battle dance. How to fight with a staff.” She took hold of the staff, slippery with ice. She couldn’t compete with his swordplay, but she could learn this.
It would be like the old days. Amon had been her first weapons master.
He shook his head. “It’s too heavy for you.”
“You can take most of the weight. Just show me the moves. If it works out, I can always get something lighter.” She could see how it could work, using the staff. Being small wouldn’t matter so much when she had a long staff to leverage her reach and the strength of her blows. Once she had the moves down, any kind of staff would serve. With a reinforced staff, she could fight off a swordsman. And the weight of it would build up her shoulders and arms.
“You might get hurt.” Amon seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.
“I’m not breakable,” Raisa snapped. “I’ll try not to hurt you, either.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m just . . . it’s not a good idea for us to have a go at each other.”
“Oh, really? Why not?”
“Just trust me, all right?”
Amon had never been one to be threatened by capable girls. And he’d never taken it easy on her in physical competitions because she was female. Any more than she gave him quarter in those areas in which she excelled. Was he angry that she wanted to be part of his military life? Maybe it had been a relief for him to be away from her, to go down to Oden’s Ford and live with less demanding people.
“I’m stronger than you think,” Raisa insisted. She should be, after all that drilling. “Here. We don’t have to fight against each other. Let’s try this.” She ducked under the horizontal staff so she was inside the circle of his arms, between him and the staff. She turned her back to him, gripped the staff with her two hands, positioning them beside Amon’s. “Now, give me some of the weight and let’s try some moves.”
Amon released a long breath of frustration. And resignation. Another moment, and she felt the weight of the staff in her hands. Amon spoke in her ear, and she could feel his warm breath on her neck. “Turn to the right, swing it up high, down to the ground, thrust forward. Turn again, fast to the left, now bend at the waist.”
It was like an odd sort of front- to- back dance where you couldn’t see your partner’s face, only hear his voice. It was surprisingly graceful, anchored as they were, connected by the weight of the staff. Amon seemed to be taking special pains not to slam into her. His arms pressed against her shoulders, though, and she felt the heat of his body against her back, driving away the cold.
She heard only the whistle of the staff, the crunch of icy grass beneath their feet, the sound of their breathing. Her skin tingled, anticipating each contact between them.
Little by little, Amon gave her more of the weight. Raisa struggled to keep the staff moving, dragging in cold air in ragged gasps, sweating inside her heavy clothing.
Then it happened. She slipped on a patch of ice, Amon tried to adjust, their legs became tangled together, and they fell. He came down on top of her, but managed to brace himself and so avoid flattening her. She heard a smack as the quarterstaff landed some distance away. So they didn’t get a self- administered clubbing, at least.
Raisa giggled, and then she was laughing, snorting with mirth, helpless to free herself. “W . . . we are a dangerous pair, Amon Byrne.” She pressed her hands against his chest, and then noticed that he wasn’t laughing. His gray eyes were roiled with frustration. Sliding his hands under her head, he kissed her, pressing her hard against the frozen ground. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
By the Lady, she thought. I do love kissing Amon Byrne.
He ripped himself free and sat up. “Blood of the demon,” he said, his face ashen. He bent double, looking almost ill. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. We can’t do this.”
Your Highness? Raisa blinked at him, thinking it was the best thing that had happened in a very long time. But just then a strange voice broke in on them.
“Step away from the princess heir.” This coincided with the metallic whisper of swords sliding free of their scabbards.
Raisa whipped around, yanking her own sword free, ending in a low crouch. A dozen horsemen had emerged from the trees, all wearing the camouflage scout uniform of the Queen’s Guard. One wore a corporal’s scarf tied around his neck. He looked familiar.
Amon sprinted for the edge of the woods, where his sword and clothing lay, but one of the horsemen wheeled his horse and charged toward him, swinging a large club with a spike at the end.
“Amon!” Raisa shouted.
Amon launched himself sideways. The club missed his head but slammed into his shoulder, sending him flying to the ground.
The other guards dismounted. Two of them grabbed Amon’s arms and hauled him upright. Blood dripped from the wound in his shoulder and spattered the frozen ground.
The corporal dug in his carry bag and made a great show of pulling out a small, framed portrait. He looked from the portrait to Raisa and nodded with satisfaction, then tucked it back away. “Your hair’s different, but it’s you all right,” he said.
“What is the meaning of this?” Raisa demanded.
“Calm down, Your Highness,” the corporal said. “You’re safe now.”
“I was safe before, Corporal,” Raisa said, advancing on Amon and his captors, her sword extended in front of her. It was foolish to confront a dozen armed men with one sword, but she was seized by the desire to cut someone. “It’s only now I feel in danger. Release Corporal Byrne immediately and explain yourselves.”
“We saw Corporal Byrne attacking you, Your Highness,” the officer said, sliding a warning look at his comrades. “Who would have thought it, and him the son of the captain of the Queen’s Guard.”
“He was not attacking me,” Raisa said. “We were practicing self- defense.”
“Never you mind, Your Highness,” the corporal said. “It must have been a scary thing, to be carried off by a member of your own guard. But he won’t harm you no more. We’ll make sure of that.” He smiled chillingly, and Raisa suddenly remembered where she had seen the corporal before. He was Robbie Sloat, who’d been one of the guardsmen at Southbridge Guard -house the day she and Amon had rescued the Raggers.
“We was on our way to Demonai Camp, to look for you, Princess,” Sloat said. “Now we don’t have to go there at all.”
Sloat barked out orders, and the other guards collected Amon’s sword and his belt dagger and tied his hands behind his back. They took Raisa’s sword, but didn’t bother to search her or bind her hands.
How had Sloat ended up out here in the rough, close to the West Wall?
Whatever he was doing here, she knew it meant they were in terrible trouble.
Sloat faced Amon, ignoring Raisa. “So, Corporal Byrne, I know you’re not out here on foot. Where’d you come from? Where are your horses and who else is with you?”
Amon said nothing, his face hard and set, and an awful, blank look in his eyes.
Sloat slammed his fist into Amon’s midsection, and Amon doubled over, the air whooshing out of him. After a long moment, he straightened, but still said nothing.
“Corporal Sloat,” Raisa said, and enjoyed seeing him flinch when she spoke his name. “Just stop it. I can tell you what you want to know.”
“No, Your Highness,” Amon said, shaking his head. “Don’t tell him anything.”
“We brought three salvos with us, Highlanders loyal to the line,” Raisa said, looking Sloat in the eyes. “I expect they’ll be here any minute.”
Sloat laughed