A Chick Off the Old Block
by Jody Lynn Nye
Jess heard Duchess Caitlin calling from the top of the tower.
“Jessamine! Oh, Jessamine, come and help me!”
The girl sounded as though she was in genuine distress. Jess plumped the two full buckets of water she had been carrying under the nearest bench. Lifting her heavy green woolen skirts in both hands, she took the stone stairs two at a time along the winding spiral stair toward the girl’s bower.
“What is it, my lady?” she called.
“Oh, Jessamine, hurry!”
Her mistress was in danger! It must be an intruder! Who would dare to invade the citadel of Kalb De in full daylight?
Jess bounded upward, reaching for the knife she wore upside down against the small of her back, and rushed into the duchess’s room. None of the junior maidservants nor any of the pages were in the round, tapestry-lined chamber. Eighteen-year-old Duchess Caitlin, heiress to the grand ducal throne of Kalb De, battled with her enemy alone in the light of the huge, multi-paned window. Jess rushed to come to her aid, then halted, staring.
It looked as though an armored knight was indeed attempting to assail her beautiful young lady, but it was only the ghost—or rather, the shell of one. The girl’s long golden hair was tangled in the face piece of a steel helmet, while her slender body was half-encased in odd pieces of metal and leather. She struggled to free herself from both. Jess burst into laughter.
“Oh, mistress, what are you doing?” Sheathing her dagger, she hurried to the girl’s aid. “Stop fussing and let me help.”
Caitlin dropped her hands to her sides. Jess began to unwind the long, golden tresses one at a time from the hinged faceplate.
“Have I not told you time and again, mistress? Plait your hair, then cap, then coif, then helm?”
“I remembered the cap only after I tried to put on the helm,” Caitlin admitted, her smooth, oval face screwed into the likeness of a wrinkled apple. “Then I couldn’t get it off again.”
“Small wonder we men- and women-at-arms wear our hair short, isn’t it?”
“But you have long hair now,” Caitlin said, with a glance at Jess’s thick brown braid. “As long as you have served me.”
“Only so I won’t shame you in court, my lady,” Jess said.
Caitlin gave her a fond look. “You could never shame me,” she said.
Jessamine had come to be the small duchess’s companion, maid of all work, and finally lady-in-waiting entirely by chance. In Kalb De, the second birthday was always Choosing Day, when the heir to the grand ducal throne selected the person who would be his or her faithful friend and confidant for life. Ladies and girls from every honorable family from all over the duchy had come and gathered in the courtyard to attend the noble child’s selection. But instead of picking her companion from the bevy of nervous females wearing their jewels and feastday best, Caitlin had pointed to Jess, who had been among the file of soldiers-at-arms standing at attention in the shadow of the gatehouse, awaiting their orders for the day from the Mistress-of-Arms. Jess could still feel the prickle of shame as the duke ordered her to come and present herself. She was just a country girl who had joined the citadel guard. In contrast to the ladies’ finery, she wore a plain work tunic that needed a good wash, under second- or third-hand scale mail sewn to a worn leather tabard. To her astonishment, Caitlin demanded to be picked up and held. Jess had no choice but to comply.
Jess had protested the arrangement as unsuitable to the tiny lady and herself, but the custom had the force of law. Besides, it had been hard to say no when the precious girl had nestled herself into Jess’s arms. Jess had cradled Caitlin close, wanting to protect her from that moment on, even more than she had wished to out of duty. She thought the archduke and archduchess would be upset at the choice, blaming Jess for being, oh, who knew, too apparent to the child’s eye? But they only smiled. Beside the archduchess, the wizard Uthbridge had offered only a single observation.
“It is as I foretold to you, your grace,” he said. “What she needs to learn, only this lass can teach.”
Jess had been teased mightily since that day by all her friends and comrades in the guard. She had to shed her comfortable suit of mail for corsetry, skirts, and headgear that was impractical on a good day and downright ridiculous on a windy one. Truth was, she had never felt worthy of the honor, and always felt out of place beside the neatly turned out handmaids and pages who came and went for the lady, and occasionally for her humble self.
Despite her new duties, she kept up her exercises and her expertise at swordplay and hand-to-hand combat. Maintaining her strength and agility made Jess valuable beyond her keep for being able to carry two full pails of scalding water at a time up six flights of steps from the kitchens to Caitlin’s bath, even though she had now passed the ancient age of thirty. The youngsters who had occupied the Heir’s Tower in the past had become used to cold ablutions. Caitlin always praised and thanked her for her consideration, which made up for some of the loss of camaraderie with her fellow soldiers. Still, Duchess Caitlin admired Jess and clamored to be like her.
Well, why not? Jess had obtained, behind the duke’s back and with the Mistress-of-Arms’s attention deliberately turned away, a child’s suit of armor and a wooden sword and shield. Cait didn’t fit into the clanking breastplate so well any longer, what with her getting taller and growing a figure and all, but she could squeeze into it. Jess also had seen no reason that the girl shouldn’t learn a little of swordplay to keep her healthy and fit. The ladies-in-waiting with their many tasks were in better condition, field-wise, than the nobles they served. Many lords and ladies rode out to hunt or to go to war, but those who retired became soft. They could scarcely climb the stairs to their rooms, let alone wield a weapon. Jess helped Caitlin to learn exercises that did not overstrain her maturing limbs. When she outgrew the wooden sword, Cait graduated to the antique weapons that hung on brackets on display all along the spiral staircase leading up to her solar, leaving none outside the tower the wiser. The exercise wasn’t as rigorous as learning to be a soldier, but her efforts made Jess proud. If they could have worked openly in the field, the girl could have learned to command any regiment.
“So why put on your armor now?” she asked, holding the helm on her shoulder while she unwound the duchess’s hair. Caitlin looked wistful.
“It may be my last chance. My intended, Lord Matew, says in his letters that he is a man of peace. I may rule in court, but he would prefer not to see me attired as for the battlefield. How dull it sounds. I would much rather ride to the horns with my sword swinging in defense of my lands. I hoped I would do that someday. He prefers I let my generals do it.”
“Battle is its own kind of dull, my lady,” Jess said, pulling the last of the golden strands free. “Lord Matew’s people have done well warring only with words and bargains instead of steel. They have prospered in a difficult situation.”
“But I know the tedium of court,” Caitlin complained. She smoothed her dress of the rarest celestial blue, an odd undergown to wear with chainmail. “I would like some excitement before I am married. I love books and learning and music as much as he does, truly! Ah, well, but I wanted to try on my armor just one more time.”
Jess sympathized. In a way, it was an odd match. Kalb De lay in a flat and fertile plain. The lands grew bountiful crops if one so much as whispered the word “seed” to the soil. Because the land was so open, a strong defensive force needed to be maintained. She was proud to have been a recruit since she was old enough to swing a mace. By contrast, mountainous Rocky Ford had to import a lot of the staple foods the country relied upon. It lay just across the wild Ayla Noise River from the Grand Duchy of Kalb De. It was a land with many strange customs that had grown up because of its position at the crossroads between several countries. The capital city lay many miles inland, along a branch of the river flowing down from the sheer Kanka Key Mountains where giant grasshoppers threatened the passes. The ways were heavily guarded, so as to give safe passage to merchants and other travelers.
Matew’s parents, Baron and Baroness Ferio, were known as scholars and traders of note. Matew himself was a Doctor of Letters. There had not been a war in their small nation of Rocky Ford for twelve generations, but stirrings along their borders had made them seek out an alliance with a larger and more powerful country. Kalb De would welcome additions to its culture, and offer prosperity to its new province. As a sign of trust, the archduke and archduchess had traveled with their entourage to the Rocky Ford capital to sign the marriage treaty. Lord Matew was traveling in the opposite direction, coming to Kalb De to spend that time with his bride to be, the first time they would meet in person, though they had corresponded by messenger constantly since the match was proposed, seven months back. The Mistress-of-Arms had been left in charge of the castle, and would guard it well until the archduke and archduchess came home again.
Jess sat Caitlin down at the oval looking glass. It was magical, as were many of the young duchess’s possessions. Jess’s reflection showed her the right way to braid the girl’s hair in the latest fashion. When she faltered, the reflection undid the mirror image Caitlin’s hair again and again until Jess saw her mistake and got it right. Caitlin watched for a while, then played with the ivory miniature of Lord Matew in its frame of pearls. He was not the handsomest man ever, Jess thought, with his heavy brow ridge and large jaw, but the deepset blue eyes were drawn with a twinkle that the artist had managed to capture with love as well as skill.
“Won’t you rule over all when the time comes?” Jess asked. “It is your choice whether to be a warrior, or a diplomat, or both. That is the truth. He needs to accept who you are.”
“I want him to be happy here,” Caitlin said, with a kind look that reminded Jess of her noble mother’s gentle face. “I will rule, but I want him to be my partner, not my chattel. He must not feel that too much is being forced upon him all at once. It will be a great change for all of us, but more for him than for me. I am not having to move from my home. He is.”
“You are wise for your years, mistress,” Jess said with a rush of warmth. “Well, let’s get you ready to see him.”
“Mistress Caitlin?”
They both turned at the sound of Uthbridge’s voice. The wizard had grown wand-thin over the years. He could still climb the impossible staircase to his remote tower, but he looked as though a sharp breeze would break him in two.
The two girls rushed to support him and helped him to a chair.
“What wisdom do you bring, lord wizard?” Jess asked.
Uthbridge blinked at her. He had a face like an amiable badger, blunt-nosed and broad-headed. His thick hair and mustache had grayed with time. His hazel-green eyes were as clear as they had been years ago, but he always squinted as though there was a film over them.
“I have been here already,” he said, peering around the room.
“Yes, dear wizard, you have.” Caitlin was amused. “Often.”
“The invasion’s been averted, then?” Uthbridge asked. He smiled at Jess. “Well done, my child!”
“What invasion?” Jess asked.
Uthbridge had always been able to foretell the future. The trouble was, as his age advanced, his foresight sped farther into the future so it was virtually of no practical use. Jess regarded him fondly as an eccentric old uncle. But once in a while, he had something true to say.
Uthbridge looked worried. He pulled a tangle of strings and crystal beads from his belt pouch and arranged them over his fingers. He twisted the contraption into one impossible configuration after another. “It can’t be the invasion yet, can it? The archduke and the archduchess must defend our gates! Strangers have come within.”
“My parents have not gone to war,” Caitlin said. “They have gone to the Rocky Ford to negotiate with Lord Matew’s parents. Only Matew and his friends are coming here. I am going down to await them for the noonday meal. It will be a feast. You are to join us.”
Uthbridge let the cat’s cradle drop, his narrow shoulders sagging with relief.
“Ah, yes! The Rocky Ford lands will come under the aegis of Kalb De. You are a wise ruler of your people, my lady.”
“Not yet! In time, I will be. I am in no hurry to bid farewell to my parents. So do you mistake my affianced husband for an invader, lord wizard?” Caitlin asked, her blue eyes crinkling with merriment.
“Not he, but one who is as close to him as a second self,” Uthbridge said. He drew himself up. “Beware, my lady!”
Jess frowned.
“We are at peace with the lands around us. None have voiced an objection to her ladyship’s match.”
“But an invasion has happened,” Uthbridge said, consulting his strings and crystals. “In fact, it is beginning . . . just about now.”
Shouting interrupted them. Jess glanced out the broad window, squinting to see through the rippled panes of glass. Horsemen were approaching at speed, a whole band of them!
“Stay here, my lady. Uthbridge, can you provide protection to defend her?”
The elderly wizard straightened
“Of course! I have brought the necessary elements. Hear me, o spirits!”
His manner might be hazy at other times, but when it came to the practice of magic, he became as sharp as a blade. He snatched forth a handful of items from his belt pouch and threw them into the air, where they hovered like birds. He reached for a jar and shook its powdery contents into his palm. Jess waited to see no more. She flew down the stairs, calling.
“To arms! The duchy is in peril! To arms!”
Her cry was not taken up. She heard more shouting and clashing of metal upon metal, but the alarm horn was not sounded. Where were the rest of the guards? She rushed to the guardhouse, where a couple of her fellows lounged against the wall, passing the time.
“Hurry!” she cried. “Invaders approach! Arm yourselves! The wizard has foreseen an incursion against us.”
“What?” cried Bainton, a large, handsome man with sandy hair and a big jaw who had recently been promoted to sergeant-at-arms. “Soldiers, prepare!”
Five of Jess’s former fellows rushed through the open door and seized polearms and maces hanging from pegs on the wall. Bainton mustered them into a file, waiting for Jess to join them.
She threw open the battered wooden chest with her name carved in the top and began to drag out the pieces of her armor. First the cap, over her hair. Then the felt tunic, to hold the weight of the armor off her shoulders. The Mistress-at-Arms appeared in the door, her tall body blocking out the light.
“What are you doing, Corporal Jess?” she demanded, hands on hips. Her well-polished scale mail was covered by her dress tabard, dyed chestnut brown and embroidered in couched gold with the wheatsheaf emblem of Kalb De. Her long, high-cheekboned face peered out from under her shining helm. Her silvering braids were concealed by the coif. “It is only his lordship of Rocky Ford, come to visit our young lady. The falcon scout spotted the banners miles out. He said his bird identified the lead rider as young Lord Matew.”
“What?” Jess asked. She straightened up, a cuirass in one hand and a gauntlet in the other. “Oh!” She slammed them back into the chest. “Oh, when will I stop thinking that Uthbridge knows what he is talking about?”
Bainton’s broad shoulders relaxed.
“It’s understood, lass. Never you mind.”
The Mistress-of-Arms smiled. “Come and present yourself to greet Lord Matew. Then you may inform the lady of the arrival of her intended.”
Jess shrugged out of the long undertunic and cap and put them back with the rest. She took a couple of quick swipes at her braid to tidy it, and brushed down her skirts.
The courtyard was filled with people, most of them kitchen servants who hurried back and forth with armloads of rushes, flowers and beautifully wrought sugar subtleties. Trestle tables were covered and laid out in a U-shape under the sun for the upcoming feast. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread wafted deliciously through the air. How could she have thought there was anything wrong?
She stood in between the double-file of soldiers-at-arms and the servants of the house to watch the party arrive. They all peered toward the broad gravel road that led up the hill toward the citadel gate.
Lord Matew certainly meant to make an impression. Thirty, no, forty soldiers in full armor, even more than remained in the garrison of the castle, rode behind the tall man at their head. Pennants flew from the tips of their swords and from the horns of the heralds that flanked the nobleman. Baggage carts and a covered litter brought up the rear.
For a man of peace and a doctor of letters, Matew certainly held himself on horseback like an expert. His long, lanky body was at utter ease in the saddle of a destrier whose coat was so black it was blue. He wore a shimmering chainmail tunic underneath a sable leather tabard marked with the silver waterfall emblem of Rocky Ford. Both sword and spear were ready at hand. Perhaps he meant to surprise Caitlin and show her he was at home in both worlds.
But something didn’t seem right. The shock of hair was darker and the jaw narrower than depicted in the small painting that Caitlin cherished. Heaven knew that Jess had studied it time and again since it had arrived four weeks before. She noticed small differences between the man and the image. It could be that the painter was more skilled at expression than resemblance, if such a thing was possible. Jess herself couldn’t draw a circle or a straight line. His expression had no trace of the amiable fellow in the picture. She might even call this man cruelly handsome. She straightened her back. There was deception of some kind here, but what?
The approaching heralds lifted their trumpets to their lips and blew a musical fanfare. The Mistress-of-Arms drew her sword and held it blade up before her nose.
“Present arms!” she shouted. “Open the gate!”
The creaking portcullis rose. Behind its jagged black teeth, the colorful procession cantered forward, not even slowing as it flowed into the courtyard.
“Welcome, Lord Matew!” the crowd cried out.
The black-haired man raised a fist. His contingent of soldiers wheeled their horses and halted facing the guards of Kalb De. He swung out of the saddle.
“Well, a pretty greeting! Where is my lady?”
The Mistress-of-Arms, as the ranking person remaining in the citadel, stood forward.
“She will appear soon, my lord. I am Captain Leehall. In the name of the Duke and Duchess of Kalb De, I bid you and your people to rest and refresh yourselves. As you see,” the Mistress-of-Arms said, sweeping her arm toward the decorated tables, “your engagement feast is almost prepared.”
“But why wait?” the man asked, spreading his arms wide and turning in a circle. “Our parents have already agreed our two lands are to be made one. Let this be our wedding day! I have brought with me a celebrant of the Sphere of Heaven. Come here, priest!”
A stout man dropped the reins of the lead baggage cart and scrambled down. He wore the traditional green robe, but he had none of the rings or a diadem proclaiming him a high member of the church. He was a humble forest priest.
“Shouldn’t the Archdruid perform a ceremony between two future heads of state?” Jess asked.
The man spun on his heel, strode toward her, and thrust his face into hers.
“Do you question me, peasant?” he asked. The others gasped. Jess studied him.
“You’re not Lord Matew,” she said.
“Do you mean my pathetic weakling of a brother?” the man asked. “No! You have surprised the truth out of me just a little early. I am Master Dyved of Rocky Ford, second by minutes to my elder brother.” He paced to the covered litter and threw back the cover. Inside was a lady with the same strong jaw, and a slender man who was clearly and truly Lord Matew. Both were trussed like birds for the spit and struggling to get free. Over his gag, Matew glared up at Master Dyved, who grinned at him.
“Here is your Lord Matew. The lady, my Aunt Grace, come to be a companion for the Duchess Caitlin. But she is too old, isn’t she? Never mind. The girl can have as many servants as she wants, as my wife!” He pulled a dagger from the sheath at his hip and held it to Matew’s throat. “It is a simple matter. I marry the lady, here and now, and my brother lives. Or she refuses, he dies, and I marry her anyhow.”
“I cannot allow that,” the Mistress-of-Arms said stoutly, though her pale cheeks showed her shock. “Guards!”
Jess reached for a sword that was not there, but it wouldn’t have helped in any case. Master Dyved’s soldiers were still on horseback. They lowered spears and rode at the Kalb De fighters. Jess’s comrades evaded the spears. They drew their own weapons and charged.
“Kalb De!” Bainton shouted.
They must get out of the way. Jess waved the servants to the shelter of the guardhouse, moving them toward the steps down to the cellars. They used the remaining trestles leaning against the inner wall as shields. The clash of metal on metal made her blood boil to be part of the fight, but she needed to defend the noncombatants. One after another, she pushed the servants down into the cool darkness, keeping an eye on the action.
A muscular woman galloped her horse toward them. She swung out of the saddle. Jess moved to avoid her, but the soldier planted herself at the head of the steps, blocking the way. Jess and the steward hesitated in the face of her sword’s sharp metal point.
Across the courtyard, the Mistress-of-Arms sidled around the bloody scrimmage. Jess saw what was in her mind. She meant to rescue Lord Matew if she could. He was the Heir’s intended, and as such was under their protection from the moment he had entered Kalb De. But Master Dyved saw her, too. He turned and crouched into a fighting stance.
Throwing subterfuge away, Captain Leehall charged him, sword high.
“With me, Kalb De!” she cried. The defenders did their best to fend off the invaders, but it was little use. The fight was ugly and brief. The ruffians were heavily armed and fully armored, leaving few points of flesh for the defenders to attack. In a terrifyingly short time, the invaders disarmed most of the soldiers and killed two of them. The Mistress-of-Arms lay on the courtyard cobbles, bleeding from a shoulder wound. Dyved stood over her, sword at her throat, his eyes alight with triumph.
“I hold this castle. My wizard has stopped your falcon scouts from sending their birds for help. No one will come or go. I will remain here to meet my new in-laws upon their return from my family’s pathetic castle.” His smile was cruel. “Yes, I think I am going to enjoy myself here.” He glared at Jess and the steward. “Bring me the lady! This marriage must take place at once. All this can be over and done with most pleasantly. Let the festivities begin! Bring me my bride!”
Jess grabbed up a spare trestle and swung it, knocking the woman guarding her flying off her feet.
“Never!” she shouted. She ran for the Heir’s Tower. “My lady! Lock your door! Invaders! Invaders!”
She hoisted her skirts and hurried upward. She must defend her young charge, if it took her life!
She had a head start on Master Dyved, but his long legs made it simple to catch up with her. He slashed his sword toward her face. She ducked under the blade. It clashed against the stone wall. She looked around for a weapon. Her own sword still hung on the peg above her armor chest in the guard room. She had nothing but the dagger in the small of her back. She went for it, but the Master smacked her arm with the flat of his blade. The dagger fell from her fingers and went clattering down the stone steps out of sight.
“A shieldmaiden, eh? Not a simple servant?” the Master said, his eyes glowing. “This will be fun.”
Jess kept her eyes on Dyved’s, judging where the next thrust would go. Above her, one turn of the spiral away, were dozens of swords, shields, spears, and maces that had belonged to heirs of past generations, but she had no weapon at hand. She saw nothing but a broom left behind by one of the scullery servants. Like lightning, she darted out a hand for it, catching Master Dyved’s blade just as he tried to cut off her head. She blocked blow after blow, until Dyved chopped the broom handle in half. Her hands sang with the shock of the blow. She dashed the pieces at him, catching him in the side of the face. Blood dripped from the torn corner of his mouth. Jess dashed upward, calling out.
“My lady! Guard yourself! It is an impostor! Lord Matew is his prisoner!”
The girl’s voice rang out as clearly as a tocsin.
“None shall pass!”
“Oh, I think you’re wrong about that,” the Master said.
A hand caught Jess’s ankle and yanked upward. She fell on her face and slid downward against the wall. The shining boots passed her, going up the stairs three and four at a time.
Bruised, Jess crawled upward, hating the man with every step. She would kill him! He would not have her lady.
“What is this sorcery?” Master Dyved’s voice boomed. “Let me in!”
The escutcheon of the eighth archduchess hung on the wall at the third turning. Crossed upon its embossed metal surface were the spears with which the great lady had hunted boars, but stuck through the crest and helm at the top was Her Grace’s deadly leaf-bladed sword. Jess pulled herself to her feet and yanked it free. She ran the rest of the way up to Caitlin’s door . . .
. . . and stopped a flight below the landing. Spider’s webs stretched through the hallway. Master Dyved slashed through the mass without difficulty, though it covered him in draperies of gray. Was this Uthbridge’s manner of protecting Caitlin? The old wizard was useless!
Though she was trying to move silently, Master Dyved heard her and swung around. The sword met her borrowed weapon and flipped it out of her hands. He pinioned her against the wall with his leather-covered fist.
“Twice disarmed,” he said, grinning. “I think that means I win, don’t you?”
He shoved her. Jess tripped backwards, but saved herself from falling further, so she had a terrific view as the Master chopped at the last swathe of cobwebs covering the door.
With a deafening boom, the masses of gray ignited. Master Dyved screamed, and beat at his hair and skin to put out the flames. With a mental apology to Uthbridge, Jess picked up the duchess’s sword and charged at the Master. Blindly, he raised his sword to counter.
The door opened. The two of them went flying into the room. Master Dyved fell on the floor beyond the threshold.
A knight in full armor met him, eight feet tall and brandishing a brand of blazing silver. Jess gawked.
“You shall not marry me,” Caitlin’s voice echoed from the cylindrical helmet.
Master Dyved, his hair and eyelashes scorched, scrambled to his feet. His leather gloves were blistered and torn, but he held onto his sword.
“What is this? Matew told me you were a dainty thing. He wouldn’t lie about that, would he?”
He slashed at her. Caitlin countered him, swept her sword up in a figure eight, and struck back. He parried the blade easily. He beat her back, one step, two steps, three steps.
He was too good for the girl’s limited skill. Jess rushed in to help, sweeping her blade down. She struck his right shoulder. He yelled with pain. Caitlin struck him in the back of the knee. Master Dyved went into a frenzy. He rained blows upon them, one after another. The two women parried each, but with every stroke, the glamor faded away until Caitlin was revealed in ill-fitting student’s armor and her wooden sword in her hand. She looked up at Master Dyved in dismay. He grinned ferally.
“That’s the girl I’m going to marry!”
“No!” Caitlin cried.
“Courage, my lady! Remember your lessons!” Jess ordered. “Exercise fourteen, now, go!”
Caitlin set determination upon her face. The two of them hacked and slashed at their enemy, parrying and riposting, all in perfect unison. The Master was strong and well-trained, but against two fighters, even one small and the other without a link of armor, he was at a disadvantage. Caitlin took an opening to thrust the point of her wooden brand through the chink between arm and chest. Jess enjoyed the man’s howl of pain. If it had been a metal sword, it would have been a killing blow. She had never been so proud of Caitlin in her life.
“This is impossible!” Dyved snarled, clutching his side with his free hand . “Matew’s fiancée is a wisp of a thing who worships books and music!”
“Not every facet of a jewel can be seen at first glance,” Caitlin said fiercely. Jess laughed at the dismay on Master Dyved’s face.
“Together, now!” She and Caitlin redoubled their attack. Within minutes, they cornered him against the wide glass window. Jess stepped in, planting the point of her blade against the bottom of his jaw.
“Now, as my lady would no doubt see it, you have four choices,” Jess said. “First, you can try to kill us, but you can only attack one at a time. You have only one sword. I promise you that the other one of us will kill you. Second, you can fall out of the window, plummet six storeys, and die. The duke will be upset if you break the glass. It’s the nicest window in the castle. Third, you can surrender and live. Duchess Caitlin might even let you attend her wedding. As a guest, of course, not the groom. Or fourth, of course, we will turn you over to the court wizard and let him wrap you in more of his exploding spider webs. That was a mild example to deter your entry, not all of which he is capable. What do you say?” Jess loved the fear that rose in Master Dyved’s eyes. Beside her, Uthbridge drew his skinny frame up and brandished his long fingertips. A cloud of gray appeared in the air above them.
Slowly, with hatred blazing from his eyes, Master Dyved dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender.
Jess marched him down the stairs with his own sword at his throat. When the soldiers of Rocky Ford saw him, they stopped fighting at once. Sergeant Bainton took charge and rounded them up. Another soldier rushed to free the prisoners in the litter. Lord Matew unfolded his long legs and helped his aunt out of it.
Caitlin approached shyly, conscious of her ill-fitting armor, but with all the dignity of her rank.
“My Lord Matew, I am glad to meet you,” she said. “I am Duchess Caitlin. I bid you welcome.”
He looked Caitlin up and down, regarding the student’s armor with curiosity and concern.
“But what is this?” he asked.
“A part of me that you didn’t know,” she said.
“She defeated your brother’s treachery,” Jess said, defending her charge. “She is a shieldmaiden as well as a scholar.”
“I hope you are not put off by the truth,” Caitlin said. She took off her gauntlets and handed them to Jess. “I would prefer not to live a lie.”
“I would always accept truth,” Matew said, taking her small hand in his long fingers. I don’t shy away from reality. It’s just that the future I want is one of peace.”
“We need to enforce safety if we are to have peace,” Caitlin said. She looked up at him hopefully. “I will lead by example.”
“And I follow,” he said. He kissed her fingertips. “I wondered what to give you for a wedding present. Now I know. You need a better fitting suit of armor.” The blue eyes twinkled. Jess sighed. This was the man in the picture, well worth falling in love with.
“Come and dine with me,” Caitlin said, drawing Matew and his aunt toward the tables. Jess thanked Heaven that they had not been upset during the melee. “We have much to discuss.”
“After we rescue my friends,” Lord Matew said, his eyes widening with alarm. “My vile brother left them tied up in a copse at this end of the bridge.”
“We’ll go get them, my lord,” said Sergeant Bainton.
“Then I have time to dress for luncheon,” Caitlin said. “Jess, will you help me?”
Jess nodded to the other maidservants, who hurried to fall into their wake.
“It’s as I said sixteen years ago,” Uthbridge whispered to Jess, as she followed Caitlin back toward the stairs. “It’s what you taught her that is her most important lesson.”
Jess blushed. “Swordplay is nothing, lord wizard.”
“Swordplay was not the lesson. Thanks to you, she knows how to defend herself in every way that matters. She will be a wise and confident ruler, and she will also hold her own with her mate. You taught her that. You once thought you were too humble to take your place as her companion, but what you shared has, er, will make all the difference.”
Jess shot him a puzzled look. He tipped her a wink. Perhaps the old fellow wasn’t as far gone as he seemed.