She sipped and read — the wine did a fairly good job of keeping her from getting too angry — making mental notes as she went along. Finally, the last of the wine was gone and she put the flagon up on one of the shelves in the headboard, and blinked, feeling it hit her with more force than she had expected.
Well, then, time to sleep… She blew out the candles, and set the book aside…and the next thing she knew, it was morning.
For a moment she was confused by how muffled sound was, until she remembered the wax and pulled it out of her ears. It was a brilliantly sunny day, and she groaned as she started to get out of bed, feeling her legs aching and sore despite the hot bath and the liniment.
I hurt in muscles I didn’t even know I had! she thought, and moaned a little again. Sapphire whisked into the bedroom at that, bringing the liniment with her, and Bella was very glad to see it, too.
It seemed that Eric had planned more of the same for her today, for another of Sebastian’s old suits had been laid out. But there had been some additions to it — some lovely embroidery at the square neck, and a little lace at the cuffs and neck of the shirt. Nothing that Sebastian would have worn, she was sure, since she had a good idea of his taste now. She smiled to see it, though; this had to be Sapphire’s work, and Sapphire was determined to make sure no one forgot she was a girl!
But the first thing she did was go straight to her mirror and her message box. She read her letter with one eye on the mirror; she wanted to see her father’s reaction to his. She had written to her father about her adventures in weaponry and horseback riding, and to her relief, he seemed more amused than anything else. His letter had been full of news about the way that the servants were taking care of him, “cosseting me” in his words. And how Genevieve seemed to be working with the Housekeeper, which was nothing short of astonishing so far as Bella was concerned.
The vague, uneasy thought flitted across her mind. What if they don’t need me, after all? Would she still be welcome? Wanted? It vanished a moment later, but the taste of it lingered.
Meanwhile she waited, watching, for him to get to the part where she told him that she had not changed on the first night of the full moon. And when he did, the sheer joy in his face practically took her breath away.
And it quelled the unease. There was no doubt he wanted her back home.
She went down to breakfast to find Eric there; he didn’t seem to notice the little additions to her attire.
“Well, how sore are you?” he asked without preamble.
“Very,” she replied, as the servant put buttered flatcakes on her plate and drizzled honey over them. “And please, do not tell me that the only cure for the soreness is to get on the wretched horse again. My first instructor told me that. Why are your horses so…wide?” she added.
“Because they all have destrier blood in them. Knight’s horses. Heavier bones, better for jumping and going over rough country, since they’re bred to carry a rider and all that armor.” He was consuming ham single-mindedly as he spoke. But at least he didn’t talk with his mouth full.
“This morning we’ll be working inside, now that I know you’ll at least not break mirrors and windows when you shoot,” he continued. “There’s a big room here they used to use for balls, but it’s made for practice with weapons. Swords, generally, but we can use some light hand-crossbows in there, and you can practice your knife work.”
“Oh, I’ve been there,” she said. “Sebastian gave me leave to explore as much as I wanted.”
“Well, good. As soon as you’re finished, we’ll go straight there. I told the servants to build up the fires so it won’t be hideously cold.” He began mopping the last of the ham juice from his plate with a roll, so she hastened to finish her flatcakes.
“Are we riding this afternoon?” she asked, as they walked toward what she could only think of as the “music room,” and at his chuckle, she groaned. “Of course we are,” she said, answering her own question. “Or at least, I am.”
“Take heart. You’re going to be less sore tomorrow. In a week, you’ll be fit for the trail on a proper horse instead of that puny little mule.” He handed her a much smaller crossbow than before. “Several things occurred to me. Outside, you have to deal with windage. You don’t in here. And I thought the regular crossbow might be too heavy, considering how many arrows you drove into the dirt. So I reckoned that this might work out better for you. It will still kill a man, or make him hurt quite a lot. It just won’t do so instantly unless you get an insanely lucky shot.” He shrugged. “Unless we’re in a situation where someone wants to kill us, I’d as soon a good healer could save him. He’ll serve as an example to anyone else who gets ideas. Now, try that out, and see how you like it.”
It was certainly easier to cock. She fitted a bolt into the guide, and took aim at the target — which had been placed against a generous number of straw mattresses leaning up against the wall. Either Eric, the servants or both were taking no chances on her ruining the wood paneling.
Her very first bolt hit the target! So did her second, and her third!
None of them got near the bull’s eye, of course, but at least now she was hitting what she was supposed to hit!
He nodded, suggested corrections, until finally, her trigger finger was actually starting to ache, and she was placing the bolts inside the first ring, consistently.
“Now for your knife work,” he said, collecting all the bolts and setting them and the crossbow aside. He handed her a wooden knife with blunted edge and point. “First thing — it’s not a duel. Someone who attacks you with a knife means to kill you. Knife work is dirty work, not gentleman’s work, and anyone who’s attacking with a knife is a ruffian at the very best, and he’s probably murdered before. You have to be dirtier than he is.”
He picked up a wooden knife himself. “Now, assuming you actually see me coming with the knife, what do you do?”
That seemed perfectly obvious to her. “Run. I run very well, and I am lighter than you. Even if I can’t run faster than you, as long as I can keep out of reach, I can probably run longer than you. And if I can keep running long enough to get to some place where other people are, he’ll give up.”