Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(50)

“We have a goddess among us,” he told them. “I am sure none of you knew that The Beautiful Maid of Mercia was our guide. Lady Ghislaine is the sister of Edith the Fair, who was the wife of Harold Godwinson. Truthfully, I have never been this close to a lady of legendary beauty before, although it is difficult to tell by the clothing she wears.”

Ghislaine was horrified by the compliment once again paired with an insult from Gaetan’s lips. He never seemed to do anything else. Wide-eyed, she looked at the Norman knights who were all looking at her quite curiously now. De Russe and de Moray were the closest to her, the men she was the most frightened of, and when she saw them turn to her, she moved away quickly, tripping over her own feet as she did. She stumbled right in to de Lara, who grabbed her before she could pitch into their food.

“Steady, my lady, steady,” de Lara said, carefully righting her. He had noticed her discomfort with the proximity of de Russe and de Moray. “But I do not blame your reaction to those two. See their dark eyes? That means the devil is upon them. De Moray will belch loudly enough to knock cups from the table and, although it is not frequently spoken of, de Russe is known as the Lord of Flatulence to his friends. He will fart a tune if he is drunk enough.”

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.”