The next days went by in a luxury of love and laughter. Maric was busy with his building projects, stopping every evening to give Nimue a sword lesson. Sometimes, he encouraged Faren to spar with her and sometimes he did. She worked hard at the Tor, taking lessons from the guardian on reading future events in the reflecting pan and exercising Layla. Rumors circulated about the Viking raiders menacing up and down the coast, as if they had a time and season for such slaughter. Nimue frowned at the news but Maric wouldn’t entertain her with the what if.<br/><br/>He would just kiss away her concern, telling her that his magic was enough to thwart a company of barbarians such as they. She often caught him speaking privately with Faren. A smile would cross her lips at the way he would jump back guiltily when he saw her looking at them. One day, he packed up Faren on Susan and made sure he had plenty of traveling food. Faren was dressed poorly, not in his usual finery, but in plain sackcloth, brown and sturdy, like the monks wore. His sword, he wore in a sheath down his back.<br/><br/>“Where is he going?” Nimue asked, as Faren rode back the way her had come. Maric’s eyes twinkled with a merry secret and she actually became a little irritated at him for not sharing whatever was going on with her. She took up her wooden sword and followed him to the yard for sword practice, letting the energy of her frustration make a good showing. Today, Maric was actually sweating during his sword play. Nimue knew she was getting better with this sword and pressed her advantage.<br/><br/>Maric’s face went all serious and his sword handling become more aggressive and serious. Nimue was nimble and what she lacked in reach, made up for in agility. She was like a hummingbird, striking here and there, ducking under his guard, taking risks and whapp! Ended up flat on her back with the tip of Maric’s sword poised above her throat.<br/><br/>She lay there, breath coming in gasps, wide eyed at the intensity of his gaze. His arm quivered as if he was fighting an unseen battle with himself.<br/><br/>“Maric,” Nimue said, softly, not daring to move, “Maric, Maric! You won. Put down your blade. I yield.”<br/><br/>Like a man awoke from a dream, he batted his eyes and stared at his wife. A slow, devilish smile crossed his face as he sheathed the sword and he scooped her into his arms.<br/><br/>“I know what happens to a woman who is defeated like that,” she whispered in his ear.<br/><br/>He made a hhmmmhphh noise and headed for the house.<br/><br/>“Am I ready for a real sword  yet?” she teased.