out of de Lara’s grip, Gaetan stood up and came around the end of the table.
Ghislaine was standing near de Russe, having absolutely no idea what she was going to do, when Gaetan put himself between her and the massive figure of de Russe. Thank God! Ghislaine was relieved beyond measure that Gaetan was showing some sense but that comfort lasted only briefly. Gaetan pulled her away a few feet and put his hands on her upper arms, bending over to speak to her in a calm, quiet voice.
“He has a blind spot below his chin,” he muttered. “He is used to fighting big men or men near his eye level, not a small woman. He will lift his sword and when he does, go underneath it and put your blade to his belly. Do not puncture him but let him know you will not stand for his foolery. I have seen you fight, my lady. Your bravery knows no bounds.”
Ghislaine was looking up at Gaetan, trembling in his grip. “Does he really want to kill me?”
Tears filled her eyes when she said it and Gaetan could see, at that instant, that she did not see this as a joke. She saw it as a very big man trying to kill her, her enemy. Gaetan shouldn’t have felt anything towards her at that moment but he did; he felt a great deal of pity for her. She was frightened and they were all making a joke about it.
But it wasn’t funny anymore.
Gaetan had been watching her all evening as she sat with their hostess, Lady Gunnora, and the truth was that it was difficult for him to take his eyes off of her. Something about Ghislaine was drawing him to her more and more but it was interest unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d known beautiful women – he owned beautiful women – but Ghislaine was different. There was something about this serious, courageous woman that had captured something inside of him. He wasn’t sure what yet, but she stirred something within him, and right now he was feeling a good deal of compassion for her fear.
And a good deal of protectiveness.
“Nay, he does not,” he answered after a moment, his voice soft with sympathy. “He is making a joke with you because he does not believe you can fight. I know better, but he does not. If it frightens you, I will not let him do this.”
I know better, but he does not. Ghislaine could see Gaetan’s respect for her in his eyes as he said those words, respect that he’d never shown her before. It was so strange how those few words suddenly dashed her fear for the most part, fortifying her because she realized that Gaetan had faith in her.
She blinked away her tears, looking at de Russe standing a few feet away, toying with the sword in his hand. It occurred to her that if she fought de Russe, even in jest, then it might make Gaetan’s knights respect her just a little as well. Perhaps they would even talk to her. As Jathan had said, these men had fought together for many years and there was an inherent respect for one another because of it. They knew what each man was capable of. But they didn’t know what she was capable of. She’d spent the entire meal marveling at their bond, even being jealous of it.
Perhaps this was her chance to earn a little of their respect, too.
“I will fight him,” she said, sniffling. Then her gaze returned to Gaetan. “And I shall win.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am.”
Gaetan could see that she was dead serious. She’d overcome that fear he’d seen in her eyes and now all he saw was determination. It had happened quickly, like a flame being doused, but there was no doubt that she would now meet de Russe head-on. It was a rather astonishing transformation but one he admired. He couldn’t help the lick of a smile that crossed his lips.