Sir Hempen came slowly to his feet, his eyes chips of ice. "What sort of a virgin swings a staff like a soldier?"
"A virgin who is determined to remain so," she countered.
He snarled and came for her again, drawing his sword. Fear stabbed her at the thought that the sword might, but she stood her ground, circling around him, ready. He began to smile, enjoying her apprehension, then suddenly advanced, slashing.
She parried with the left end of the staff, then the right, then the left again. He lost his smile and swung his sword high—but she stepped in and swung the staff up to knock the blade aside.
He caught the staff with his left hand, though, and held it high as he turned the sword and, using the hilt as a knuckle guard, drove his fist into her stomach.
She fell back, unable even to cry out, and he wrested the staff from her as she fell, then pounced upon her—but even with the breath driven out of her, she had presence of mind enough to roll, and roll again and keep rolling. He had to scramble back to his feet, and it cost him just enough time for her to roll into the underbrush where she could catch herself to a sapling and use it to haul herself back to her feet, sucking in one tearing breath, then another—much more quickly than he would expect, for her whole body was in far better shape than that of any of the village boys she knew, from her daily sword drills.
Cursing, Sir Hempen blundered into the thicket after her.
Jane backed away from him, pulling the sapling with her, hand over hand until she was holding it near the top, its trunk bent into a steep curve. Sir Hempen was too enraged to notice; he only came for her, hands outstretched, lips writhing back in a snarl.
Jane let go of the sapling.
It slammed full into Sir Hempen's face. He staggered back with a squall, groping for something to hold him up, missed, and fell, rolling on the ground, his hands pressed to his face, groaning.
Jane leaped past him, watching him as carefully as though he were a snake, stepping back to the roadway, where she caught up his fallen sword. There she stood and waited.
It was only a few minutes before he came staggering out of the brush, saw her, and jolted to a halt, startled. Then his eyes narrowed. "Put it down, slut. You will hurt yourself."
"Not myself, Sir Cur," she retorted.
His head snapped up at the insult. Then he snarled again and came for her.
She stepped back, whipping the sword through a quick series of slashes and circles. He should have taken warning, but he didn't; he kept on coming, and she stepped nimbly aside as she swung the blade.
It sliced open his doublet, tracing a thin line of red across his chest.
Jane felt her stomach sink; she had cut deeper than she had intended.
But it must have been only his skin that she had cut, for he looked up at her again, his face stone, and took another step.
She swept the blade down and around.
Even Sir Hempen had sense enough to jolt to a halt with a sword's point aimed right at his belly.
"You shall regret this, wanton!" he grated.
"No wanton, but a maid!" she flashed. "And I intend to remain so! Now get you out from this wood, Sir Knight, while you can still walk!"
His eyes narrowed. "You would not dare to harm a belted knight!"
For a moment, her heart quailed within her, for she suddenly realized what would happen if she did—prison at the least, hanging at the worst. But hard on the heels of dismay followed inspiration, and she retorted, "I would dare to tell your father what you sought to do, to his old squire's virgin daughter—and be sure the wives can seek and verify that I am indeed virgin!"
"At twenty?" he scoffed. "Twenty, and unmarried? How could the daughter of a peasant still be a virgin?"
"The daughter of a squire! No matter his birth! And as to the how of it, 'tis simply that all the village boys are such clodpolls that I can feel only contempt for their callow uncouthness! Aye, and for their weakness and clumsiness, for there's not a one of them can stand up to me—no more than can you, knight or not! Nay, none have the quality to win my love, and none have been strong enough to force what I have no desire to give, when none give me desire! Be sure I am truly virgin, and that your mother and mine shall both ascertain it, if they must!"
Sir Hempen kept his glare, but the first trace of doubt began to show. "Give me back my sword."
"Ride away," she told him. "When you are out of sight, I shall leave it leaning 'gainst an oak at the edge of the wood, so that you may come back and find it—but you shall not find me."
"Nay, for some poacher might chance upon it and steal it ere I come! How should a knight explain that he has lost his sword?"
"How shall you explain that loss if I keep it?" she countered, and waited just long enough for the flush of his embarrassment to redden his face. "You may come back for the sword, sir, or you may ride off without it—but I shall not give it back to you while you are near me, save between your ribs!"
Sir Hempen brayed harsh laughter. "Between my ribs? Why, foolish maid, how would you explain my death?" Again, dismay—and again, inspiration. "I would not," she said simply. "Who would think an unarmed maid could have slain you—if they found your body?"
Sir Hempen reddened again, but this time, he said only, "The huge old oak that stands by the carters' path, where it enters the wood."
"When you are out of sight," Jane said, by way of agreement.
Sir Hempen favored her with one last glare as he turned on his heel and strode away to catch his horse.
Jane watched him go. As soon as he had disappeared among the leaves, she disappeared into the underbrush at the side of the path. Then she let her knees buckle, let the sobs come.
He found his sword—she watched from hiding as he took it up—and rode away. She was sure he was determined to have revenge, but she was equally determined that he should never have the chance. She never went alone by night again, but always asked one of her brothers to escort her. They, at least, were as skilled with weapons as she.
It was a pity they were her brothers.
But there were other ways of having revenge. Other young knights came riding, to flirt with her—only their flirtations were crude and demanding. She sent them away with sharp words, but when the third came by, she realized that since Sir Hempen had not been able to ruin her, he had ruined her reputation. She would have to put an end to that, she knew—and as always, she was determined not to put her brothers in trouble.
So when the next young knight came by, she batted her eyelashes, laughed low in her throat, and told him to meet her by the great oak that stood by the carters' path, where it entered the wood. When he came, she gave him the same instruction in the strengths of the quarterstaff that she had given Sir Hempen, and bade him come back to the oak for his sword.
It occurred to her that she should start a collection—but she understood, in some fashion, that swords were so important to knights that if she kept them, they would have to seek revenge on her, to the point of trial for witchcraft, or some such. She had to leave them something, or they would leave her nothing.
But she came home to find her mother and sister in tears, and her brothers looking glum instead of grim, and learned how little they really had.
They followed their father's coffin to the churchyard, then took their mother home. In the days that followed, they labored their way through grief together, trying to understand why God had taken their father away—though at sixty, he was certainly an old man. Nonetheless, his loss struck deep, and Jane was shocked to realize how much he had been the rock on which they all stood.