Read Online Passions of the Ghost by Sara Mackenzie - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Mackenzie
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swords are replicas, of course, but I would still remind you to be careful. No rough play, please.”
Amy was quickly demolished by her opponent, but she knew she wasn’t concentrating. She was too busy watching Rey, and worrying. But after the first two bouts, she was relieved to realize he wasn’t going to get hurt. He wasn’t going to get beaten either, not easily. For such a big, strong man he was nimble on his feet. Nicco was also working his way through his opponents, and as the names were crossed off the board and the winners of each bout paired together, the two men came ever closer to fighting it out in the finals of the tournament.
It won’t happen, she told herself. You’re worrying about nothing.
But it seemed that both men were determined to make it happen.
Rey swept through his last two bouts, and after a nasty tussle with Robin Hood, Nicco also landed in the final. Tense and worried, Amy watched on as “Lord Reynald de Mortimer” and “Prince Nicco” faced each other in the final bout. Whoever won, it would be a disaster, but as much as she wanted to cover her eyes, she couldn’t. She had to watch.
Nicco was giving his replica a scornful look. “This is no longer a game, it is the final. I will use my own weapon,” he said haughtily.
“You can’t possibly—” Coster blustered.
“I will use mine, too,” Rey cut in.
“You must take off your fancy dress,” Nicco said, with a smirk. “I want to see who I am beating.”
Rey shrugged and swiftly stripped down to his trousers and tunic. He’d hardly broken a sweat, Amy noticed, as the two men eyed each other like bristling dogs. Her heart sank. This wasn’t going to be a gentlemanly contest.
As if to confirm it, Nicco said, “You will take back what you said to me. You will apologize for calling me a toad.”
“I believe it was a shit-spitting toad.”
“You will pay for that,” Nicco said between his teeth.
“I can’t take responsibility—” Coster began again.
“No one is asking you to,” Nicco interrupted coldly. “We are grown men, are we not? This is a personal matter. We can take responsibility for any injuries.”
Amy didn’t like the way Nicco dwelt on the last word. The sword he’d produced from a leather case was slim and wicked, and as he made a few practice swipes through the air, no one could mistake him for anything but an expert. In contrast, Reynald slowly withdrew his sword from its scabbard and stood with both hands resting on the hilt, the tip on the floor. He looked big and slow, compared to Nicco’s darting swiftness.
Quietly, Rey bowed his head, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.
“Say your prayers, riffraff,” the Russian mocked, as if he had already won.
Amy groaned softly.
Coster, looking as edgy as Amy felt, called to silence the noisy crowd that the final bout in the tournament had attracted, and began the match.
Nicco circled his opponent, like a snake looking to strike, while Rey turned slowly, following his movements. Nicco smiled. “I will try not to hurt you too much,” he said. “But you must learn to respect your betters.”
“You will not hurt me, little toad,” Rey said.
With a growl, Nicco pranced in, pricking at Rey with his sword. But effortlessly Rey knocked Nicco’s weapon away—or maybe it was just luck.
Nicco favored the latter. “You were lucky then,” he said. “It will not happen again.”
But it did happen again. And again.
Despite her feelings of guilt and dread, Amy was riveted by the contest between the two men. She didn’t want anyone to be hurt, but she didn’t want Nicco to win, either. She wanted Rey to win. Absolutely, no doubt about it.
As the bout went on, Amy could see Nicco becoming more and more frustrated and angry, as he wasn’t able to claim victory as quickly as he’d believed he would. Maybe he’d never been beaten before. Then Nicco came in again and was knocked away again, but while Rey’s weapon was still
Amy was quickly demolished by her opponent, but she knew she wasn’t concentrating. She was too busy watching Rey, and worrying. But after the first two bouts, she was relieved to realize he wasn’t going to get hurt. He wasn’t going to get beaten either, not easily. For such a big, strong man he was nimble on his feet. Nicco was also working his way through his opponents, and as the names were crossed off the board and the winners of each bout paired together, the two men came ever closer to fighting it out in the finals of the tournament.
It won’t happen, she told herself. You’re worrying about nothing.
But it seemed that both men were determined to make it happen.
Rey swept through his last two bouts, and after a nasty tussle with Robin Hood, Nicco also landed in the final. Tense and worried, Amy watched on as “Lord Reynald de Mortimer” and “Prince Nicco” faced each other in the final bout. Whoever won, it would be a disaster, but as much as she wanted to cover her eyes, she couldn’t. She had to watch.
Nicco was giving his replica a scornful look. “This is no longer a game, it is the final. I will use my own weapon,” he said haughtily.
“You can’t possibly—” Coster blustered.
“I will use mine, too,” Rey cut in.
“You must take off your fancy dress,” Nicco said, with a smirk. “I want to see who I am beating.”
Rey shrugged and swiftly stripped down to his trousers and tunic. He’d hardly broken a sweat, Amy noticed, as the two men eyed each other like bristling dogs. Her heart sank. This wasn’t going to be a gentlemanly contest.
As if to confirm it, Nicco said, “You will take back what you said to me. You will apologize for calling me a toad.”
“I believe it was a shit-spitting toad.”
“You will pay for that,” Nicco said between his teeth.
“I can’t take responsibility—” Coster began again.
“No one is asking you to,” Nicco interrupted coldly. “We are grown men, are we not? This is a personal matter. We can take responsibility for any injuries.”
Amy didn’t like the way Nicco dwelt on the last word. The sword he’d produced from a leather case was slim and wicked, and as he made a few practice swipes through the air, no one could mistake him for anything but an expert. In contrast, Reynald slowly withdrew his sword from its scabbard and stood with both hands resting on the hilt, the tip on the floor. He looked big and slow, compared to Nicco’s darting swiftness.
Quietly, Rey bowed his head, as if he were performing some kind of ritual.
“Say your prayers, riffraff,” the Russian mocked, as if he had already won.
Amy groaned softly.
Coster, looking as edgy as Amy felt, called to silence the noisy crowd that the final bout in the tournament had attracted, and began the match.
Nicco circled his opponent, like a snake looking to strike, while Rey turned slowly, following his movements. Nicco smiled. “I will try not to hurt you too much,” he said. “But you must learn to respect your betters.”
“You will not hurt me, little toad,” Rey said.
With a growl, Nicco pranced in, pricking at Rey with his sword. But effortlessly Rey knocked Nicco’s weapon away—or maybe it was just luck.
Nicco favored the latter. “You were lucky then,” he said. “It will not happen again.”
But it did happen again. And again.
Despite her feelings of guilt and dread, Amy was riveted by the contest between the two men. She didn’t want anyone to be hurt, but she didn’t want Nicco to win, either. She wanted Rey to win. Absolutely, no doubt about it.
As the bout went on, Amy could see Nicco becoming more and more frustrated and angry, as he wasn’t able to claim victory as quickly as he’d believed he would. Maybe he’d never been beaten before. Then Nicco came in again and was knocked away again, but while Rey’s weapon was still
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