Read Online On My Lady's Honor (All for one, and one for all) by Kate Silver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Silver
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no sense. “The plague does not affect your brain. Or your sword arm.”
Gerard was sweating heavily and beginning to tire. “It left me weakened. I am no longer as strong as I was.”
He grinned. “You were never going to be the strongman at the fair.”
Gerard did not take offense at his teasing comment. “I need to learn how to compensate for my lack of strength. That is what I want you to teach me.”
“Swordplay is not about strength. It is about speed and agility, and the ability to read the mind of your opponent so you know what thrust he will make as soon as he knows himself.”
Gerard looked as intrigued as if he had never heard him say that before – though indeed he had drummed it into the boy’s head time and time again when he had taught him before. “How can I do that?”
“Keep your eyes on your opponent. Never take them off him – even for a second, or,” he glanced pointedly at the still red scar on his upper arm, “you will find yourself stitching up a rather painful flesh wound or two.”
Gerard blushed like a girl and look slightly shamefaced.
He felt a small measure of satisfaction at Gerard’s discomfiture. The wound had hurt like the very devil, especially when the surgeon had stitched it up with his clumsy fingers. “Watch his eyes. They will give him away every time.”
They would have to go back to the basics, Lamotte decided, as Gerard stumbled once again and dropped his sword on the ground. He would start from the beginning and teach Gerard once more how to fight like a Musketeer.
For the next hour, he drilled Gerard unmercifully. Cut, thrust. Cut, thrust. He made Gerard practice the first simple movement over and over again until it was perfect. Then he made Gerard practice it over and over again until it was fast. Then he made Gerard practice some more until it was faster. Only when the boy had achieved pinpoint accuracy at lightening speed did he let him drop his sword on to the ground to rest.
Gerard had not uttered a word of complaint or asked to stop, though Lamotte could see that he was near to passing out from exhaustion. The plague may have changed him in many ways, but it had not altered the strength of his will or his hunger to excel. “You’ll soon learn how to fight again if you practice that hard.”
Gerard’s breath was so labored he could hardly speak. “Good.”
“I hope that you do not forget again so quickly.”
“I will not forget a single lesson ever again.”
He eyed the lad curiously. Gerard was only a handful of years younger than he was, but lately those few years had yawned like a huge, impassable gulf between them. “Why do you want to fight so badly?” Once he thought he had known, but now he was no longer sure of anything.
Gerard grabbed the flask from his hip and took a long swallow. Water dribbled over his mouth and chin as he drank. “What man doesn’t?”
“So you can safely insult me again another day?”
“Of course.”
Lamotte could not tell whether Gerard was serious or making a jest. “You would have killed me that day.”
“Yes.” There was no apology in Gerard’s tone – just a simple admission of the facts.
“Why do you hate me so much?” The question had been seriously troubling him for some time. “Why did you try to kill me?”
Gerard crouched down on his heels in the dirt and ran a dirty hand over his forehead, leaving trails of grime in the sweat. “Because you are alive.”
Of all things, he had not been expecting this. It made no sense. “Because I am alive?” he repeated stupidly. “What do you mean?”
“You are alive, and my bro---everyone else I have ever loved is dead.”
He did not understand. Had Gerard loved his sister so much that her death had warped his mind? “Everyone you love? You sent me word that your sister was sick, but that the rest of your household
Gerard was sweating heavily and beginning to tire. “It left me weakened. I am no longer as strong as I was.”
He grinned. “You were never going to be the strongman at the fair.”
Gerard did not take offense at his teasing comment. “I need to learn how to compensate for my lack of strength. That is what I want you to teach me.”
“Swordplay is not about strength. It is about speed and agility, and the ability to read the mind of your opponent so you know what thrust he will make as soon as he knows himself.”
Gerard looked as intrigued as if he had never heard him say that before – though indeed he had drummed it into the boy’s head time and time again when he had taught him before. “How can I do that?”
“Keep your eyes on your opponent. Never take them off him – even for a second, or,” he glanced pointedly at the still red scar on his upper arm, “you will find yourself stitching up a rather painful flesh wound or two.”
Gerard blushed like a girl and look slightly shamefaced.
He felt a small measure of satisfaction at Gerard’s discomfiture. The wound had hurt like the very devil, especially when the surgeon had stitched it up with his clumsy fingers. “Watch his eyes. They will give him away every time.”
They would have to go back to the basics, Lamotte decided, as Gerard stumbled once again and dropped his sword on the ground. He would start from the beginning and teach Gerard once more how to fight like a Musketeer.
For the next hour, he drilled Gerard unmercifully. Cut, thrust. Cut, thrust. He made Gerard practice the first simple movement over and over again until it was perfect. Then he made Gerard practice it over and over again until it was fast. Then he made Gerard practice some more until it was faster. Only when the boy had achieved pinpoint accuracy at lightening speed did he let him drop his sword on to the ground to rest.
Gerard had not uttered a word of complaint or asked to stop, though Lamotte could see that he was near to passing out from exhaustion. The plague may have changed him in many ways, but it had not altered the strength of his will or his hunger to excel. “You’ll soon learn how to fight again if you practice that hard.”
Gerard’s breath was so labored he could hardly speak. “Good.”
“I hope that you do not forget again so quickly.”
“I will not forget a single lesson ever again.”
He eyed the lad curiously. Gerard was only a handful of years younger than he was, but lately those few years had yawned like a huge, impassable gulf between them. “Why do you want to fight so badly?” Once he thought he had known, but now he was no longer sure of anything.
Gerard grabbed the flask from his hip and took a long swallow. Water dribbled over his mouth and chin as he drank. “What man doesn’t?”
“So you can safely insult me again another day?”
“Of course.”
Lamotte could not tell whether Gerard was serious or making a jest. “You would have killed me that day.”
“Yes.” There was no apology in Gerard’s tone – just a simple admission of the facts.
“Why do you hate me so much?” The question had been seriously troubling him for some time. “Why did you try to kill me?”
Gerard crouched down on his heels in the dirt and ran a dirty hand over his forehead, leaving trails of grime in the sweat. “Because you are alive.”
Of all things, he had not been expecting this. It made no sense. “Because I am alive?” he repeated stupidly. “What do you mean?”
“You are alive, and my bro---everyone else I have ever loved is dead.”
He did not understand. Had Gerard loved his sister so much that her death had warped his mind? “Everyone you love? You sent me word that your sister was sick, but that the rest of your household
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