The sun was hot and thick in the late afternoon air. Walking to an open field, about a mile off from Ashbourne’s centre, Eustace lugged a wooden Pell, a mock sword and a bow with a few arrows. Eustace loved to train; there was a natural freedom that came with thrusting his sword and discharging arrows into a trunk. He jabbed the Pell into the ground and made sure it was sturdy.
Eustace walked up to the Pell and with his wooden sword, struck the tree trunk. Lord Roland suggested Eustace practiced with a new sword- a heavier sword to build up strength in preparation for the Welsh to attack. Ashbourne , being so close to the Welsh border, constantly faced the fear of being under siege of those ruthless and bloodthirsty Welshmen that attacked without disinclination. But Eustace wasn’t too sure he would fight if the time ever came; there seemed no point in fighting people just for the sake of fighting.
He stepped back from the Pell as he thought about why he was even a Knight; for honour; for his father; for his sister; for it was what people of his birth did. For his sister’s honour. Remembering why he was here- to protect Eleanor- he vowed to become a better swordsmen than Lord Roland. Again and again, he practised the motions of attack, beating the trunk into chips of dented poles. He beat the trunk until his arms ached.
“Sir Eustace,” a voice called from behind him.
He turned around to find the beautiful Gwyneth smiling at him. In her hands she held a woven basket, overflowing with red apples. Approaching her, he took a top apple and removed a generous bite.
“You look tired.” Gwyneth placed the basket on the ground.
Swallowing the chunk of apple, he said, “I am.”
She smiled coquettishly and took the sword from him. Struggling to keep the wood from touching the ground, she gasped. “It’s much heavier than I thought.” She placed the sword on the grass and laid a hand on his forearm and felt his muscular arm beneath the tunic. With a little squeeze, she blushed. “How strong you are.”
“I’ve got to be strong; armour’s heavy.” He tossed the core of his apple into the forest, careful to let his flexed arm linger.
Gwyneth giggled. “Have you ever been in a fight?”
Eustace nodded.
“What happened?” Gwyneth tucked a small strand of her red hair behind her ear as her bright blue eyes stayed focused on Eustace. “Do you have a scar?”
“On my chest,” Eustace replied with a grin.
Since his arrival at Ashbourne, he had taken a liking to Gwyneth with her fair complexion and fiery hair. She was slender and tall for her age, only fifteen and he only twenty-two, and always ready with a compliment in his favour. At first, he thought it only mindless attention that would surly pass as a proper love interest of her own developed. But as Lammas grew closer, her attention towards him grew as well. She moved past the simple questions of ‘how are you faring?’ into deeper, digging questions like of his past. Eustace found it thrilling to have such a pretty girl’s attention all to himself; carnal desires surfaced.
Gwyneth was incongruously secretive about her family
Placing a hand on his chest, she whispered dryly, “Can I see?” She pulled aside the neck of his tunic in a coy manor.
Eustace placed a hand atop of hers. “You won’t see it just like that.” His words came out in a mutter. He yanked his tunic above his head and showed her the mount of pink flesh that formed a raised line underneath his left breast. “A lad took a knife to me just before I came here. It didn’t hurt much.”
“Did he try to kill you?”
Shrugging Eustace grabbed her hand and dragged it along his chest. The scar from below his left breast all the way to the left collarbone. “If he was, he didn’t do a good job. If he wanted to kill me he would have gone lower.”
“How brave you are.”
“Yes, well, it was nothing. All he wanted to do was make someone rich.”
Gwyneth smiled, clearly not interested in Eustace’s story of Gregory.
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Ordained by God
Historical Fiction(DON'T BE PUT OFF BY THE TITLE IT'S NOT A RELIGIOUS BOOK) During the reign of William the Conqueror, women were subordinate to men in all social situations and love was not a reason a Lady to wed. Lady Eleanor of Winshire has falled in love with Cle...
