"Shut up, Rob," Byrne said. He saw the Saracens subtly rearranging themselves around their master and knew his own men were doing the same around him and Jayr. "I rule here, Nottingham, and she belongs to me. I say that she is not fighting you."
"Seigneur." Nottingham turned to Michael. "Under Kyn law the suzerain cannot interfere, and the girl cannot refuse."
"Challenges are fought by men," Michael said calmly. "Jayr is a woman. According to Kyn custom, you cannot fight her."
"Challenge me, you fucking coward," Locksley taunted. "I'll teach you how men fight."
"Law is superior to custom," Nottingham insisted, ignoring Locksley. "Men of rank are obligated to accept any challenge. She calls herself seneschal, does she not? That is a man's rank. She has a man's form and muscle, wears a man's clothing, and carries a man's weapons. She trains and fights with men. She holds rank over every man in the Realm save one." He gave Jayr a smug look. "In what way is she a woman?"
"If you need that explained to you, pal," Alexandra drawled, "you're dumber than your jacket." She came around the table to stand beside Michael. To him she said, "Jayr's shoulder was dislocated and is still healing. She's in no condition to fight anyone."
"He knows that," Locksley said, "or he wouldn't have challenged her."
"Jayr only needs one arm," Harlech said suddenly. "She's better with a lance than any man in the Realm. She'd skewer him on the first pass."
"I'll skewer him now," Locksley promised, "if someone will give me back my bloody damn sword."
Everyone began speaking at the same time, with Michael trying to sort out the different arguments. Byrne felt indifferent to the squabbling. Laws and customs didn't matter. The Italian would not touch a hair on Jayr's head, and if he tried Byrne would relieve him of his limbs.
As more of his men joined in the arguments and the noise swelled to a roar, Byrne decided to take Jayr back to his chambers. They were both exhausted, and he wanted to go to sleep as he had last night, with her in his arms. As he reached for her hand, he discovered that she had moved away from him and now stood before the Italian.
Byrne swore and went after her.
"Lord Nottingham," Jayr said quietly just as Byrne came up behind her. "I accept your challenge."
"No."
Byrne's voice silenced every other one in the hall.
"No, lass," he said, turning her around with gentle hands. She gave him a look so solemn it almost relieved him, until he saw the wounded pride in her eyes. Of course, she was accepting to save face. He could help her. "You heard what Lady Alexandra said. You're not fit. You cannae be jousting with that arm."
"I carry on the right, not the left," she said. "The challenge was made to me, my lord. It is my honor being tested, not yours. I will fight him."
She had the courage of a hundred men, his Jayr. "I know how you feel—"
"No, my lord, you don't. You cannot decide this for me." She looked at Cyprien. "What Lord Nottingham says is true. I am a seneschal. I know my duty to my lord and my place among the Kyn. I have never relied on my sex to excuse me from what must be done by someone of my rank, no matter how dangerous it was. I will not start now."
"Jayr," Cyprien said kindly, "think carefully on what you say."
"I understand how Lord Nottingham feels better than anyone," she explained. "I have also been accused of terrible things. Like him, my honor as seneschal demands that I answer those accusations. Like him, I have only my word to offer as proof. That is not enough, obviously, so I will answer with my lance."
"If that is how you feel," Cyprien said, "then no one will interfere. The challenge has been made and accepted. The Kyn will bear witness when you meet Lord Nottingham on the field of honor."
Byrne stared at him in amazement. "You name yourself my friend? He will kill her."
"Aedan." Jayr's hand curled around his. "This is how it must be done. Trust me. Have faith in me."
"So I may sit and watch as you are slain?" He flung her hand away from him. "You cannae do this. I forbid it. I forbid you."
Misery darkened her eyes. "Forgive me, my lord, but I must."
Jayr had never defied him, Byrne realized. She had always bent herself to his will and had carried out his plans and wishes without question. She had been an extension of himself, one he had relied on without thinking. She had always put his needs before her own. Even now she apologized to him, as if defending her honor might inconvenience him.
He knew, suddenly, how to make her obey. "I am your master, and you are sworn to me above all others. I order you to refuse this challenge."
No harder gauntlet could have been thrown. Their love, still new and untried, might not sway her, but the blood bond between them, of lord and seneschal, could not be broken.
And then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear the words, she shattered it. "I will not, my lord."
"So be it." His heart as heavy as a stone, Byrne turned to address his men. "Before the tournament began, I asked the seigneur to choose a new suzerain for the Realm. As of the new year, I will rule here no longer. Until that day, I am still suzerain. Vows made to me will be kept."
Harlech took a step forward. "No, my lord. For God's sake, do not—"
"You vowed by bond of blood to serve me and my house, and to obey me in all things," Byrne said to Jayr. "By refusing to follow my orders, you've broken that vow, and so you've released me from my obligations to you."
She took a step back, and Nottingham swore under his breath.
He shifted his gaze to Cyprien. "Seigneur, I call on you as witness, and declare that this female has broken faith with me. She no longer holds position in my household or rank among the Kyn. Her weapons and possessions will be confiscated, her privileges revoked."
"No," Jayr whispered, horrified.
To her, Byrne said, "Jayr of Bannock, I discharge you from my household. From this day forth, you no longer serve me as seneschal."
"Byrne can't really do that to Jayr, can he?" Alex asked Michael as he accompanied her from the hall to the infirmary. "I mean, just for saying no to him?"
"He is determined to keep her from fighting Nottingham," Michael said sadly. "Unfortunately, he saw discharging her as the only way."
"I don't get the rules here. Jayr could fight the Iceman as long as she was a seneschal. What difference does it make now that she's unemployed?"
"She has no rank, and only men—or persons—of rank may be challenged," Michael told her.
Phillipe chimed in. "Being a seneschal is not merely a job, Alexandra. It is much like entering into a marriage or having a child. One makes a lifetime commitment to one's master."
"Okay." A thought occurred to her. "But now that she's a free agent, can't someone else pick her and make her a seneschal again? I mean, if all she needs is the job title…" The men stopped walking and stared at her. "What did I say?"
"Locksley would not discharge Will," Phillipe said to Cyprien. "He wishes too much to fight Nottingham himself."
Michael nodded. "Who else among us has no seneschal?"
"Halkirk," Phillipe said. "His man was killed two months ago during a skirmish with the Brethren in Marseilles. He came here to choose a replacement." He grimaced. "And he asked Jayr to make some recommendations."
"Find Jayr." Michael turned to her. "Alexandra, I must go and speak to Lord Halkirk."
"No problem." She waved them away. "I'm going to go clean up the infirmary. See you guys later."
Alex finished an hour later in the infirmary, and packed up her medical case before she left for their rooms. It had been a long night, and for once the prospect of going to sleep didn't scare the daylights out of her. She felt tired but happy. She'd have to set an alarm; she had a feeling she was going to crash hard the minute her head touched a pillow.
Something banged behind a closed door as she passed it, and she heard someone shouting inside.
"You idiot."
At first she thought the door was made of white wood, until she looked closer and saw the frost-covered surface. Some of the tiny crystals fell as a heavy weight slammed into the door from the other side.
"Master, please!"
Alex put her hand in her pocket and used her jacket to force the latch. The door groaned and swung in, dislodging a row of icicles that rained down on her head and shoulders.
Inside the chamber Nottingham held Skald by the throat suspended above the floor, and was using the seneschal's battered face as a punching bag. Blood gushed from the small man's nose and mouth.
"Someone need a house call?" Alex asked as she set down her medical case and took out her tranquilizer gun.
The Italian barely glanced at her. "This is not your concern, my lady," he said through clenched teeth. "Please remove yourself."
"Stop hitting the little guy or I'll sedate your ass." When Nottingham ignored her and continued pounding Skald, she loaded a cartridge of nickel sulfate hexhydrate solution, and aimed for the back of the Italian's neck. "Last chance. Nottingham. Put him down."
Nottingham threw Skald against the wall, waited for him to land, and then strode over and began kicking him.
Alex fired. The tranquilizer dart sank into the base of Nottingham's skull. He stopped, reached back to claw at it, and then gave her an incredulous look.
"What is this?"
"Time for you to take a nap," she said, watching as he fell sideways over a chair, crushing it as he went down.
Skald pushed himself up on his hands and knees and vomited blood all over the frozen floor before collapsing on it and going still.
"Terrific." Alex put the gun back in her case and went to the seneschal, rolling him over, "Skald, can you hear me? Look at me."
