Read Online Embark (King Arthur and Her Knights Book 4) by K. M. Shea - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: K. M. Shea
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style. She just had to wait for it…
Lancelot chopped downward, forcing Britt to rest the flat of Excalibur on her arm to hold it steady.
“Are you sure?” Lancelot asked, drawing closer to put more of his weight into his blade as he made Britt hold their swords aloft. He was so close Britt could practically taste the salt of his sweat.
“Gotcha,” Britt growled into his ear.
“What?” Lancelot blinked. Holding her sword and Lancelot’s sword aloft with her forearm, Britt let go of Excalibur with her other hand and chopped the back of his neck. Lancelot stumbled, his sword shrieking as it scraped down the length of Exalibur’s blade. Britt flung her arm holding Excalibur aloft wide—pushing Lancelot’s sword away—before hooking her foot behind his knee and shoving him down. When he fell to his knees Britt tightened her grip on Excalibur and swung it down, landing a blow on Lancelot’s armored chest that sent him sprawling backwards. Britt was on him in an instant, stabbing Excalibur near his exposed armpit.
Her shoulders heaved and she breathed heavily in the sudden silence.
It took two moments before the audience reacted in wild applause.
“My Lord!”
“King Arthur!”
“—picture of knighthood!”
Britt was so weak her knees shook, and she held herself upright only through the stiffness of her muscles.
“I say, well done, My Lord. You certainly trounced me that time,” Lancelot said with a beautiful smile before he turned to the cheering crowd. “Our just and honorable lord: King Arthur!” he said, gesturing to Britt.
Britt panted and eyed Lancelot as the knight slid his sword back into its scabbard. “You certainly are the best swordsman in all of Christendom,” Lancelot said with a bow before he turned away. “Gentle ladies, though I lost to such a skilled opponent, did I not put up a worthy fight?”
“Immeasurably so, Sir Lancelot.”
“You were the breathing illustration of skill!”
Britt looked away from the knight and his adoring fans. She raised a hand in acknowledgement as she finally regained control over her muscles. She slid Excalibur in its scabbard and slowly made her way to the ring’s fence.
The crowds scattered, drawn to the jousting practice field, where Sir Bodwain—who was cleaning the clock of everyone who dared to go against him—was preparing to face down Sir Bedivere.
Britt made a face as she eased herself over the fence. “That was much harder than I would have liked,” Britt muttered, replaying the fight in her mind.
She could have sworn that for a split second, just when Lancelot realized he had been beaten as Britt moved to stab Excalibur into the ground next to him, that his eyes darkened and he looked… frightening .
Britt glanced over her shoulder at the flighty knight, who was accepting a cloth from a pretty girl to wipe away his sweat.
Were my eyes wrong? Is there more to him?
“My Lord, you fought so well,” a brown-haired, teenage girl in an emerald green dress said, pushing close to Britt. “You looked so handsome with your golden hair shining.”
“Thank you,” Britt said, trying to side-step the girl so she wouldn’t be so close. “It was a close fight.”
“Never! Everyone in Britain knows you cannot be beaten,” another teenage girl said, clasping one of Britt’s hands in hers.
“Did you fight the battle, thinking of any particular maiden, My Lord?” a young lady—who was pretending to be shy—asked as she threaded her hands through her blonde hair.
“I can’t say I did. I was mostly trying to not get stabbed,” Britt laughed, pulling her hand from the over-familiar female.
When girls first started blushing and fluttering their eyes at Britt, she had been amused. She would have been fine to let things continue as they were, but as no one seemed to be “winning” the race for Britt’s affection—much less make any kind of headway with her—the girls were growing increasingly more affectionate and
Lancelot chopped downward, forcing Britt to rest the flat of Excalibur on her arm to hold it steady.
“Are you sure?” Lancelot asked, drawing closer to put more of his weight into his blade as he made Britt hold their swords aloft. He was so close Britt could practically taste the salt of his sweat.
“Gotcha,” Britt growled into his ear.
“What?” Lancelot blinked. Holding her sword and Lancelot’s sword aloft with her forearm, Britt let go of Excalibur with her other hand and chopped the back of his neck. Lancelot stumbled, his sword shrieking as it scraped down the length of Exalibur’s blade. Britt flung her arm holding Excalibur aloft wide—pushing Lancelot’s sword away—before hooking her foot behind his knee and shoving him down. When he fell to his knees Britt tightened her grip on Excalibur and swung it down, landing a blow on Lancelot’s armored chest that sent him sprawling backwards. Britt was on him in an instant, stabbing Excalibur near his exposed armpit.
Her shoulders heaved and she breathed heavily in the sudden silence.
It took two moments before the audience reacted in wild applause.
“My Lord!”
“King Arthur!”
“—picture of knighthood!”
Britt was so weak her knees shook, and she held herself upright only through the stiffness of her muscles.
“I say, well done, My Lord. You certainly trounced me that time,” Lancelot said with a beautiful smile before he turned to the cheering crowd. “Our just and honorable lord: King Arthur!” he said, gesturing to Britt.
Britt panted and eyed Lancelot as the knight slid his sword back into its scabbard. “You certainly are the best swordsman in all of Christendom,” Lancelot said with a bow before he turned away. “Gentle ladies, though I lost to such a skilled opponent, did I not put up a worthy fight?”
“Immeasurably so, Sir Lancelot.”
“You were the breathing illustration of skill!”
Britt looked away from the knight and his adoring fans. She raised a hand in acknowledgement as she finally regained control over her muscles. She slid Excalibur in its scabbard and slowly made her way to the ring’s fence.
The crowds scattered, drawn to the jousting practice field, where Sir Bodwain—who was cleaning the clock of everyone who dared to go against him—was preparing to face down Sir Bedivere.
Britt made a face as she eased herself over the fence. “That was much harder than I would have liked,” Britt muttered, replaying the fight in her mind.
She could have sworn that for a split second, just when Lancelot realized he had been beaten as Britt moved to stab Excalibur into the ground next to him, that his eyes darkened and he looked… frightening .
Britt glanced over her shoulder at the flighty knight, who was accepting a cloth from a pretty girl to wipe away his sweat.
Were my eyes wrong? Is there more to him?
“My Lord, you fought so well,” a brown-haired, teenage girl in an emerald green dress said, pushing close to Britt. “You looked so handsome with your golden hair shining.”
“Thank you,” Britt said, trying to side-step the girl so she wouldn’t be so close. “It was a close fight.”
“Never! Everyone in Britain knows you cannot be beaten,” another teenage girl said, clasping one of Britt’s hands in hers.
“Did you fight the battle, thinking of any particular maiden, My Lord?” a young lady—who was pretending to be shy—asked as she threaded her hands through her blonde hair.
“I can’t say I did. I was mostly trying to not get stabbed,” Britt laughed, pulling her hand from the over-familiar female.
When girls first started blushing and fluttering their eyes at Britt, she had been amused. She would have been fine to let things continue as they were, but as no one seemed to be “winning” the race for Britt’s affection—much less make any kind of headway with her—the girls were growing increasingly more affectionate and
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