Roland welcomed these sessions with her. They had rediscovered much of their former playful fun in them, and Roland held the guarded hope her feelings for him might be developing into something more than friendship. In the year since Lyam’s departure they had practiced together, or had gone riding when it was considered safe, near the castle. The time with her had nourished a sense of companionship between them he had previously been unable to bring about. While more serious than before, she had regained her spark and sense of humor.
Roland stood lost in reflection a moment. The little-girl Princess, spoiled and indulged, was gone. The child grown petulant and demanding from the boredom of her role was now a thing of the past. In her stead was a young woman of strong mind and will, tempered by harsh lessons.
Roland blinked and found himself with her sword’s point at his throat. He playfully threw down his own weapon and said, ‘Lady, I yield!’
She laughed. ‘What were you daydreaming about, Roland?’
He gently pushed aside the tip of her sword. ‘I was remembering how distraught Lady Mama became when you first went riding in those clothes and came back all dirty and very unladylike.’
Carline smiled at the memory. ‘I thought she would stay abed for a week.’ She put up her sword. ‘I wish I could find reasons to wear these clothes more often. They are so comfortable.’
Roland nodded, grinning widely. ‘And very fetching.’ He made a display of leering at the way they hugged Carline’s curvaceous body. ‘Though I expect that is due to the wearer.’
She tilted her nose upward in a show of disapproval. ‘You are a rogue and a flatterer, sir. And a lecher.’
With a chuckle, he picked up his sword. ‘I think that is enough for today, Carline. I could endure only one defeat this afternoon. Another, and I shall have to quit the castle in shame.’
Her eyes widened as she drew her weapon, and he saw the dig had struck home. ‘Oh! Shamed by a mere girl, is it?’ she said, advancing with her sword ready.
Laughing, he brought his own to the ready, backing away. ‘Now, Lady. This is most unseemly.’
Leveling her sword, she fixed him with an angry gaze. ‘I have Lady Marna to be concerned with my manners, Roland. I don’t need a buffoon like you to instruct me.’
‘Buffoon!’ he cried, leaping forward. She caught his blade and riposted, nearly striking. He took the thrust on his blade, sliding his own along hers until they stood corps a corps. He seized her sword wrist with his free hand and smiled. ‘You never want to find yourself in this position.’ She struggled to free herself, but he held her fast. ‘Unless the Tsurani start sending their women after us, most anyone you fight will prove stronger than yourself, and from here have his way with you.’ So saying, he jerked her closer and kissed her.
She pulled back, an expression of surprise on her face. Suddenly the sword fell from her fingers and she grabbed him. Pulling him with surprising force, she kissed him with a passion that answered his.
When he pulled back, she regarded him with a look of surprise mixed with longing. A smile spread on her face, as her eyes sparkled. Quietly she said, ‘Roland, I—’
Alarm sounded throughout the castle, and the shout of ‘Attack!’ could be heard from the walls on the other side of the keep.
Roland swore softly and stepped back. ‘Of all the gods-cursed, ill-timed luck.’ He headed into the hall that led to the main courtyard. With a grin he turned and said, ‘Remember what you were going to say, Lady.’ His humor vanished when he saw her following after, sword in hand. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, all lightness absent from his voice.
Defiantly she said, ‘To the walls. I’m not going to sit in the cellars any longer.’
Firmly he said, ‘No. You’ve never experienced true fighting. As a sport, you do well enough with a sword, but I’ll not risk your freezing the first time you smell blood. You’ll go to the cellars with the other ladies and lock yourself safely in.’
Roland had never spoken to her in this manner before, and she was amazed. Always before he had been the teasing rogue, or the gentle friend. Now he was suddenly a different man. She began to protest, but he cut her off. Taking her by the arm, half leading, half dragging her, he walked in the direction of the cellar doors. ‘Roland!’ she cried. ‘Let me go!’
Quietly he said, ‘You’ll go where you were ordered. And I’ll go where I’m ordered. There will be no argument.’
She pulled against his hold, but the grip was unyielding. ‘Roland! Take your hand from me this instant!’ she commanded.
He continued to ignore her protests and dragged her along the hall. At the cellar door a startled guard watched the approaching pair. Roland came to a stop and propelled Carline toward the door with a less than gentle shove. Her eyes wide in outrage, Carline turned to the guard. ‘Arrest him! At once! He’ – anger elevated her voice to a most unladylike volume – ‘laid hands on me!’
The guard hesitated, looking from one to another, then tentatively began to step toward the Squire. Roland raised a warning finger and pointed it at the guard, less than an inch from his nose. ‘You will see Her Highness to her appointed place of safety. You will ignore her objections, and should she try to leave, you will restrain her. Do you understand?’ His voice left no doubt he was deadly serious.
The guard nodded, but still was reluctant to place hands upon the Princess. Without taking his eyes from the soldier’s face, Roland pushed Carline gently toward the door and said, ‘If I find she has left the cellar before the signal that all is safe has sounded, I will ensure that the Prince and the Swordmaster are informed you allowed the Princess to step in harm’s way.’
That was enough for the guard. He might not understand who had right of rank between Princess and Squire during attacks, but there was no doubt at all in his mind of what the Swordmaster would do to him under such circumstances. He turned to the cellar door before Carline could return and said, ‘Highness, this way,’ forcing her down the steps.
Carline backed down the stairs, fuming. Roland closed the door behind them. She turned after another backward step, then haughtily walked down. When they reached the room set aside for the women of the castle and town in time of attack, Carline found the other women waiting, huddled together, terrified.
The guard hazarded an apologetic salute and said, ‘Begging the Princess’s pardon, but the Squire seemed most determined.’
Suddenly Carline’s scowl vanished, and in its place a small smile appeared. She said, ‘Yes, he did, didn’t he?’
Riders sped into the courtyard, the massive gates swinging shut behind. Arutha watched from the walls and turned to Fannon.
Fannon said, ‘Of all the worst possible luck.’
Arutha said, ‘Luck has nothing to do with it. The Tsurani would certainly not be attacking when the advantage is ours.’ Everything looked peaceful, except the burned town standing as a constant reminder of the war. But he also knew that beyond the town, in the forests to the north and northeast, an army was gathering. And by all reports as many as two thousand more Tsurani were on the march toward Crydee.
‘Get back inside, you rat-bitten, motherless dog.’
Arutha looked downward into the courtyard and saw Amos Trask kicking at the panic-stricken figure of a fisherman, who dashed back into one of the many rude huts erected inside the wall of the castle to house the last of the