“My lady,” he called, still breathing heavily. “Your favor, if you please.”
I raised my brow. He did not actually believe that my hair ribbon or a scarf would help him, did he? I pressed my lips together when Caitlyn, at my right side, jabbed me in the rib cage with her elbow, giggling. “You lucky wench. Give him something!”
I pulled the ribbon off my head, which promptly caused my long hair to fall over my eyes, and held it, dangling between my thumb and forefinger, toward Doug. He extended his sword, hilt first.
“Tie it around the pommel, my love,” he said again in a loud, sing-songy voice.
Acid filled my stomach at the term of endearment—and at his stupid grandstanding. My cheeks burned in embarrassment. He’d been calling me that for the last few days—loudly, and in public only. It was about fifty percent of the reason that I’d decided to cut and run now instead of later.
My gaze flicked to the other figure in the arena. William had switched out his small, round buckler for a tall shield, which was always used in the third round of a duel. He stood still as a stone as he silently watched us through his lowered face guard.
I rose from my seat and quickly tied the ribbon in a bow around the pommel of Doug’s weapon. Then I sat back down before he got really obnoxious and asked for a kiss or something.
Doug then held up his sword, facing the crowd. A loud cheer erupted. “Louder! We can’t hear you through our helmets.”
William had not moved, and his helmeted head was still aimed in my direction. Disquieted, I demurely clapped my hands, my applause lost in the clamor behind me. People were stamping their feet on the wooden bleachers and whistling. William’s helmeted head swung in the direction of the bleachers, his shield lowering a fraction. Then, he spun and turned his back on the crowd, his head drooping.
Doug had turned to look at William as he waited for the referee’s call to battle. I squinted as I watched him. He seemed to be studying William, too. An intimidation tactic?
After swapping out his shield, Doug strode to the center of the battlefield where the referee stood. Haltingly, William turned toward them, stumbling as he took his place. I frowned. What was up with that? He’d seemed so confident during the first bout. Maybe the defeat in the second bout had shaken him.
The two knights faced off again, swords poised as they awaited the signal to begin. The moment the yellow flag lifted between them, they began pounding each other. It was so surreal to watch these grown men playacting their war games when I had lived through an actual war. In fact, I’d been born in the middle of a war zone and survived for years in a city under siege.
I shuddered, forcing the horrible memories from my mind.
William was heading toward Doug again, but his movements were halting and haphazard. He swung and hit only the air, and his shield was cocked at an awkward angle, almost as if to block the spectators from watching him fight. The crowd cheered louder and stomped harder.
William stumbled within striking distance and his sword came down hard on Doug’s injured shoulder. Doug let loose a loud string of curses that could be heard over the din of the crowd. The referee blew a whistle and called for them to separate. Both knights lowered their weapons and raised their visors.
“Foul, Black and Silver, for attacking a previously injured portion of the opponent’s body in an unchivalrous manner. Black and Silver, this is a yellow card warning! One more such penalty will disqualify you. And you—Red and Gold. You are hereby warned about your unchivalrous language. Have a care, sir.”
William nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground, but Doug was staring at William through narrowed eyes. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or plotting. His lips thinned as he turned to the crowd and raised his sword to drum up more noise. The crowd happily complied.
William’s entire body stiffened—if such a thing could be detected under all that armor. I wondered what the hell Doug was up to. Earlier, he said something about knowing an opponent’s weakness being the key to winning a duel. Until a few minutes ago, William hadn’t displayed any weaknesses.
The crowd was clearly bothering William. I hadn’t noticed it until Doug approached me and asked for my favor, then roused the crowd to cheer. Had that been a calculated move on Doug’s part? It sure as heck hadn’t been sentimental. Doug didn’t work like that. He’d had a reason for asking me for that favor when he did and making such a production of it.
Doug pushed forward the minute he was given the signal by the ref. He landed two direct hits in quick succession. William was forced to retreat without making a single attempt to block. The crowd roared. With one more hit, the bout—and the duel—would be Doug’s. And though I’d originally felt it would be good for my purposes if he won today, I suddenly wished he wouldn’t.