Hers To Command. Margaret Moore

his club to Henry.

      Cerdic could call them toys if he liked, Henry thought as he tested the feel and weight of the club, but this thing could break bones.

      As he swung his weapon back and forth, then up and around his head, he studied Cerdic out of the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t be easy to defeat. He was full of the confidence that came from skill, and he was one of the more well-muscled men Henry had ever seen. Although Henry didn’t believe Cerdic would kill or seriously wound a guest of the ladies of Ecclesford, he didn’t want to have to hobble about on a broken leg, or nurse a broken arm, either.

      “Until the first man cries mercy?” Henry proposed.

      His opponent nodded.

      “Care to make a wager on who it will be?”

      That brought another grin to Cerdic’s face. “Ten silver pennies ’twill be thee.”

      “Done,” Henry said. He glanced at the other men. “Wonder who they’ll bet on?”

      “Me to win, thee to lose,” Cerdic said in a low voice.

      And then, with a blood-curdling cry, the man ran at Henry, swinging his club back and up and around, to bring it crashing down on Henry’s head—had Henry still been standing there. With lightning-fast reflexes honed by hours of practice, Henry deftly sidestepped the blow and shoved his shoulder against Cerdic, knocking him sideways.

      Growling an oath, Cerdic righted himself and turned to see Henry holding his weapon with both hands, his body half-turned. Henry swung low, aiming for his calves.

      Hissing like a snake, Cerdic leaped back, his arms wide with surprise. “Dog! Thou wouldst break my ankles?”

      “You could have broken my head if your blow had landed. If this were an ax and I’d hit, you could have lost your feet.”

      Scowling, Cerdic raised his weapon again and shuffled, by wary inches, closer to his opponent. Henry hesitated, not sure if he should try to strike low again, or knock the weapon from Cerdic’s hand.

      That hesitation cost him, for Cerdic suddenly jumped forward, bringing his weapon straight down. Henry lunged to the left, nearly sprawling on the ground. He righted almost at once and managed to hit Cerdic’s club.

      Cerdic struck back instantly, his club coming down on Henry’s. Shoving it off, Henry backed up a step or two, but the men watching had surrounded them, ringing them in, and he had less room to maneuver than he thought.

      Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to give up. He was going to win and show these soldiers that he really did know how to fight with something other than a sword or mace or lance.

      He would prove his skill and do Sir Leonard proud.

      As fierce resolve coursed through his veins, he watched Cerdic like a hawk would a field mouse it wanted for its dinner and shouted at the men to give him room. They did, backing up a little, although they muttered in complaint as they did.

      “I need no more room to defeat thee,” Cerdic said through clenched teeth, also keeping his gaze on Henry, no doubt seeking an opening, too. “Canst thou not fight in close quarters, Norman?”

      “Aye, indeed, I can,” Henry replied, circling him in a crouch. “Very close.”

      With that, and although he was right-handed, he swung his club from the left. As he’d expected, that caught Cerdic off guard and he was unprepared to defend a blow from that side. The club flew from his hand, striking an unfortunate fellow in the front row.

      That would teach him to stand too close, Henry thought, even as he seized his chance, and with a deft turn of his body, shoved Cerdic backward with his left shoulder. The man landed on the ground, spread-eagled, flat on his back and weaponless.

      In the next moment, Henry’s foot was on Cerdic’s throat. “I believe I have the advantage, my friend,” he said, still holding his club in case Cerdic was able to break free or grabbed his left ankle and tipped him back, as Henry would have done.

      Apparently, however, that move didn’t occur to Cerdic, who gave him a disgruntled frown. “I yield.”

      Henry removed his foot and reached out his hand to help Cerdic to his feet. The fellow would have none of it, however. He rolled onto his side and got up unaided. “Thou didst not say thou could use either hand.”

      “I wasn’t born able to do that,” Henry replied, prepared to be friendly, especially since he had won. “I was trained to do so. It isn’t easy, but any man may learn how, with enough practice.”

      Cerdic merely grunted as he went to his clothes on the ground nearby and fetched a small purse. The other men continued to regard Henry with wary caution, and perhaps—or so he hoped—a little respect.

      He’d probably made more of an enemy of Cerdic, though. However, if a man hated you on sight for something that was not your fault—your birth, or your rank, or your looks—there was little to be done to change it, and Henry did have his pride. Even so, had he been staying at Ecclesford for the winter, he would have willingly lost the contest, if only to ensure himself a little less animosity from the men of the garrison.

      “Here,” Cerdic said, handing him ten silver pennies.

      “Thank you,” Henry replied, sincerely happy to have them. As Lady Mathilde had been informed, he had nearly nothing in his purse, and while he wouldn’t take payment for helping ladies, he would certainly pocket the winnings of a wager fairly won, and with some effort. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll see what sights the town has to offer.”

      From the smirks on the faces of the men, he could guess how they thought he’d be spending his money. In that, they were quite wrong. He enjoyed wine, to be sure, and women, but not today, and not here. Not when there was a lady to woo.

      So instead, the pleased, triumphant and slightly richer Henry sauntered through the village of Ecclesford, surveying the buildings and the wares in the marketplace, and trying not to notice that everybody stopped and stared at him as he passed by. He could also easily imagine what they’d be saying about him in the tavern and around the well when they heard of his defeat of Cerdic, and that it wouldn’t be flattering. That was only to be expected, and since his visit here was not likely to be long, he wouldn’t let their hostility disturb him.

      All in all, Ecclesford seemed a fairly prosperous place. The main road skirted a green, and several two-story structures—stalls on the bottom, living quarters above—surrounded it. Women were both selling and purchasing goods ranging from bread, to chickens in small wooden cages, to bolts of woven cloth. He spotted the sign for an inn called, to his amusement, the Cock and Bull, and the ringing of a hammer on an anvil proclaimed the smithy. Another group, this time of men, were gathered outside the entrance, some standing, the older men on a bench that faced the west and setting sun. A massive oak grew near the smithy, and its spreading branches, now yellowing in the autumn, still provided some cooling shade on this warm day.

      On the other side of the village beside the millpond, he paused to take a deep breath and realized that he stank of sweat. He needed to wash, and well.

      He could always ask the servants at the castle to prepare a bath, he mused, until he thought of the very friendly Faiga. He was tired after his contest with Cerdic and didn’t particularly feel like fending off any unwelcome advances.

      He glanced at the pond. It looked deep and inviting. A dip in those cool waters would be just the thing—except that he would be in plain view of half the village if he did that here.

      Seeking a more secluded spot, he kept walking until he rounded a curve in the road and came upon a grove of willow trees along the riverbank, their graceful branches hanging to the ground, some grazing the river itself as it made its leisurely way toward the sea. Yes, this was much more to the purpose, he thought, ducking under the branches and removing his clothes.

      Naked, he waded gingerly out into the water, wincing as he walked barefoot over the rocks and pebbles. When the water was up to midthigh,