Free The Commander's Desire by Jennette Green

an advantage she
didn’t. Brute strength. Although she was in top condition, she knew
he would far outlast her. Already she felt a tremor in her arms.
How long had the match gone on? Twenty minutes? Thirty?
    Warriors cheered now for the Commander, and
surprisingly for herself, as well.
    But Elwytha still had a trick up her sleeve;
one her beloved brother had taught her. She quickened her tempo and
pressed into offensive action, forcing him to parry her moves.
    Elwytha was hot, now. Sweat trickled down her
forehead and dripped inside her dress.
    In swift succession, she executed the
well-remembered moves. Thrust, parry…thrust, thrust, parry…then
three moves, in blinding succession, designed to trick him and
throw him off balance. She sensed him turn too fast and tilt on his
heels, and made her final lunge. All victory, this move…or all
defeat. It was her only chance. In a minute she would need to cry
defeat from pure exhaustion.
    Her stick thrust through the air…and bounced
off his brown jerkin. It seemed to happen in slow motion. She saw
the dent in the cloth, surprise flicker across his mutilated face,
and then heard the approving cheers of the crowd.
    Panting, she dropped her stick, her arm
shaking.
    The Commander lowered his stick and regarded
her, his breaths still even. She could not read his expression.
    He turned to his men. “The spectacle is
over.” His deep voice sounded mild.
    With hoots and cheers, the men scattered.
    Silently, the Commander held out a hand for
the stick, and after a hesitation she gave it to him. She felt
uneasy. Did he feel fury for being defeated by the hand of a
woman?
    But she had prevailed. She was victorious.
And when she battled him in eleven days she would not choose sword
play—or anything that required endurance—to battle him. She had
learned much about her opponent, which had been her intention from
the start.
    Head held high, she entered the armory while
he put the sticks away. Still, she sensed no emotion from him.
Boldly, she challenged, “Are you angry you lost to me?”
    The Commander walked toward her, forcing her
out of the armory and back into the sunlight. He latched the door
behind him. “You mean a woman…or a warrior?”
    She did not answer.
    “ Still, you deny it?” Was
that contempt in his eyes?
    Anger stiffened Elwytha’s spine. Was he
accusing her of lying? As well she had been, she admitted. Another
character failing this treachery required of her. It made her feel
sick. How could she reply without admitting the complete truth, and
thereby endangering her own safety?
    She said, “I would give no advantage to my
enemies.”
    He captured her hand and unexpectedly pulled
her closer. Fear flared, then settled. “Do I remain your enemy,
Elwytha?” He stared down at her.
    “ How could you be anything
but my enemy?” she returned. Anger twisted inside of her. “We’ve
been at war all of our lives.”
    “ Our kingdoms have. Not you
and me.”
    Fury burned in her. How could he not be her
enemy, after striking down her brother in cold blood? Did he think
she didn’t know? Surely he hadn’t forgotten—one horror among too
many to count for him?
    “ Unhand me,” she spat.
“Pray, do not molest me.”
    “ Have I yet?” She heard the
anger in his deep rumble.
    “ Nay,” she admitted. “And I
will thank you to keep it that way.”
    “ In eleven days I will claim
you for my own. Perhaps you should pray for peace with me
instead.”
    “ I would sooner fall on my
sword.”
    Shock recoiled across his features, as though
she had slapped him. Satisfied, Elwytha spun and left.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The Commander felt shaken by the hatred he
had seen in Elwytha’s eyes. He had not suspected the depth—that she
would sooner die than have peace with him, or allow him to be a
husband to her.
    He clenched his fist. Every attempt he had
made to forge peace between them had hit a stone wall of
resistance. Hatred simmered deep within her. Her swordplay