A loud cheer went up. The soldiers had officially completed the first phase of their training. It was time to celebrate.
Royce smiled. The soldiers wouldn't be cheering tomorrow night. Nay, by then every inch of their bodies would be screaming in agony, for the first full day of training with the seasoned warriors would be the most difficult day of their lives.
Nicholaa was coming down the first slope when she heard the shouts. Curious, she quickened her stride until she reached the bottom. She saw the crowd circling Justin and her husband then.
She tried not to be worried. Then Justin threw himself at Royce, and she almost cried out. Her brother had feigned the attack; he twisted away at the last possible minute and tried to kick Royce in the backs of his legs.
Royce deflected the blow and clipped Justin between his shoulder blades with the back of his hand. Nicholaa's brother staggered forward, quickly recovered, and then launched yet another attack.
Quite by accident, Justin got in one solid punch. His fist connected with Royce's jaw approximately five seconds after his baron noticed Nicholaa was observing the scene.
Royce instinctively struck back, knocking Justin to the ground. He moved forward, put his foot on Justin's chest to keep him down, then gave the soldier a most bizarre command.
"Smile, Justin."
"What?" Justin gasped, trying to regain his breath.
"I said smile," Royce told him in a furious whisper. "Now, damn it."
Justin smiled.
Nicholaa desperately tried not to interfere. But the sight of her brother sprawled on the ground, added to the fact that all the other soldiers were grinning, did made her forget her vow.
Justin's face was turned away from her. For that reason, she didn't see his smile.
"Royce, my brother has only one hand."
God help her, she hadn't meant to shout that reminder.
"But I have two," Royce called out.
Nicholaa had rushed forward, but she came to an abrupt stop when Royce shouted that cruel remark.
She stared at Royce. He winked at her. Then Justin turned to her. He started laughing. She took a step back, stopped, shook her head, and finally turned around and walked back up the hill.
Royce let out a sigh. He knew she didn't understand. He moved away from Justin and offered him his hand. Justin grabbed hold and was pulled to his feet.
"You've done well," he told Justin. "As a reward for striking me, you and the other three will join me for dinner."
Justin grinned. His cheeks were red when he moved back to stand with the other soldiers. Royce didn't know if the coloring was from exertion or his praise.
Royce clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the group. "I have one last thing to say to you. You have all become friends, and that is as it should be, but when you fight with one another, you will give it your total concentration. You will not make allowances for anyone, for any reason. What you may perceive as kindness or protectiveness could very well get your friend killed in a real battle."
They all knew what he was talking about, Royce was sure of that. He addressed his next remarks to Justin. "In battle no allowances will be given because you have but one hand. For that reason, you can't be as good as the others. You have to be better."
Justin nodded. "Baron, when will I know I'm ready?"
Royce smiled. "You'll just know, Justin. No one will have to tell you."
Lawrence stepped forward. "To celebrate the beginning of your training with the Hawks, perhaps our baron will let you watch a game of kickball."
Royce nodded. King William frowned on the game, for he felt it took away from the knights' primary responsibility of training for his army. Royce occasionally made an exception simply because he loved to play the brutal game. The objective was to move the leather-covered ball from one end of the field to the other. There was only one rule: the knights couldn't use their hands. The game always turned bloody, of course, which was yet another reason everyone loved to play.
"You'll lead one team, Lawrence, and I'll take the other," Royce announced. "We'll start as soon as I've talked to Nicholaa."
He and Lawrence turned to leave. Ingelram nudged Justin, and then the two of them hurried forward to block their baron's path.
"Baron, why must we watch?" Ingelram blurted out.
Royce raised an eyebrow over that question. Then he shrugged. "You don't have to watch if you don't want to," he answered. "You're free to do whatever you want this afternoon."
"What Ingelram means to say, Baron," Justin explained, "is that we don't want to watch; we want to play. We have enough men for a team of our own, and we would welcome the opportunity to defeat the Hawks."
"They'd be insulted if we made them play against Doves," Lawrence interjected.
Justin grinned. "Not if you and the baron joined our team."
Royce laughed. "That's up to your commander," he announced with a nod in Lawrence's direction.
His vassal was in the mood to be accommodating. He gave the unit permission. The soldiers immediately rushed toward the area they would use for their field. They were already planning their strategy.
"Did you notice?" Lawrence asked Royce when they were alone.
"Notice what?"
"Justin has not only become their spokesman," he explained. "He also considers himself one of them now. Don't you remember how he was when he first started? Everything was theirs, not his. A good change in attitude, wouldn't you say?"
It was a simple statement, but Royce reacted as though he'd just been struck. Hell, he thought to himself, he'd been acting just like Justin. From the beginning the holding was his, not Nicholaa's; the servants belonged to him, not her… and after a time she'd finally conceded.
He slapped Lawrence on the shoulder. "You've made me realize an error," he told his vassal. "Thank you."
Royce didn't give his vassal further explanation. He would go up to the keep to make certain Nicholaa wasn't too upset by what she'd seen, but after supper he'd sit her down and explain the changes he wanted. He wouldn't lecture her. No, no, he never lectured. He wouldn't stop talking, though, until he was certain she understood.
His wife had fully recovered from her initial reaction to seeing Justin fight with Royce. Her brother's wonderful smile still lingered in her mind. She had rushed inside the keep and hurried up the steps. She wanted to get to the bedchamber before she deliberately and blatantly broke rule number three.
Aye, she was going to weep. They would be tears of joy, but Royce wouldn't understand that if he happened to catch her.
"Where are you going, my lady?" Clarise called out to her. "I've a question to ask you about supper."
"Not now, please," Nicholaa called back. "I'll be back down in a few minutes. You may ask me then." Clarise didn't want to wait. Cook was already peevish, and Clarise didn't want the woman's mood to sour any more than it already had. If that happened, everyone would suffer because supper would be ruined.
The servant rushed toward the steps and stopped Nicholaa just as she reached the landing. "It won't take but a minute of your time," she called out. "Cook wants to know if she should prepare the sweet berry tarts or the sugared apples. You won't be getting either unless you let her know right away," she warned.
Nicholaa leaned one hip against the railing while she considered her options. "I believe we'll celebrate tonight. Have Cook prepare both."
Nicholaa turned to go down the corridor, just as the wood and the railing gave way.
Clarise screamed. Nicholaa didn't have time to do more than gasp in surprise. She grabbed hold of a ledge as she started to fall and held on for dear life.
The railing crashed to the floor below. Wood splintered in every direction. Clarise jumped back to get out of the way. She finally quit screaming, though, and went to help her mistress. "Dear God above, hold tight. I'm coming up to help you. Don't look down, milady. You'll only panic if you do."