(The group contained has NO relation to the SCA other than the fact that they both dress up in armour. I don't like lawsuits, so tell me BEFORE you sue, and I'll change whatever the problem is. It's a slow story, so be prepared for a wait for all the sex scenes. Thank you to my Story Support Team (Jacuzzigal, my editor, especially, first amongst equals, I love you all, girls),for their efforts to shine the dull brittle metal that has been buffed and polished into this work)
*
The girl ran through the woods, panting and jeering following close behind. She risked a quick look over her shoulder, and saw the group of men chasing her start to get closer. She ran harder, but her heart and her head knew it was only a matter of time before they caught her. She cursed the day she had bought that second hand car, and her ex boyfriend, for telling her he could fix it for her in a "jiffy". The heel of her shoe finally snapped, and they were on her. Their hands closing around her. The black haired leader flicked at her blouse with his knife. She winced, and hoped that he didn't cut her. Her blouse ripped under the knife's edge. Her breasts, covered by her pale blue bra, drew the attention of the rapists, and the knife slid down into the hand grasping the catch of her jeans.
"Fuck! Watch it man!" The scream of the man caused a lapse in the attention of her assailants, and Cathy didn't miss it. Kicking out, she managed to get away, barely ahead of the men as they regained their senses and began pursuit again. Her other heel snapped, and she screamed as her ankle turned, but kept running.
She caught a glimpse of silver through the trees, and ran for it. As she approached, her breath caught in her throat as her legs pounded the soft forest floor. Her feet caught on the upturned root of a tree, and she tumbled out into a clearing, into something she could believe. There were.....knights fighting with swords? What was that? Bagpipe music?
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The clash and thrill of battle overwhelming him, facing his opponent, John raised his sword and attempted a deft slice towards the area that the warrior had exposed while blocking his last overhand swipe. The warrior responded with a quick jab towards the face. Knowing his helmet would deflect the blow, John continued the attempt, only to be rewarded with a ring as the blade struck the top of the armour. The attempt foiled, John's opponent gave him a truly spiteful grin, then threw his whole body behind his overhand slice. Dodging inward, John raised his shield and rammed it solidly into the fighter. The blow shocked the warrior, and he stepped back, thrusting weakly at John's right side in an attempt to buy time and recover. John started to parry, then, smiling evilly and, overwhelmed by battle lust, lashed out with a foot and caught his opponent under the breastplate, ending the fight decisively. The soldier fell over coughing. He looked around to find another opponent, then heard a shrill whistle breaking through the fog of melee. He sighed, and heard a loud voice call out.
"Number 18! Foul! Retreat from combat! Unlawful use of body and personal combat." The voice stopped, then continued in a slightly more mirthful and sarcastic tone. "The Lords ask, for what they tell me is the 13th time, that Mastersmith John remember that, in the future, he can't simply kick his opponent in the stomach to finish the battle, as this breaks the bloody rules!"
John raised his sword to his helm, and saluted his vanquished foe. He turned to the platform where the voice came from, and gave a somewhat less enthusiastic salute to the man with the megaphone., He removed his helmet, revealing red hair tousled and rumpled. Then, helping his opponent to his feet he asked nonchalantly.
"So would the Lords prefer we continue the fight after Number 23 has recovered, or shall I forfeit the match, again? I keep telling you, it's a perfectly legal maneuver if we were actually fighting for our lives!"
"Excuses be damned, John! Match forfeited. 23 will fight number 5, after a rest to recover. The tourney will continue in half an hour. John, please come over here" The loud voice switched off halfway through the announcement, and the crier waved cheerfully at John. As John walked over, he picked up a leather pack and slung it over his shoulder. Reaching in, he pulled out a leather skin and drank greedily.
"Hi, Sam. Sorry. You know how I get." John blushed, and motioned over to a pair of minstrels playing. "And those gits playing MARCH OF FREAKING CAMBREADTH DOESN'T HELP!" He threw the waterskin towards them, only to see the guitarist stop in mid-play, catch it and drink heavily, pass it to the bagpiper, then continue playing.
"Yeahhhh...Just remember. Don't lose your temper." Sam smiled down at his friend and motioned to the wooden platform. "Want to watch the rest from up here?"
John smiled, then motioned to a small tent at the edge of the nearby forest, a little away from the rest of the fairgrounds. It was green, and simple, lacking the banners and upthrust pikes and turrets of the other tents. A simple wooden sign, charred and pitted, read "John's Armoury".
"Nah. I've got some work to do on that pair of axes that Michael wanted. They're getting there, they just need a few more hours of tender loving care." He smiled, and, playfully waving his sword to the minstrels, calmly walked over and caught the loop of the wineskin with his blade, and cheerfully wandered on back to his tent.
- - -
As she tumbled to a stop, Cathy shook her head, and then screamed as the men started to reach her. The crowd gathered around the fighters obviously couldn't hear her over the clang and the music, but a man nearby jerked his head over and, cocking his head to the side, placed something onto the iron block and started to walk over. Seeing the men in the woods, his legs sped up, his hands moved to the hammer on his belt, and he ran flat out. Cathy lashed out with her nails and feet as the men reached her, rewarded with a few yelps. The black haired man saw the leather-apron clad man, his hair and the laces from the apron flying out behind him, his short beard covering a gentle jaw clenched firmly. The man flicked out the knife, and called to his gang.
"Guys! Leave her. Let's take this geek down, then get her out of here before whatever the hell that is finishes. Gary. Hold her." His friends came nearer wielding their knives, one of them pulling a length of chain out from around his neck. They stood and waited, ominously, for the would-be rescuer, as a brown haired man pinned Cathy to the ground and twisted her arms behind her.
