The Willows (17 page)

On the contrary, Jervis hoped his
brother was, for the less John knew about what was going on, the
more manageable he would prove to be. Indeed, maybe he should find
him a flask. “You go on,” he told Gwen, when his mind set on
getting his brother drunk. “The crowd is expecting their queen, and
we can’t be disappointing them.”

She nodded, raising her chin much like
her mother might have done. Watching her walk proudly to her
throne, Jervis saw all too much of Amanda in this young woman. Half
the reason he wanted Gwen marrying that imbecile Lance, was to keep
her from getting in his way.

Just a few more hours, he thought,
turning back toward the house.

***

Gwen approach the grandstand, thoughts
spreading through her head. She couldn’t be doing this… It was some
dreadful mistake… If she fainted right now, maybe they would call
the entire thing off.

The crowd gathering around her was
enormous-she’d been right in telling Michael everyone would be
here-but contrary to her uncle’s suggestion, they did not wait for
their queen. Busy milling around, chattering among themselves, for
neighbors all but ignored her. Nor did it help her confidence to
find so many local bachelors watching from the stands. How
humiliating, all these people had gathered to watch, and no one but
Lance showed up compete for her hand.

Lance, thoughts on easily. She wish now
that she’d never asked him to kiss her. Maybe Jervis was right,
maybe he was preoccupied, but he could have put some life into the
effort, infused it with some… Magic. Maybe then it would not have
been such a disappointment.

There, she admitted it; she had felt
nothing when Lance kissed her. They could be children again,
pecking at each other’s lips, for all the passion they had stirred
between them. Why, she’d felt more in the arms of a rival
stranger.

Remembering just how much she’d felt
with Michael, she cringed with guilt. What was she thinking of,
today over all days, when Lance was about to ride into this very
field, a noble knight doing battle for his lady?

She looked at the family banner
stretched across the front of the grandstand, with its huge gold
crown atop the words, “honor and glory.” The first day she could
remember, she’d longed to be a queen of this realm, to rule as
warmly and graciously as her mother. It was every dream she’d ever
dreamed, a fancy few girls could ever hope for, and today, Lance
was going to make it come true.

Lifting her chin, she climbed the three
steps to the covered platform and went straight to the wooden share
her uncle called a thorough. Painted a gaudy gold, its stiff back
studded with glittering stones, it might look like if grown from a
distance, but up close, it looked like a very uncomfortable chair.
More keeping up pretenses, she thought unhappily.

Not anxious to test its comfort, she
stood at the low rail to survey the field. Three viewing areas had
been set up, one on either side of the grandstand, but the larger
area directly opposite. In the wide Lane between these areas, two
polls had been erected, a cord strung between them. A hook dangled
from the cord, holding the ring each person must snare.

Looking about her, she cannot help but
sigh. Uncle had done his best, but this was nowhere near spectacle
her parents had once provided. There were too few benches in the
viewing areas, and the tarps stretched over them for shade sported
a good many holes since their last use. Worn, too, for the flags on
the supporting poles. Once they had fluttered greatly, sporting a
circus of color, but now they drooped, and waved lifeless in the
midmorning sun.

She could understand either inertia,
she found it hard enough to breathe in this heat. Clicking opened
her cousin’s fan to try to stir up the breeze, but even moving, the
air remained hot and humid sticking It to her, weighed her down,
and did nothing to brighten her mood.

She wished she could see the
competitors in the far off corner, but they’d the kept out of sight
until their grand entrance. At the sound of the horn each person
would be introduced, so he could come charging across the field to
snare the reading and Gallup off with it on his Lance.

The dramatic spectacle that Gwen
normally enjoyed, but today she felt hot and tired, and her stomach
churned with worry. It’s not help to see uncle leading her
tottering daddy up the steps. John’s drunken expression warned that
he had indeed found the Bourbon; fierce frown promised
trouble.

He sat on her throne, finding it as
uncomfortable as she feared. Fidgeting nervously, she waited for
her father’s reaction to the dress as he took the seat to her
right. But aside from a grunt, he said nothing, leaving Gwen with
her first real stirrings of hope. If Edith had been wrong about his
reaction to mothers dress, she was probably wrong about the rest of
it, too.

Juervis kept looking about them. “Have
you seen Edith?” Asked. “If she doesn’t arrive soon, we will have
to start without her.”

“
Start anyway,” Father
grumbled. “Let’s get the damn thing over with and done.”

Far from pleased, uncle stepped up to
the rail, raising his arms in the air. A horn sounded, weak and
tiny, but the crowd hushed immediately.

Stepping out onto the field, Thomas
Perkins, the man acting as today’s Herald, gestured up to the
grandstand. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he shouted. “Gather around and pay
heed, for today we crowned the queen of our tournament, the lovely
lady Gwen.”

A day that was likely to be a long one,
she thought with a frown as she took her seat. At a clap from Mr.
Perkins, the competitors were summoned to parade, one by one,
before the viewers. Her vanity might rejoice at the number of
people, nearly forty in all, but her mind did the mental
arithmetic. Even if each took but a few moments to charge for the
ring, first round was bound to take hours.

Mr. Perkins introduced every contestant
in turn. With each taken the identity of some fiction is night, it
was understandable that she might not recognize all their names,
but how daunting that she should find so few familiar faces. All
had chosen crests and colors, but the effort seemed slapdash and
halfhearted. And made this less romantic with every passing
minute.

Beside her, father lifted a flask to
his mouth, but his eyes never left the field. Assignments, he
watched each person, nodding as if counting heads, stiffening at
the last was introduced. Lance, Gwen thought with an overwhelming
relief. Didn’t matter who the other men were as long as he
competed. Her Lancelot would rescue her again.

A thunderous cheer went up as he dashed
to the center of the field, carrying a pennant of the same silver
and white as his clothing. Everything about him seem to glisten;
even his horse was a pale, silvery gray. Bringing the animal up
onto its rear legs, he held the pose as he saluted to the
crowd.

“
Fool,” father muttered
beside her. “That man could not pay off his debts. Where did he get
this kind of money?”

Gwen had no time to ponder the
question, for Lance was charging toward the grandstand, holding her
gaze. Even before he stopped by the rail, she realize what he
wanted, the token of her favor, she thought with dismay; that was
twice she had forgotten about it.

What could she offer? Not her hair
ribbon, for that was blue and Lance had asked for something white.
Digging frantically in her ridicule, all she could only find was a
plain handkerchief, a plain square with neither lace nor
embroidery. It was not much of a token, but it would have to
do.

Lance frowned when she presented its.
For awful moment she feared he had hated her offering, but he
eventually took the offending cloth tied it to his spear. Bowing,
he turned his horse dramatically, before charging off to join the
ranks.

Father continue to grumble, taking
another poll from the flask, but Gwen let herself relax. None of
these men seemed likely a night, much less a worthy rival, so she
had every section that Lance would eventually dispatch
them.

The initial charges held her interests,
watching horse and rider under toward that single, tiny worrying,
but as more and more missed, the ineptitude grew wearying. Half
those eliminated from the first round never touch the ring, and now
an equal number failed to remain on their horse. How boring the
contest seemed, now that’s the outcome was unforeseen
conclusion.

Only a dozen survived the second round,
and by the third there were merely by. Gwen fanned herself
religiously as one by one, Lance is remaining rivals fell by the
wayside, until he alone prevailed. At last, she thought as he
pranced on his silver horse toward the grandstand, grinning from
ear to ear.

Yet now that it was done, Gwen felt
strange let down. She knew she should count herself lucky, but
surely a girl could wish for something a little bit more
romantic-at the least, entertaining. After future must be decided
by competition, shouldn’t there be at least some
excitement?

The heat must be getting to her.
Instead of complaining about silly, girlish aspirations, she should
be on her knees grateful that Lance had won. It was over, her
future was decided at last; she should start enjoying all the
dreams Lance just made come true.

And she would, she swore, just as soon
as she had a cool bath and a reviving glass of lemonade.

In the meantime, she must get through
the ceremonies the crowd expected. As Lance trotted closer, she
rose to greet him with a forced smile, her hands going to the crown
at her head. Trading decreed that she grant it to the
winner.

“
Not so fast,” father said,
rising to his feet beside her. “Ain’t finished yet.”

“
Sit down, John” uncle
hissed at her other side. “We know how you feel about Lance, but he
defeated everyone else.”

“
Has he now? Then who is
that?”

A slow building murmur ripped through
the crowd as they look to where he pointed. “No,” Gwen whispered,
her hands tightening on the crown as she recognized the new
challenger.

There, on his huge beast of a horse,
sat Michael.

Chapter 8

Michael? Here, now? Lance swiftly
denied that he was alarmed. This was no childish fist cuffs in
which an unprincipled form boy could excel; tilting was a
gentleman’s game, and Lance was its master. How brash, how foolish
of that no account farmer to think he could ride in and challenge
him. Ordinarily, Lance would take great pleasure in putting the man
in his place, but today, unfortunately, there was too much at
stake. “It is too late,” he called out, annoyed by that tension
Rafe received. “I have already won the competition.”

Michael rode forward with a lack of
speed, reining in his horse before them. “Funny, but I don’t
remember reading anything on that handbill regarding a timeframe.
According to this copy of the rules, your competition isn’t over
until the Queen declares the winner.” He leaned forward, over the
railing offering a slip of paper.

With a grunt, John took the list of
rules. Gwen, Lance noticed, continue to clutch the crown as if her
life depended on it, her face drained of all color.

“
He is right.” Looking
altogether too pleased, John waved the sheet of paper. “It also
states that the Queen cannot announce the winner, until the panel
of judges votes on who it will be.”

Lance looked to Jervis, seemed equally
confused. The panel had been designed to protect them, not provide
openings for unimportant challengers.

“
I see no reason why this
man cannot compete.” John said, leaning back in his
chair.

“
I see several reasons,”
Jervis said coldly. “He has not paid the entrance fee. If he had,
he would be wearing a number like everyone else.”

Lance smiled. He had forgotten about
the fee-for, of course, she had not had to pay it-but they had
written a rule saying that it must be paid before the competition
began.”

Michael sat compliantly on his horse.
“I have a number, actually. Don’t I, Miss McCloud?”

At first, Lance thought he meant Gwen.
It took some moments to realize that Michael nodded instead at her
cousin, now walking up the steps.

“
He is right,” Edith said
breathlessly, waving his entry slip as she approached. “I’m sorry
it has taken so long, but I had to search high and low to find your
number.” She leaned over the rail to hand the slip to
Michael.

“
You could have stalled a
bit longer,” Lance fumed. “Five minutes more, and I’d have had the
damn crown in my hands.”

Jervis reach for his daughter’s arms
“what is this?” He snagged, anger glittering in his eyes. “I don’t
recall his name on the list.”

Edith seemed surprised by her father’s
reaction. “Sorry, but I must have forgotten to write it down. You
know how scatterbrain I have been of lately. Why, when Michael
entered the list, I told him the competition didn’t start until
afternoon. Please don’t penalize him for the confusion. Not when
it’s all my fault.”

“
What is this, Michael?”
Jervis all but hissed. “What do think you are doing?”