The Fallen One (13 page)

    
“My
lady,” he said in his glorious deep voice. “Are you spoken for?”

    
Cathlina
was prepared to ignore the bold knight and turn her back to him when something
in his voice made her stop.
 
There was
something strangely familiar about it and she looked at him, cocking her head
in an increasingly inquisitive manner.
 
She had heard those words before, earlier in
the day, in the same soft and deep timbre.
 
Could it be…?

    
“I
asked you a question, my lady,” he said, his voice considerably quieter. “Are
you spoken for?”

    
A
light of recognition went on in Cathlina’s head. She could hardly believe it. “That
depends,” she said quietly, leaning forward on the rail to gain a better look
at him. “Are you asking for yourself, perchance?”

    
“I
am.”

    
“Let
me see your face.”

    
The
knight reined his foaming charger as close as he could, turning sideways so he
was closer to the railing and closer to Cathlina.
 
His visor was still lowered on his fearsome
helm but she knew he was looking at her.
 
The corners of her mouth twitched.

    
“Open
the visor,” she said softly, eyes glimmering with the mirth and surprise of the
situation. “Let me see if I recognize your eyes.”

    
“Will
you give me your favor if you do?”

    
Her
smile broke through. “I will do it quite happily.”

    
The
visor flipped up and Mathias’ dark green eyes were twinkling back at her.
 
“Do you know me?” he whispered.

    
Cathlina
nodded. “I do indeed.”

    
The
corners of his eyes crinkled. “I am glad.”

    
Cathlina
eyed him, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched. “What are
you doing here?” she asked, trying not to be overheard. “I heard my cousin tell
you not to compete. He said men would try to kill you because of your
association with… well, you
know
.”

    
“He
did not give me a direct order not to compete,” Mathias replied carefully.
“Moreover, no one will know who I am.
 
My
name is Chayson de Lovern.
 
For the
duration of the tournament, that is who you will address me as.”

    
Her
brow furrowed in confusion. “De Lovern?” she repeated. “Who is that?”

    
“It
is me.”

    
“Does
Cousin Tate know what you are doing?”

    
“He
does not, so I would appreciate it if you would keep this between us. No one
knows.”

    
She
still appeared bewildered but didn’t question him further.
 
But she did want to know one thing.

    
“Why
are you doing this?” she asked softly. “Why would you risk yourself so?”

    
He
wrestled with the horse when it threw its head, waiting until it settled down
before returning his attention to her.

    
“Because
there is a young lady who has made me think that mayhap there is more to life
than scratching out a living as a smithy,” he said quietly, his gaze riveted to
her. “I am doing this because she is not yet spoken for and I am hoping that if
I win this event, it will restore some of my honor and she will agree to let me
court her.”

    
This
time, Cathlina knew he was speaking of her. She couldn’t help the grin on her
lips or the flush of her cheeks.
 
 
She wore the simple but delicious surcoat of
pale blue and the white linen shawl around her neck and shoulders;
 
the shawl was the only thing she had that she
could give the man so she pulled it off of her shoulders and wadded it up, extending
the ball to him.
 
As Mathias took it, she
spoke.

    
“I
would have agreed to let you court me if you had only and truly been a simple
smithy,” she said softly. “You do not need to prove your might in order for me
to take notice. I took notice of you the day we met.”

    
He
had the balled-up shawl in one big hand, gazing at her with more emotion than
he could ever recall when it came to a woman. His chest was warm and tight, his
heart fluttery. It was the oddest sensation but wholly wonderful.
 
He had to fight the urge to dismount the
horse and take her in his arms, for never in his life had he wanted to hold a
woman so badly.
 
His entire body fairly
ached with desire.
 
Bringing the shawl to
his nose, he inhaled deeply the scent of roses.
 
A common enough scent but one that was as sweet and beautiful as she
was.

    
“When
men ask you if you are spoken for, what will you tell them?” he asked, his word
muffled by the shawl.

    
She
lifted an eyebrow. “I am not sure,” she said. “Until you ask if you can court
me, I suppose I am still unspoken for.
 
You have not asked at all.”

    
“May
I court you, my lady?”

    
He
said it without hesitation and she laughed softly. “I was hoping you would.”

    
Mathias
suddenly slapped his faceplate down.
 
At
the same time, Cathlina felt a body next to her and she turned to see Roxane
standing at her left hand, curiously looking at Mathias who, by now, was
thundering back across the arena.

    
“Who
was that?” Roxane wanted to know.

    
Cathlina
sighed. “A very nice knight by the name of de Lovern,” she said. “He asked for
my favor. Since you have already given yours away, I saw no harm in giving mine
to him.
 
What do you care, anyway? You
have the mighty St. Hèver at your feet.”

    
Predictably
thrown off the subject to de Lovern and on to St. Hèver, Roxane smiled happily
and took her sister’s arm as they regained their seats.
 
The field marshals were clearing the arena in
preparation for the first bout and spectators were settling in for a thrilling
day. The excitement in the air was palpable as the horns began to sound,
announcing the count-down to the first round.

    
This
day, of all days, would be memorable.

CHAPTER TEN

    
“Did
the earl see you?” Justus wanted to know. “God’s Bones, the man is not a fool.
He will know you on sight, Mathias. You cannot deceive him.”

    
Back
behind the smithy stall in a small corral used for waiting to be shod, Mathias
held fast to the big bay stallion he had just confiscated from de Lara’s
encampment. The horse was excitable and beautiful, and as he held the beast
still while Sebastian adjusted the saddle, he wondered what had become of his
own lovely charger he had surrendered along with his weapons and armor.
 
The horse had been with him for seven years,
a beautiful animal the color of silver, and he knew the horse had been coveted
by many.
 
He was sure the animal was part
of some nobleman’s collection, possibly even the king’s collection, and was
very well treated.
 
Still, he missed the
horse.

    
“I
spoke with de Lara at length this morning,” Mathias replied. “You know this;
you saw him when he was here.”

    
“I
saw him,” Justus said impatiently. “Sebastian and I purposely hid away when he
came. We knew he had much to say to you.”

    
“He
had much to say to us all,” Mathias said, somewhat quietly. “I told you that he
apologized again for what occurred.
 
It
was all things we have heard before, words of anguish and hope.
 
He still feels very guilty for what
happened.”

    
“He
should not,” Sebastian said as he swung the saddle onto the charger’s back. “We
made our choice and accepted the consequences.”

    
Mathias
struggled with the charger that didn’t want to stand still. “Even so, the man
has a conscience.”

    
“Conscience
or no, he will arrest us if he discovers what you’ve done,” Justus said,
agitated. “I did not raise you to be foolish, Mathias.”

    
Mathias
was helping his brother with the leather straps that secured the saddle to the
horse’s body.
 

    
“Nay,
you did not,” he said, grunting when the twitching horse bumped into him. “But
you did raise me to be bold, brave, and determined, and that is exactly what I
shall be.”

    
Justus
knew there was no discouraging him. Mathias was stubborn in every sense of the
word.
 
It was a character flaw or a character
strength depending on the situation, so the old man sighed heavily and stood
back as his sons prepared the enormous charger with pieces of tack they’d
accumulated over the past year.
 
The
equipment wasn’t nearly as elaborate as some of the knights in the competition,
but it was adequate. It would have to do.
 

    
Mathias
was going to go through with this charade regardless of what Justus said.
Therefore, rather than fight his son, he stepped in to assist.
 
The three of them had soared to the top of
the power echelon together and had fallen back down again together, and if
Mathias was to be arrested for doing something he very much wanted to do, then
Justus would be by his side for that also.
 
As always, the de Reynes would serve together, following a tradition set
forth by Justus’ great-great-grandfather, Creed de Reyne.
 
He, too, served with his brothers.
 
They de Reynes were a loyal bunch.

    
As
Justus moved to the back of the horse to fuss with the plain yellow banner on
his haunches, Sebastian moved up to the bridle where his brother was.

    
“Where
did you get that favor,” he asked, pointing to the balled-up shawl on the
pommel of the saddle.

    
Mathias
glanced at it. “From a certain young lady.”

    
“Lady
Cathlina?”

    
“Aye.”

    
“The
same lady you warned me against because she is, in fact, a de Lara?”

    
“The
same.”

    
Sebastian
was the last one to judge his brother, but even he shook his head after a
moment. “From a man who sees reason in all things, I am impressed with your
willingness to be reckless. I sincerely hope she is worth it.”

    
Mathias
looked at his brother, depth of sincerity in his expression. “I would not be
doing this if she was not.
 
She is worth
all this and more.”

    
Sebastian
believed him.

***

There were
twenty seven knights competing in the Brampton tournament, and most of those
were from the north.
 
There were a few
that made a profession out of tournaments rather than battles, and those men
were gaily bedecked with banners and followed by countless women begging for a
lock of hair or a glimpse of their smile.
 

One knight in
particular had big plumage feathers sticking up out of helm, quite full of
himself until St. Hèver cut the plumes in half with his sword.
 
Kenneth said it was an accident but most knew
it wasn’t.
 
He had been annoyed by the
prideful knight’s boasting just as the other competitors had been.
 
When Kenneth had hacked off the plumes, the
knights within eyeshot had roared with laughter.

    
Including
Tate.
 
It had been a bit of comic relief
in the midst of serious tournament preparation. He and Kenneth had been
preparing their chargers for the coming bouts; Kenneth had drawn the second
bout against a big bald knight named Quinton de Gare while Tate wasn’t going
until the seventh round against a knight named Chayson de Lovern.
  
After the mutilated plumage incident, they
returned to their equipment as Kenneth prepared to shortly compete.

    
“What
do we know of de Gare?” Tate asked him as he fixed a leather strap that had
broken.
 
“The name sounds familiar but I
cannot place him.”

    
Kenneth
grunted.
 
“You are not going to like the
answer.”

    
Tate’s
head came up. “Why not?”

    
Kenneth
glanced at him as he finished adjusting his stirrup. “He was sworn to Hugh
Despenser the Younger,” he said.
 
“I
remember seeing him years ago when the Despensers wrought their havoc. Do you
not recall him as a younger man? He had hair then.”

    
Tate
thought hard. “I recall a Jasper de Gare.”

    
“His
brother.”

    
Tate
sighed sharply and returned to what he had been doing.
 
“I remember them now,” he said. “Quinton is a
big man but, if I recall correctly, not a very good warrior. Jasper was the
warrior.”

    
“You
would be right.”

    
The
continued to prepare their equipment in silence for a few moments until Tate
spoke again.

    
“My
opponent,” he said, “what is his name? De Lovern? I believe that is Banbury’s
heir.”

    
Kenneth
was extremely careful in how he reacted or what he said; he was well aware that
de Lovern was Mathias.
 
He hadn’t seen
the man since the incident with Cathlina de Lara that morning but an hour
later, his big bay charger had been missing and was now the mount of an unknown
knight named de Lovern, who happened to be Tate’s first round opponent.
 
The way the man moved, his skill with a
horse, and the way he handled his weaponry made it very, very clear to Kenneth
that Mathias had taken his advice.
 
He
had entered himself in the tournament and, by a stroke of luck, drew Tate as
his first opponent.
 
Oh, the irony
, Kenneth thought.

    
“I
have not heard of him before,” Kenneth said casually.

    
“He
is riding a charger that looks very much like the one you purchased in York
last month.”

    
“Is
he? I had not noticed.”

    
Tate
finished with the strap he had been repairing. “Did you check to see if your
horse is missing?” he asked. “Mayhap de Lovern stole it.”

    
“If
he has, I will run him through.”

    
“I
will run him through for you.
 
Since he
will be competing against me, I will have more of an opportunity than you
will.”

    
“I
would not worry about it. Simply have a clean round and do not get hurt. It
would forever scar your wife and children if you did.”

    
“Do
not worry about me,” Tate said, looking over his horse to make sure he was
prepared.
 
“By the way; where is Mathias?”

    
Kenneth
was still fussing with the stirrup, or at least pretending to. “I have not seen
him since this morning.”

    
It
wasn’t a lie. Tate continued to check his saddle. “I thought he might at least
come to watch.”

    
Kenneth
looked at him, them. “Would you?” he asked. “If all of this had once been yours
and now you were denied what came naturally to you, knowing you were the best
of the best, would
you
come to
watch?”

    
Tate
finished checking his saddle and looked at Kenneth. “Nay,” he said flatly. “I
would come to compete.”

    
Kenneth
didn’t know how to respond; he held Tate’s gaze steady before shrugging his
shoulders and turning back to his stirrup.
 
Tate eyed his very blond, very big friend a moment before moving to walk
past him.

    
“If
you happen to see de Lovern,” he said quietly, “tell him I plan to knock him on
his arse and take your horse.”

    
Kenneth
watched the man walk away.
 
A faint smile
creased us normally emotionless-lips; it was certainly going to be an
interesting bout, and one he was looking forward to.

    
He
knew Tate was, too.

***

    
Kenneth’s
round against de Gare had been three very violent passes, resulting in two
shattered joust poles for each of the competitors, but in the end Kenneth
emerged the victor. As he made his victory pass in front of the roaring crowd,
he was obliged to stop in front of Roxane and accept her blessing.
 
He did so, but he didn’t take her hand and
kiss it as most knights would have.
 
He
simply gave her a salute and rushed off.

    
Roxane
was fairly upset that he hadn’t kissed her hand but she was soon distracted
from her sorrow by a very young knight in the fifth round.
 
He was tall and slender, with red hair, and
he was very solicitous with Roxane before his bout.
 
Either he hadn’t noticed St. Hèver or he was
too arrogant to care, because soon enough Roxane was enamored with the brash
young knight who took to blowing her kisses after he won his bout against a fat
knight who lost his balance and fell off after the first pass.

    
The
sixth bout came and went without fanfare, as the knight from Gloucester
unseated a knight from Ashbourne in the first pass.
 
It was uneventful and the crowd grew restless
until they realized that the Earl of Carlisle was up next against an unknown
knight named de Lovern.
 
 
Pages ran out to rake the field, filling in
any holes, and the guides were checked to ensure they were steady.
 
After the field marshals checked everything,
the flags of Carlisle and de Lovern were placed on the board and the crowd
began to roar.

    
Mathias
was the first to enter the field.
 
The
wild charger had settled down and was a truly beautiful and somewhat tame beast
as he cantered across the field and took his position at the far end of the
guide.
  
Tate entered after him aboard
his black and white steed and the crowd went mad, cheering excitedly for their
earl.
  
Mathias settled in, adjusting his
borrowed gloves as Sebastian, his red hair tucked up under a skull cap, aided
his brother with his lance.

    
“De
Lara likes to aim for the neck,” Sebastian said quietly as he handed his
brother the crow’s foot pole. “He will start out aiming for your chest but
bring the pole up at the last minute.”

    
Mathias
nodded patiently. “I know,” he said. “I have competed against the man many
times.”