True Love (13 page)

The common folk were to watch from roped-off
areas at either end of the stand. They had been gathering there
since well before dawn, jostling each other for the best positions
and occasionally threatening to begin their own melee when someone
attempted to save a spot for a friend who was a late arrival.

Because of the tournament the usual midday
feast in the great hall of Wortham Castle was postponed until
evening. Since food would be wanted by the audience long before
then, several trestle tables were set up directly behind the
viewing stand. There, beginning at the noon hour, vast quantities
of food that had been prepared in the castle kitchen over the last
few days were to be served. Nobles and commoners alike were free to
partake of roasted joints of beef, whole roasted game birds, meat
pies, great wheels of Wortham cheese, fresh bread, custards, cakes
and other sweets. Kegs of ale and barrels of wine stood next to a
plentiful supply of pitchers and cups. The food and beverages were
guarded against premature filching by a band of servants especially
chosen by Catherine for their trustworthy habits.

In the hour just preceding the beginning of
the tournament the knights who intended to join the melee were busy
donning their armor in the tents their squires had erected near the
field for that purpose. The mock battle was expected to last all
day and some injuries were certain. The wounded men, or those who
became exhausted by their efforts on the field, could retire to
their tents between bouts, there to rest or recuperate. Into the
midst of the collection of gaily colored tents with banners
streaming from their center poles to designate the occupants,
strode Catherine, accompanied by Aldis.

“My lady, you should not be here,” Robert
exclaimed when he caught sight of them. “This is no place for
women.”

“I wanted to wish my father well,” Catherine
said, nodding toward the red tent from which flew the pennant of
the baron of Wortham. “I won't stay long.”

“I am surprised that Lord Royce has decided
to take part in the fighting,” Robert said. “He's not required to
fight; he could sit in the stands and act as judge.”

“So I told him, earlier today,” Catherine
said. “Whereupon, he informed me that he is not yet so old that he
must wear a judge's robes. He insists the victors of today's melee
will be decided by strength of arms and, if there remains any doubt
when the fighting is over, the winners will be chosen by
acclamation.”

Leaving Robert, Catherine approached the tent
belonging to Royce, only to see him emerge from the structure with
Lady Edith. The lady's dainty hand was firmly tucked into Royce's
elbow and she was smiling up at him in a flirtatious manner. Royce
was clad in his chainmail with his coif draped loosely about his
neck. Around his upper left arm a lady's bright red silk scarf was
bound.

“I see I am too late,” Catherine murmured to
Aldis. “I wanted to give my scarf to Father, but Lady Edith reached
him before I could.”

“I am sure he is only being polite to a
guest,” Aldis said. “Lady Edith hasn't a sensible thought in her
head and she is much too vain to hold Lord Royce's attention for
more than a single afternoon.”

“Thank you for those reassuring words,”
Catherine said, laughing away the notion that her father was
seriously interested in Lady Edith. “But I still must avoid giving
my scarf to Achard. He is certain to ask me for a token to wear
when he goes into battle.”

“The best way to evade an unwelcome request
from Achard is to give your scarf to another man first, just as you
planned,” Aldis said. She punctuated her words with a significant
glance toward the tent into which Robert was just disappearing.

“I know.” Catherine's reaction was a bit
sharp. After her peculiar interlude with Braedon on the previous
afternoon, she had resolved to keep her distance from him. He had
made it quite plain that his true devotion lay with King Henry.
Even so, Catherine was sure that, in accordance with his promise to
her, Braedon would do everything he could to keep her safe from
Achard's importunities. She believed his concern for her stemmed
from his cousin's mistreatment by Eustace. Braedon would not allow
Linette's fate to befall any other woman, if he could possibly
prevent it. He would protect Catherine, as he would protect any
lady who needed his help, but his protection was not offered out of
deep personal affection; it was simply something that Braedon felt
bound to do.

Catherine briefly interrupted the flirtation
between her father and Lady Edith so she could wish Royce luck in
the melee and give him a warm kiss and a hug. Aware of the jealous
expression on Lady Edith's pretty face, Catherine did not tarry
with her parent.

“Here comes Achard,” Aldis whispered as she
and Catherine left Royce. “In another moment he'll see you, and we
both know what his first question will be. If you give him your
scarf, he's sure to take it as a sign that you will accept his
marriage proposal. He will become even more forward and arrogant.
Catherine, you will have to depend upon Sir Braedon's
protection.”

“Yes, you are right. There is only one thing
to do about my cursed scarf.” Catherine set off in the direction of
the dark blue tent where they had encountered Robert. Deciding it
was better to be rude than to risk having Achard catch up with her,
she burst through the tent flap without asking permission to
enter.

She found Braedon bending over from the waist
while Robert slid his chainmail tunic over his hands and head. The
padded gambeson Braedon wore under the chainmail was so well fitted
to his upper body that Catherine could see his muscles straining
against the fabric as he shrugged to help Robert move the heavy
mail.

Braedon shoved his arms through the arms of
the chainmail and then he straightened, his head emerging from the
metal links with his short, dark hair in disarray. Robert tugged at
the mail, adjusting the tunic over Braedon's shoulders and back.
His legs and feet were already encased in mail.

“Oh my.” Aldis came into the tent just behind
Catherine and she stared wide-eyed at the tall knight.

Braedon heard her and turned, but he did not
look at Aldis. His gaze was on Catherine.

“My ladies, please,” Robert cried, making a
motion as if to shoo them out of the tent. “This is not
proper.”

“We will only stay for a moment,” Catherine
said. She could not help herself; she shivered a little when she
looked at Braedon. Covered by his armor he presented a daunting
appearance. He seemed to her to be something other than mere human
flesh, a cold, fierce creature made entirely of steel. Only his
eyes were warm and they blazed with such heat that Catherine was
almost afraid to look into their midnight-blue depths.

“What is it you want, my lady?” Braedon said
to her, his voice clipped and precise, as cold as his metal-clad
body.

“I've brought you my scarf to wear,”
Catherine said, holding out the wisp of bright blue silk.

“I cannot.” He directed a glare at the silk,
as if the sheer fabric were to blame for some unspeakable crime.
“You should not ask this of me.”

“My lady, you will offend Lord Achard,”
Robert protested.

“It's because of Lord Achard that Sir Braedon
must agree to wear Catherine's scarf,” Aldis declared. To Braedon
she added, “Oh, don't you see how Achard will insist upon Catherine
giving her scarf to him so he can make much of the gift?”

“I do see,” Braedon said. “Still, there must
be another knight who will gladly wear the token, to keep it away
from Achard.”

“But you are Catherine's champion!” Aldis
cried. “Only yesterday you protected her from Achard's wicked
designs on her, and made Robert and me promise to help you keep her
safe in the future. That gives you the right to wear her
badge.”

“Aldis, you have said quite enough,”
Catherine declared. “I knew I should not let you convince me to
enter this tent. Sir Braedon, I apologize for asking of you a favor
you are not free to grant. Come, Aldis.” She was almost out of the
tent when Braedon's large hand covered the fingers that clutched
her blue scarf.

“Give me that.” He took the scarf from her.
“Rather than let Achard claim it and perhaps use it to exact rights
from you that you do not wish to bestow on him, I will wear
it.”

“That's not a very gracious acceptance,”
Catherine said.

“Perhaps I do not know how to be more polite
because, until this day, no lady has ever offered me such an emblem
of honor.”

He touched her cheek lightly, brushed his
knuckles along her jaw and then, in a gesture she was beginning to
know well, he laid a finger over her lips. Catherine stood very
still, looking into his eyes, wherein she thought she perceived
both grief and longing. To her surprise she discovered that she had
to blink away unexpected moisture from her own eyes.

“Will you tie it on?” he asked, holding out
the scarf.

“Yes, of course.” She fumbled as she wrapped
the length of silk twice around his upper arm. Her fingers were
numb; she tied the knot, then had to retie it again to make it
secure. When she was finished she stood on tiptoe and kissed his
cheek.

“I wish you well today,” she said. “I wish
you victory.”

“Catherine.” His face was set and
expressionless, and his eyes gazed inward, though he appeared to be
looking at her. “Thank you, my lady. You do me great honor.” His
voice was so husky that Catherine knew he was holding back strong
emotion.

There was nothing more to say, and Catherine
could tell by the way Robert was fidgeting that there were
preparations still to be finished before the tournament began. She
gave Braedon a last smile and left the tent with Aldis.

Sure enough, she had scarcely taken two steps
away from Braedon's tent when Achard appeared at her side.

“I have been seeking you,” Achard announced.
“You will, of course, have a token for me, a scarf or ribbon, or a
glove, that I may wear during the melee.”

“Alas, my lord, you are too late,” Catherine
told him. “I have already presented my scarf to another knight.”
Hoping he would leave her alone, she continued on her way to her
place in the stand.

“You may not do that.” Achard grabbed her
arm, stopping her. He was wearing his chainmail and his sword was
already belted on. With the brilliant sunlight full upon him, he
would have presented a glittering vision of knightly beauty, were
it not for the grim set of his handsome features and the cold and
calculating look in his eyes. “I am your acknowledged suitor. Your
favors are to be bestowed on me, alone.”

“How can I acknowledge so laggard a suitor,
my lord? All of the other ladies have been asked for their tokens
long before this hour. I assumed you had forgotten me.” Catherine
tried to shake off Achard's restraining hand. He only held her
tighter. “Do you intend to repeat yesterday's assault on my
person?” she demanded.

“Royce permits you entirely too much
freedom,” Achard said. “He allows you to express your opinions to
men, which it is wrong for any gently bred maiden to do. He
certainly ought not to give you the right to choose your own
husband; that is a privilege reserved to a lady's parents or her
guardian. Nor should you be free to give away your scarf wherever
you will.”

“Release me, Lord Achard.” Catherine wished
she dared to tell him there were no circumstances under which she
would ever agree to marry him. Despite his handsome appearance,
Achard was physically repulsive to her, and he was so rough and
overbearing as a suitor that she was sure he would be intolerable
as a husband.

She could not tell him so, at least, not yet.
She had promised her father that she would allow Achard's courtship
for the duration of the Whitsuntide festival, and she would not go
back on her word.

“The tournament is about to begin,” Aldis
noted, coming to Catherine's aid. “My lord Achard, Lady Catherine
must take her seat at once.”

“Who is wearing your scarf?” Achard demanded
of Catherine. “Tell me the man's name.”

Catherine lifted her chin and parted her lips
to inform him that she had no intention of revealing who was
wearing her scarf, when Braedon stepped out of his tent with his
sword girded at his waist and the swath of blue silk conspicuous on
his upper left arm. Robert followed him, bearing Braedon's shield
and battleaxe.

Achard looked from the bright silk around
Braedon's muscular arm to Catherine's gown, which was exactly the
same shade, and he came to the obvious conclusion.

“You gave your scarf to that landless
bastard?” Achard demanded of Catherine in a low, dangerous voice.
“To him, and not to me?”

“Why, my lord, I thought he was your friend,”
Catherine said with false meekness. “When you did not request a
token of me, I thought you would not mind if I granted the favor to
Sir Braedon. Having given him my badge, I will not ask him to
return it.”

“You -!” Achard dropped Catherine's arm as if
it were poisonous.

“What, Lady Catherine, are you still here?”
With exaggerated casualness, Braedon sauntered over to her. “You
ought to be in your seat by now.”

“So I have been telling her,” Aldis put in,
sounding desperate.

“Good day to you, Achard,” Braedon said,
nodding politely. “Are you ready for the melee?”

“Ready, and more than ready,” Achard growled
at him. Neglecting to take proper leave of the ladies, he stalked
away, shouting to his squire to bring his shield and other
weapons.

“I fear I have greatly annoyed my lord
Achard,” Catherine said.

“You knew you would,” Braedon told her with a
quick glance for the scarf on his arm.

“Be careful,” she murmured.

“I am always careful. Until this evening, my
lady.” Braedon bowed and left her, with Robert at his side.