Page 4 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“Oh, come now, Lass. Put the blade down, and let’s be friendly,” The thief said, then grinned as he pulled his sword–a much bigger great sword than the one she preferred.

“Why, because your sword isbigger?” Cypress asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Aye, Lass. Put the sword down, I don’t have time to teach you how to use the thing properly,” he said, using the pommel of the sword to crack open a barrel. A small amount of wine splashed over the floor and rug, filling the air with the tangy, fruity scent. Only days ago, the barrel had been full to the brim.

Cypress laughed, swinging the sword sloppily to keep his illusion alive. “Oh, darling,” she purred. The thief paused, glancing at her. “I've been training since I was four.”

Before her words finished, Cypress shifted her grip and attacked. She feinted left to draw his guard, then slashed right. The blade ripped his waist fabric but barely scratched him.The thief brought his sword down, and she parried, dancing away and further into the open area of the tent. She wanted more room to maneuver.

The man stood nearly head and shoulders over Cypress, though she was not concerned. Cypress had fought bigger men than he and had grown up cutting her teeth on the blood and tears of men who thought they were better than she, only for the equipment between their legs. The thief would be no different.

“Where are ye dancing off to, Lass. I thought you wanted to fight,” the thief taunted, moving toward her, though his gaze still swept the space behind her, looking for something.

Cypress needed to find outwhatthe thief was searching for.

“Not very gentlemanly to chase a Lady around a table, is it?” Cypress snarked back, launching another attack.

Their blades sang as the thief parried, gazing at Cypress through the space above where the blades met. “Who says I’m a gentleman? And you, Lass, are noLady.”

Cypress swung her blade, slashing across the thief's stomach.

The thief leaped backward with a shout, a new rip in his shirt. “Aye! Watch it, Lass.”

“The embroidery on your cape, the fine leather you wear. You may not be a Lord, but you’re no vagabond, either.” Cypress stated, barely out of breath as she pressed the attack.

“Aye, so we’re both liars then,” the thief muttered, blocking her attacks with the flat of his blade, then made a slash toward her side. Cypress twisted her blade, the thief’s sword glancing off, only to cut down the length of her skirts.

Cypress gasped, shock taking over as the fabric ripped from her hip bone to her hem. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” The thief taunted, settling back into a fighting stance, drinking in the sight of her now bare, muscular thigh.

“You’ll regret that.”

“I doubt it,” the thief retorted, and charged, swinging his much heavier blade in a sweeping arc above his head.

Rather than even thinking of blocking or parrying, as there was a good chance of her blade snapping under the pressure if she caught the blow on the edge, Cypress rolled to the side, springing back up and immediately attacked.

The thief swept her first strike away easily, though he wasn’t quick enough to block the second strike she aimed at his leg, or the pommel strike to his jaw. The edge of Cypress’ sword was now dripping red.

“Are you ready to give up?” Cypress taunted, unrelenting.

The thief didn’t respond, instead turning his head to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood. Cypress grinned when he turned back to her and raised his sword.

Again, Cypress pressed the advantage she had over him, even as slight as it was. The thief moved his blade easily in time with her attacks. The pair were decently matched, even with his height and heavier sword.

Cypressthrivedin the clash of blades, dancing in to slash at his arms, legs—anywhere her agile sword might reach.

“Why would I give up when I have aLadyall flushed and panting for me?” The thief said, grabbing her wrist to pull her in closer as their blades crossed again, even leaning his neck out between the swords.

He smelled like the clear, icy river water, moss, and pine trees. A scar crept over the bridge of his nose, slightly more pale than the warm sienna tone of his skin.

“But only one of us is decent with asword,” Cypress shot back, hooking her foot behind his, sending the thief crashing to the ground with a shove.

Before he was able to recover, Cypress stepped on his wrist, releasing his grip on the sword. Then, with her other foot, she stepped on the thief’s chest, pressing him to the ground with her sword pointed at his throat.

“Who are you?” Cypress demanded, chest rising and falling in time with the thief’s under her boot.

“Nobody.”