She Owns the Knight Read Free Page B

with Sir Tristan’s, cutting off his friend’s familiar insults, and he tried not to laugh as Tristan attempted to force a retreat. Kellen welcomed both the effort and the exuberance displayed.
    Sir Owen, as well as most of the other men, stopped training to watch. “Come, Tristan, press forward! You can defeat him! He’s been in a foul mood for months now, and this is your chance to pay him in kind!”
    Tristan continued to strain, his face red and damp. As he was one of the few with enough experience and muscle, and therefore a slim chance of beating him, Kellen was having more sport than he’d had in months.
    “Aaaahhhhh!” Tristan managed to shove Kellen off, only to fall forward. Tristan’s face went from triumphant to angry as he realized Kellen had moved apurpose, and Kellen laughed aloud at Tristan’s wild expression, reminiscent of battles past.
    On the sidelines, Sir Owen’s cheeks became red and he shook a fist. “Come, Tristan, fight harder. ’Tis not our fault his bride is late in coming. Defeat him!”
    Off to the side, three young boys commenced cheering for Kellen, and Sir Owen turned to chase them away. Shrieking, they ran out of reach.
    Kellen’s smile widened. It was the first time he’d felt alive in months. The first his spirits had lifted since his wife’s death. Tristan, breathing hard, ran at him and they took up the fight again, swords clashing, metal sliding, muscles straining. Kellen snickered at Tristan’s obvious frustration. “Tired?”
    “Nay, curse you, you puny, beslubbering wretch.” Tristan hacked like a novice with his sword. “You infectious bunched-backed haggard. You cold-hearted miscreant.”
    Swords clashed a few more times, then Kellen slid his sword around Tristan’s, metal slipping against metal, disarming the man. Kellen kicked Tristan’s feet out from under him, and set the tip of his sword against his throat.
    Breathing hard, Tristan pounded the dirt with a fist, gulped in air, and finally smiled his usual gamine grin. “Have I mentioned I admire such qualities in you?”
    Kellen laughed again and backed away. “Many times.”
    Sir Owen groaned, threw up his arms, and turned away. The men moved back to their training.
    Tristan threw Kellen a dark look as he surged to his feet and quickly retrieved his sword. “Not so many times as all that.”
    “Again?”
    Tristan took up his stance and Kellen circled.
    Kellen understood the point his men were trying to make. He’d been irritable, bad-tempered, and impossible to live with. Mayhap they’d all needed a good tussle to clear the air, and if it had the added benefit of keeping him from brooding, so much the better.
    It had been almost eight months since his wife’s death, and he had yet to wait another five weeks for his new bride to arrive. Corbett had already moved the date back twice. Would Kellen declare war on the Corbetts if they didn’t bring their daughter this time? He was considering it, but wasn’t sure he had the stomach for the deed. But he needed an heir and, to his mind, they owed him one.
    Two of his foster boys came running, breathing hard, excited. “My lord, someone is on our property. We can see them from the top of the gatehouse.”
    Kellen and Tristan both stepped back, checking their swords. Kellen ignored the fact that the boys had been where they should not. Their fascination with the murder hole was understandable, but dangerous just the same. “Scottish?”
    One of the boys, Lord Marlowe’s son, eyes gleaming, shrugged and shook his head. “I do not know, my lord. ’Tis too far away.”
    Grimly pleased, Kellen smiled. A real fight was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his problems. He turned to his men still training on the field. “Mount up.”
    Excited whoops were followed by a quick scramble toward the stables and, minutes later, Kellen rode out, his men behind him. They quickly made their way through the village, across a vast, wet field, and closed in on