Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [115]
“It isn’t that at all!” Jill was shaking in fury. “They’ve been saying I don’t have the right to carry this sword. Just let one of the little bastards try to take it away from me.”
When the warband surged forward, Rhodry shoved his way through the pack, which fell back at the sight of him.
“My apologies, fair maid.” Rhodry made her a bow.
“I don’t want any cursed apology!” Jill snarled, adding a “my lord” as an afterthought. “I meant what I said. Just let one of them try to take it away. A challenge, I mean. Come on, you bastards, I’ll take any one of you on with my bare hands—if you have the balls to face me.”
Rhodry was struck speechless. When he turned to Cullyn, he found the silver dagger his usual impassive self.
“My lord? Over the years, I’ve learned it’s best to let Jill settle these things her own way.”
“What?” Rhodry and Caenrydd spoke together. “She’ll get hurt.”
“If I thought that,” Cullyn said levelly, “I’d have my sword out and swinging right now. I’ve seen this kind of scrap a hundred times, my lord, and I’ll wager Jill wins handily.”
“Done, then,” Rhodry said. “One silver piece gets you two if your lass wins.”
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Caenrydd set up a fair fight between Jill and Praedd, a beefy man who was the best brawler in the warband. Praedd was grinning at the easy fight ahead as he handed his sword belt over to Caenrydd. By then, every man in the dun was crowded round the contest ground. Rhodry noticed Aderyn, watching in horrified alarm, and the two men of the Westfolk, who were making wagers on Jill against any man who’d take them on.
“Very well, then,” Caenrydd said, stepping clear. “It’s on.”
Jill and Praedd began to circle around each other, hands raised and ready. Praedd charged, swinging confidently, only to find Jill dodging in from the side. She grabbed his wrist as he punched, dropped to one knee, and somehow, just like dweomer, two-hundred-pound Praedd flew through the air and landed with a grunt amid the weeds. Still game, he scrambled back up, but this time he moved in cautiously. They feinted, dodged; Praedd swung in low from the side. Jill leapt straight up, kicked him in the stomach, and twisted down like a dancing girl. Gasping, Praedd doubled over, then forced himself upright. Jill danced in and clipped him neatly and precisely on the chin. With a sigh, Praedd closed his eyes and fell forward on the ground.
The Westfolk yelled in triumph, and Cullyn laughed softly under his breath, but the warband was utterly silent, staring at Jill in disbelief and sideways at Rhodry in shame. Jill set her hands on her hips and glared at them.
“Anyone else?”
“Jill, enough!” Cullyn called out. “You’ve made your cursed point, and I have to ride with them.”
“True spoken,” Rhodry said, stepping forward. “All right, men, go pour water over your sleeping comrade there. And don’t feel shamed on my account—I’ve just lost a good bit of silver myself.”
Still, they must have felt the dishonor at the hands of a lass, because they frankly fled, stopping only long enough to scoop up Praedd and carry him away, with the Westfolk trailing after to make sure they collected their coppers. Rhodry made Jill a bow.
“And where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Da taught me somewhat, my lord, and I figured the rest out for myself.”
Jill wiped the sweat off her face onto her shirt sleeve like a man, but still Rhodry’s heart skipped a beat. He’d never seen a lass like her, and she was lovely, oh, so lovely. Then he realized that Cullyn was watching him with grim paternal suspicion.
“I’ll get those coins out of my saddlebags for you. And you’d best keep your hellcat here away from the warband for a while.”
“I will, my lord. Have no fear of that.”
As Rhodry hurried away, he was cursing himself for an utter fool. He knew that he should put this common-born lass with the dangerous father out of his mind for good, but he also knew that for some bizarre reason, he was falling in love again.
That night, Lord Sligyn’s army camped on the banks of the stream that