My Hero

Swashbuckler (n) -   1:  a swaggering or daring soldier or adventurer

      2:  a novel or drama dealing with a swashbuckler

He started as a surly teenager; a bit of a bully with a sour attitude, but over the course of six-plus novels, Osmo’s Luko has evolved into the sort of character who might do justice to a Musketeer.

Nephew to my hero, Lucius Aurelius, he has found his swagger and confidently applies it at every opportunity. Witness his first encounter with the girl who will eventually wed his cousin, seen through her eyes after a day at the barracks with his uncle …

* * *

A squad of dusty soldiers returned from patrol while she stood waiting for Lucius to issue his final orders for the day; hearing the hoofbeats, she moved her mare clear and lost sight of him when the horsemen rode into the yard. They were dressed alike and mounted on dark horses—a sight to swoon over if a girl was so inclined. As it happened, Jannika was not so inclined, but she did appreciate the beauty of the horses cantering in step. They halted as one and their riders dismounted in kind, tossing reins at the grooms and good-natured jibes at each other. One of them spotted Fyr and elbowed another, pointing.

“Straighten up; the general’s here.”

“He’s not here to bother with us, idiot.” The elbowed one spat into the dust and scanned the yard through eyes narrowed against the sun. He did not see what he was looking for, but he did see Jannika. Squaring his impressive shoulders, he veered away from his mates and sauntered over to her. “Are you the new healer?”

She arched a brow. “What if I am?”

“I might have something for you to look at.” He hitched at his leathers, feigning the discomfort of an overly snug fit. Jannika almost rolled her eyes.

“Unless it burns when you piss, I’m not the healer you want.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could be anything and I’d still want you. So tell me,” he carried on, ignoring her badly-stifled groan, “has my uncle convinced you to tangle with Ni-Wahn?”

The urge to laughter fled. “Your uncle?”

“General Aurelius.” He spoke with pride and a certain amount of smugness. Such a handsome young man had no need to tout his family connections except as a deterrent to chastising him for his manners—or lack of them. At closer range, handsome was too slight a word for him. He was heroically built and very well-muscled, with curly brown hair cut short and angled eyes that gleamed like wet granite. When he smiled, he bared straight white teeth in a close-trimmed beard, but his eyes retained their predatory intensity.

“You must be Luko,” Jannika concluded.

His gaze narrowed. “How do you know my name?”

“I had supper with your family last night.”

“Oh.” He relaxed, but the wary tightness remained in her chest. No dumb giant, this one knew his strength and was not afraid to use it. He asked, “Will you be at the feast tonight?”

She nodded.

“Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Will you be on watch?”

He snorted, amused by her ignorance. “I’ll be off duty.”

“That’s a shame. I like the uniform.”

He moved closer than she normally allowed, dwarfing her in his shadow. “You might like it better on the floor by your bed.”

Jannika put up a hand, careful not to provoke him as she laid her palm to his chest. “That’s too bold,” she warned.

“For a Retahli girl? I don’t think so.”

“You should think again before you say something offensive.”

“Am I offending you?”

“Not yet, but you’re getting close.”

He leaned into her hand. “How close?”

“Do you truly want to offend me?”

“It’s not my first choice.” He leaned a little harder, forcing her either to submit or lock her elbow. She gave, slightly, and he smiled. Scenting victory, perhaps, or maybe just enjoying the chase. She was halfway enjoying it herself—the tricks she had learned but had no talent for seemed to be working on him. They did, on the ones who thought themselves irresistible.

She held him off with her fingertips. “I can guess what your first would be.”

“You’d be right.”

“What if I refuse? Would you hurt me?”

He bent his head, bringing his lips perilously near hers. “Would you like me to?”

“I doubt you could.”

She smelled the dust on his clothes, the sweat on his skin, and the smouldering lust beneath it. “I’m no gutless little boy,” he whispered. “I’ve killed a man.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. “So have I.”

* * *

Might be a bit of a spoiler in there, but oh well. Think what you will of young Luko, but I believe he has one redeeming quality, admittedly not shown here:

He loves his mother.