Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [52]
He would have found his longing easier to forget if it weren’t for Ricyn. At times, during their slow march south to Cerrmor, he would notice the way that she and her captain talked together, so intimately, so closely, that he wondered if perhaps she’d already broken her vow, and with a common-born rider at that. The jealousy ate at him until he started hating Ricyn, a man he’d always liked before, admired even, for his steadiness, his calm courage, his easy way with the men beneath him. Now he at times had long daydreams of sending Gweniver’s captain out to certain death on a hopeless charge.
Once they were back in Dun Cerrmor, without even the distraction of battle, Dannyn found his feelings for her even harder to ignore. He did his best to avoid her, but there remained their lessons in sword craft. Although he mocked his feelings for her, telling himself that he was nothing more than a stallion in rut, he honestly loved her enough that the thought of her eventual death terrified him. He was determined to teach her every trick he knew to compensate for her lack of weight and reach.
Every morning they sparred for several hours. Although they were using only blunt blades and wicker shields, at times the contest turned into a real fight. Something would set her off, and rather than scoring light touches, she would go berserk and start landing hits, hard slaps of the blade that set off his fury to match hers. For a few minutes they would battle, then break off by some semiconscious mutual consent and resume a more civilized lesson. Although he always won those fights, Dannyn never felt that he was mastering her. He could give her bruises all morning, but the next day she would start it again, pushing him over the edge with a hard blow. He was beginning to think that she was determined to master him.
Being back in the dun also made it hard for him to ignore Ricyn. Often he saw them together, laughing at some joke, Ricyn leaning close to her as they strolled in the ward, even dicing for coppers like a pair of riders. At times Ricyn would come watch them spar. He’d stand at the edge of the practice ground like a chaperon, saying nothing, then escort her away when they were done. Since he had no justifiable reason to order away the captain sworn to another noble, Dannyn had to put up with it.
Dannyn was furious enough one afternoon to go over and join them when they were out by the stables. He simply didn’t like the way Ricyn was smiling at her and strode over in time to overhear an odd jest about rabbits.
“Good morrow,” Dannyn said. “What’s all this about rabbits, my lady?”
“Oh, Ricco’s good at snaring them with these wires he always carries, so I was just saying that maybe he can snare me a few Boars.”
Dannyn liked hearing her use Ricyn’s nickname even less.
“Somewhat that you learned on the farm?” he naapped.
“It was, my lord,” Ricyn said. “You learn a lot, being a farmer’s son. Like how to tell a purebred horse from a nag.”
“And just what do you mean by that?” Dannyn laid his hand on his sword hilt.
“Just what I said.” Ricyn did the same. “My lord.”
With an oath Dannyn drew. He saw a flash of metal; then his wrist burned, and his sword was flying from his hand. Cursing, he stepped back just as Gweniver slapped Ricyn’s arm down with the flat of her blade. She’d out-drawn them both.
“By all the gods, not just mine,” she said, “I’ll kill the first one of you that starts this