For The One(120)

I’m smiling when Adam looks at me. “I’m the one who won, dickhead. You’re just benefitting.”

Adam’s eyes narrow and he grabs one of my spare swords. “I’m here to help you warm up. Don’t make me use this for real.”

I bring my sword up to meet his, Jenna’s red ribbon fluttering in the breeze below the cross guard. “Just don’t be an idiot and waste this chance,” I tell him. “You need to marry her as soon as possible.”

Adam gets that sneaky look on his face again. “So you sacrificed for the greater good?”

I swing and our swords clash against each other. The morning sun glints off his blade. “It wasn’t a sacrifice.”

Another swing, another crash. “I was being sarcastic.”

“All wasted on me.” I bring my sword around in a series of moves meant to throw him off his guard.

“Easy, tiger,” he says after the onslaught. “I don’t have armor on.”

“I’m not going to hurt your pretty face. You still need to look good for wedding pictures.”

He laughed. “It’s important to you that we get married, huh?”

“You almost lost each other once. That should not happen again. So don’t squander the opportunity.”

“But you said deciding our wedding date on a bet was dumb.”

“It is dumb, but you might as well take advantage of it since you won.”

We continue to warm up without saying anything further about the wedding. Twenty minutes later, he begins helping me strap on my full suit of plate mail, draping my black and silver tabard over the breastplate. Then he carries my swords, shield and buckler to the arena.

When we get there, the bleachers are full, not only with people from our clan but from other clans who are attending the Summer Festival. There are also those who’ve come ahead of time with the Renaissance Faire, which starts up as soon as the Beltane Festival is over. In addition, there are many dressed in modern clothes, indicating they are here as visitors, some of which are in my “cheering section.”

The minute I see the crowd, my heartbeat starts to race, my blood chilling in my veins. My mind starts to go down that same thorny path that it always travels in situations like these.

I try one of Jenna’s Jedi mind tricks—a little controlled breathing. But the breathing is only making it hotter inside my helmet, even with the visor up. The crowd is yelling and cheering and stomping, and Doug is over there encouraging them by raising his sword in the air and walking back and forth in front of them.

He stops in front of Jenna, who is sitting in the front row, and I freeze. He’s obviously trying to get her attention, but she folds her arms and looks away.

Taking a deep breath, I’m suddenly regretful that she didn’t accept the deal he offered her last night. It would be a certainty that she’d get her tiara back, had she accepted.

And I’m not certain about this. Not at all. I know my skills are on par with his. I know that I’m in the best physical shape of my life. I also know that I’m capable of defeating him in perfect circumstances.

But I’m not certain.

The referee waves a triangular yellow flag mounted on a short, striped pole as he calls for the first bout to begin. Our squires begin handing us our equipment, and then Adam places a hand on my metal-encased shoulder. Looking at me through the grill of my helmet, he says solemnly, “Good luck, Liam.”

I nod to acknowledge his words with a thumbs-up, and then I turn away to face Doug. With narrowed eyes, he says, “This time I beat you cleanly. You’re a goner, Drake, you hear me?”

“I do hear you. But you’re wrong. You’ve already lost the girl, and now you’re going to lose the duel.”

His face flushes a deep red and then he slams the visor down, muttering to himself. I know there are probably obscenities peppered amongst his rant, but he can’t say them too loudly. If the referee hears him, Doug could be penalized for unchivalrous language.

I don’t want him to, though. He’s done so much to hurt Jenna that I really want to hurt him. I want to beat him down, and I’m going to do it under the watchful eyes of the tournament judges. No losing or winning on technicalities…not today.

Our first bout is long swords only, which we both wield two-handed. As is customary with European martial arts, we both hold our swords high, two hands gripping at the hilt in order to chop downward. We must hit with what would be the sharp edge of the blade—the side closest to the opponent—in order to score a hit. Each bout is played until one contestant gets three hits.

In our previous duel, I won this particular bout. But this time, the minute the yellow flag is lifted, Doug comes charging at me like a ferocious bull. I bring my sword down just in time to block his first onslaught.