Free A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) by Michael Jecks Page B

marrying Baldwin, had been born to a moderately wealthy family, but when they
     had been murdered she had left to live with family in Bordeaux, only returning when she married Ralph de Liddinstone.
    Sadly Ralph proved to be a brute. He took to abusing his wife when she couldn’t produce a child for him, and accused her of
     barrenness. Shortly before Baldwin first met her, Ralph died. A little while later, Baldwin married Jeanne. Now they had a
     daughter, Richalda.
    He lifted the point of the blade so that the tip was in line with his arm, the point up-slanting, and then swivelled his body
     right, blocking an imaginary hack; with a flick of his wrist he moved the blade to point out to his right, and brought his
     fist across, the blade trailing, covering a thrust at his head. The sword’s point fell and he covered a series ofattacks at his legs, always a vulnerable target, especially in this age of staffs and polearms, then began a series of defensive
     manoeuvres, first to cover his right flank, then his left. At the end of this, he was panting, and there was a fine sheen
     of sweat over his features, as well as what felt like a small snake of ice on his spine where the perspiration had soaked
     into his shirt.
    The only parts of his body that felt hot were his forearms and his wound.
    His breast was so damp, he pulled his shirt away suspiciously and stared down to where the foul, swollen pock mark stood so
     plainly, thinking for a moment that the damned thing was leaking once more. For the last two months it had seemed fairly well
     on the way to healing, but before Christmas every time he exercised it had wept a watery, unpleasant liquor, and even some
     little while after Candlemas it had bled just a little. It was enough to make a man concern himself over his health. Especially
     now that he had something to lose, Baldwin told himself.
    The sun was quite high in the sky now, and Baldwin stood staring ahead. The hills of Dartmoor were licked with a bright orange-pink
     glow where the sun hit them, while the parts the sun could not reach were blue-grey, with small flecks of what looked like
     whiteness to show where the frost still lay thickly on the grasses. It was a perfect, marvellous sight to Baldwin, who had
     spent so many years abroad in hot countries which had no frost to stimulate them.
    ‘My husband? Are you training again?’
    Baldwin narrowed his eyes and winced without turning at once. When he faced his wife, it was with an expression of bright
     cheerfulness. ‘My love! I had thought to leave you resting. I didn’t intend to wake you. I am sorry.’
    ‘Husband, do you mean you’ve only just risen?’ she asked.
    ‘Of course,’ he said with apparent surprise.
    ‘Then you haven’t been out here long enough to work up a sweat?’
    He recoiled from the questing hand that snaked towards his back, growling. ‘Woman, please leave my person. Treat an invalid
     with a little respect.’
    ‘So much of an invalid that you can stand out here in the frost and the freezing air?’
    ‘I was looking at the view,’ he protested.
    ‘With your sword in your hand,’ she said with innocent deliberation.
    ‘May I not keep anything secret from your suspicious mind?’
    ‘Husband,’ she said sweetly, ‘do I hound you for all your secrets? I have no need. You give them up so easily and unintentionally.’
    He scowled at her. It was impossible to be angry with her. Jeanne was perfection in his eyes, her round face framed by thick,
     red-gold tresses, blue eyes like cornflowers on a summer’s afternoon, a small, almost tip-tilted nose, a wide mouth with an
     over-full upper lip which gave her a stubborn look – all in all, he had never seen any woman more beautiful. He growled, ‘It
     is hardly comely for a wife to be so forthright.’
    ‘It is hardly sensible for a wounded man to be testing his scars in the cold like this, especially after sleeping so badly.’
    He looked away guiltily. ‘It was nothing. I