Elspeth grabbed her hand as they pushed each other aside and kicked from behind, always trying to gain control. The girl gasped so loudly when Sven tripped that he turned and saluted her with his sword as he regained his footing. Rurik used that momentary distraction to go on the offensive, slashing and thrusting with his sword until Sven had backed up across the whole field.
They laughed like loons as they alternated control of the match. And they called out insults to each other as they moved across the field, insults she tried not to hear. The villagers cheered them on, enjoying the display as much as those who were putting it on for them.
Margriet tried not to stare at Rurik's naked chest and the way the pale curling hair on it trailed down and disappeared below the belt of his breeches. He wore old-style gold armbands, carved with runes, that outlined the strong muscles of his upper arms. He glistened with sweat in spite of the cool air.
Magnus stumbled once and then again, and then was sent sprawling in the dirt by a blow to his back by Rurik. He climbed to his feet and bowed to the others, leaving the battle to them. When he faced the watchers, he saw them and walked to where they stood. Pushing his sweaty hair from his face, he laughed.
"If not for my recent illness, I could have won," he boasted to those listening.
"Of course, Magnus," she said, accepting his explanation as the truth. Margriet did not look away now, for Sven and Rurik moved so quickly that the end could come at any moment and she did not want to miss it. "Who has the advantage now?"
Magnus laughed again. "Rurik but plays as a cat to a mouse now. He can end this whene'er he chooses. See now how he forces Sven to overextend himself." Magnus's comment made her watch more closely and she saw the truth in his words.
Now she noticed how the muscles of his legs tensed and relaxed as his stance changed, the power visible even at this distance. His breeches lay plastered against his legs, making it difficult not to see the strength and masculinity there.
Elspeth tugged on her sleeve and she realized the girl had not understood Magnus's words. When Margriet translated the words, Elspeth paled. Before she could explain any further, the crowd cried out as Rurik delivered two punishing blows to his opponent-the first knocked the sword from his hands and the next sent him to the ground on his back. Even she gasped now as Rurik placed the tip of his sword at Sven's neck.
"Stop!" the girl screamed shrilly, as she pulled away from Margriet and ran to the two men. "Stop!" she said again, in Norn, as she pushed against Rurik to force him and his sword away.
Margriet and those watching stood in surprise as Elspeth helped Sven to his feet after Rurik stepped aside. She and Magnus made their way across the field and watched with Rurik as Sven and Sister Elspeth walked back toward the inn.
Rurik shook his head and shrugged, while Margriet saw that the danger here had not been the battle at all. Did she try to explain Elspeth's behavior or not comment and hope it would fade from memory as the men talked excitedly about the battle and who delivered the best blows and who won? Deciding that discretion was her best weapon, she examined them and found both bleeding and covered in dirt.
"Come, it looks like you have wounds that need tending now," she directed as they both stared at her as though she'd lost her wits. "Look there," she said, pointing at Magnus's forearm. "That will need sewing to close it-" looking over at Rurik's chest and trying not to get lost in it, she nodded at his shoulder "-and there as well."
"Nun or not, is she not a bossy bit?" Magnus asked.
Margriet held her breath as he spoke the first words since their encounter the night before.
"Oh, aye. Thank the Almighty that you were sick those few days and missed the worst of it." Rurik winked at her then and she felt a light brighten her soul.
All would be well, she thought, as she followed the men back to the inn. They had each reconciled to the truth of their situation now and all would be well.
They left her to wash in the river and she slowed her pace to catch her breath-the breath that had left her at the sight of him, in tight breeches, moving as one with his weapon. At once, the consummate warrior and strong protector of legend.
The crowd pushed past her as she dawdled along and 'twas then she heard the voices of two of the men who traveled with him from Lairig Dubh.
"That's the old Rurik," Leathen boasted to those from the north. "He favors two things in life and does them better than any man I know."
"And what would they be?" another called out.
"He loves to fight," Leathen offered as those around him laughed and pushed him about. "And he loves to f … "
The men shouted out, making it impossible to hear the final word, but Margriet needed no one to tell her. She knew without doubt the missing word.
She knew even more now that she'd felt the heat of his touch, the seductive invitation of his kiss and his formidable form and skills in battle. He was a man built to fight men and to f … Er, tup women.
And she prayed with equal measure that she would and would not ever discover it to be true.
The rest of the day passed more easily, now that the fight had both entertained and released some of the tension in the men. Rurik, especially, seemed at ease now, even though she had sewed two wounds to stop their bleeding. He argued that they were but flesh wounds and would heal, but she closed them with needle and thread, stopping short of demanding a bandage on them. Magnus sat quiet under her attentions as she patched his skin back together, as did Sven when they finally dragged him from the weeping Sister Elspeth's side.
Margriet tried to discourage such a thing with a sharp look and whispered warning, but the girl thought Rurik meant to kill Sven and now endangered their charade with her inappropriate concern for the man. She planned to speak to Elspeth after the evening meal.
The men carried out preparations all day, even as the rain started and stopped. Before dark fell completely, the supplies that would see them to the north coast were readied and packed and all was in good stead for an early morning departure.
Thora had tempted her and Elspeth from their room to eat in the common room with the others on the promise of no untoward occurrences, and Margriet was glad she'd done so. Some of the villagers gathered at the inn that night and Margriet could see that the men enjoyed the camaraderie after many days on the road.
She did notice that none of the men under Rurik's command overindulged in ale that night. Some, no doubt, were still feeling the aftereffects of the stomach ailment of a few days before. Others knew the morning would come quickly and that they needed a clear head and calm belly to ride out. It did not take long, once they'd eaten their fill and had a cup filled with ale in their hands, for talk to turn to the fight this morning. If she encouraged the direction of the talk, well, 'twas no matter.
"Tell me of Lairig Dubh and the clan that calls it home," she said while nodding to Leathen. His tongue seemed the loosest and a good place to start. And from his earlier comments, he knew much about Rurik.
"Connor MacLerie and his lady-wife make their home there, Sister. It sits on a hill at the side of a river off in the west of Scotland. Connor is Earl of Douran and Laird of the MacLerie clan," he said, pausing to lift his cup in a salute. The other Scots joined him and nearly rattled the windows with their cry. "A MacLerie! A MacLerie!"
When she noticed that Rurik had joined them, she decided it was time to find out more, especially about the laird's wife and the supposed tupping. "Rurik, you lived there?"
"Aye, Sister, and I lived at other MacLerie holdings for my uncle is one of the elders of the clan and counselor to Connor."
He met her gaze, almost inviting more questions.
She obliged.
"Your uncle is a MacLerie then?"
"My uncle is connected by marriage to the sister of the laird. I pledged to him and the laird when I could hold my sword straight and not embarrass myself-" he looked to the men who enjoyed some private joke at his words "-and better men I have yet to meet or serve." This time, only he offered the words. "A MacLerie!"
Now she could get to the heart of it. "And the laird's wife? From what clan did she come?"
His voice lowered to an almost reverent tone then and she could feel his true affection for the woman he spoke of now.