True Love (17 page)

“What do you know of poison?” Catherine
demanded, shocked by the accusation. “Have you ever seen any? Or
used any?”

“Of course not.” Gwendolyn began to look
angry and her voice rose. “I would never – you cannot believe that
of me!”

“I do not,” Catherine stated firmly, “any
more than I believe Sir Braedon would use poison.”

“Neither did I think he would,” Gwendolyn
said, still not appeased by Catherine's affirmation of confidence
in her, “not until he saw what I was doing and scolded me in a
terrifying voice about moving his belongings and warned me not to
say a word to anyone about what I'd seen.”

“But you told me.”

“Well, as I said earlier, I thought and
thought about it. I hardly slept at all last night for worrying
over what could happen if I'm right about those vials. So I decided
you ought to know. I am bound to you and Lord Royce, after all, not
to Sir Braedon, and if he is planning to cause trouble, you needed
to be told.”

“I see.” Catherine thought for a moment,
fighting against the cold chill that was settling around her heart.
“You were right to inform me, Gwendolyn, but now you must swear not
to speak to anyone else about what you saw in Sir Braedon's
room.”

“What about Lord Royce?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I will tell him. Your duty is to keep
silent. If you do not, your punishment will be severe.”

“I understand, my lady.” Gwendolyn pressed
her lips together as if to prevent any untoward word from passing
them.

“You are dismissed.” Catherine thought
Gwendolyn would keep her promise, for she had always been
loyal.

But what was she to do with this new
information about Braedon?

Thursday dawned clear and warm and after
their unwanted day of rest the knights were eager to resume the
tournament. By Royce's decree the second day of combat was to be
divided into several different contests, in contrast to the single
long mock battle of the first day. Some of the contests were to be
conducted on foot, which would put the men who were participating
in them at a disadvantage, since knights were trained to fight
primarily on horseback.

Catherine was a most unwilling spectator.
After a day of emotional distress during which one domestic crisis
after another had arisen to occupy her time and prevent her from
seeking out either her father or Braedon, she had spent a sleepless
night. By the time she rode to the melee field and took her seat in
the viewing stand she was suffering from a severe headache, which
the glaring sun only made worse.

“I gave your scarf to Sir Braedon, as you
asked,” Aldis said, sliding into her place beside Catherine. “He
seemed surprised that you didn't go yourself to tie it around his
arm, but I told him you were busy and that you would speak to him
later. So, for a second time, you have prevented Lord Achard from
demanding a token from you.”

“Thank you, Aldis. I prefer not to talk with
Braedon this morning.” The moments just before the fighting began
were hardly the time to begin interrogating Braedon about his
possible ownership of poisons. Catherine did not doubt the
information Gwendolyn had offered to her, but she did question the
contents of those mysterious vials. It was possible they held
ingredients that were perfectly innocent, and Catherine was not
going to condemn Braedon until she learned what was in them. Nor,
she had decided in the darkest part of the long, restless night,
was she going to discuss the matter with her too-evasive father
before she knew what the vials contained.

“My lady Catherine,” Lord Cadwallon called to
her, interrupting her thoughts, “since you have forbidden me to
fight, may I have the honor of sitting beside you?”

“Of course,” Catherine responded with a
smile. She was genuinely glad to see him. According to her father,
Cadwallon was an honorable soul who was devoted to his wife and
young children, and from what Catherine had personally observed of
him, she was certain he would never make inappropriate advances to
her or to any other woman. She saw how stiffly he moved, as if all
of his muscles ached, and how he winced when his broken arm was
jostled as he made his way to the seat next to hers, and she
decided she would send another potion of poppy syrup to him that
night, to aid him in sleeping.

If her headache did not improve, she might
even swallow a drop or two of the stuff herself. In the meantime,
lord Cadwallon's bluff good humor and his knowledgeable comments
about the day's contests helped to divert Catherine's thoughts from
the darker areas where they had been lodged for a day and a long
night. Despite herself she began to enjoy the tournament.

“Well, now,” Cadwallon exclaimed when the
day's third contest of men fighting on foot was about to commence.
He pointed off to one side. “There's an unusual sight.”

“What is that?” Catherine had not been paying
strict attention to what was going on at the edges of the field,
because during the interval between contests she was trying to
locate her father and Braedon.

“A new contestant has just arrived, a man who
is not a guest at Wortham,” Cadwallon answered her. With rising
enthusiasm he continued, “Aha! This ought to add fresh interest to
the day's business. The new knight apparently wants to enter the
fray without revealing his identity.”

“Do you think my father will allow it?”

“It's certainly not against the rules Royce
has stipulated. Sometimes, well known men prefer to fight
incognito. It's less embarrassing if the man should be defeated,
and if he wins the prize at the end of the tournament he can reveal
his identity then and surprise his admirers.”

Catherine stared at the unknown knight, who
rode a huge black warhorse, an animal that, once seen, was not
likely to be forgotten. The horse's trappings were black trimmed
with silver. Over the knight's silvery chainmail his sword rested
in a silver-decorated black leather scabbard that hung from a black
belt with a large silver buckle. His long oval shield was also
black, with no decoration at all. He wore a metal helmet with
noseguard and cheekflaps that covered his face except for his eyes
and his mouth.

“He's an imposing sight,” Aldis whispered to
Catherine.

“Yes. For a man who wants to remain anonymous
he certainly has made himself conspicuous,” Catherine responded
dryly. She frowned at the stranger in rising annoyance because,
despite his disguise, there was something familiar about him,
though she could not decide just what it was that nudged at her
memory. “All we need at Wortham just now is yet another mystery,”
she muttered.

“Lord Royce has accepted the new man into the
list of competing knights,” Cadwallon informed her. “It looks as
though he will begin by fighting mounted.”

“So would I, if I owned a horse like that,”
Catherine said, her interest piqued in spite of her irritation.

The day's schedule was quickly rearranged to
accommodate the man who most appropriately named himself to the
herald as
le Chevalier Inconnu,
the Unknown Knight, or, as
the common folk immediately renamed him, simply
l'Inconnu.
As soon as he was accepted into the list Achard issued a challenge
to him. It was decided by Royce and the herald that the two were to
meet on horseback and then to continue their match on foot if
either was unhorsed.

When their contest began Achard held the
superior position, having been accorded a starting location atop
the slight rise in the ground, while l'Inconnu was on the flat
meadowland, an area made slippery by the rain of the previous day,
its condition intensified by the earlier contests.

The instant the signal was given to begin the
two knights galloped toward each other. With every step the black
horse's hooves sent up huge clods of mud and grass, but for all his
great size he was surefooted. Achard's lighter horse slid once on
the downward slope, then regained its footing.

The climax occurred almost too rapidly for
Catherine's eyes to take it in. She noted the fierce set of
Achard's mouth, saw him bend surprisingly low over his horse's neck
when he couched his lance. Then a black and silver whirlwind
assaulted him with a lance better aimed than Achard's and Achard
went flying through the air to land flat on his back on the muddy
grass. Achard's horse raced away, unharmed.

L'Inconnu galloped to the end of the field,
turned and came back at a slower pace. Tossing his lance to a
waiting squire, l'Inconnu leapt from his horse to bend over Achard.
His hand was ready on his sword hilt, but he let the blade slide
back into its scabbard and went to his knees beside his
opponent.

Meanwhile, Royce and a group of squires ran
from the sidelines to Achard's supine form. Catherine saw Braedon
following Royce, and she saw l'Inconnu step away from the fallen
man.

“Is Achard dead?” Aldis cried.

“Most likely he's only winded,” Cadwallon
answered her. “See, his legs are moving and now he's trying to sit
up.”

“Do you think he's wounded?” Catherine asked.
“Perhaps I ought to see to his care.” She said it reluctantly, for
she did not want to have to see to Achard's injuries.

“It looks to me as if he's only dazed,”
Cadwallon said. “I've taken several falls like that and no harm
done. If none of his bones are broken he'll be sore tomorrow, but
able to fight again on the next day of the tournament. Achard's
squires ought to be able to tend to him.”

In fact, even as Cadwallon spoke, Achard's
two squires helped him to his feet. With an arm over each squire's
shoulders Achard was taken from the field to his tent.

Catherine saw Braedon speaking to l'Inconnu,
and a short time later the herald announced another previously
unplanned contest. Braedon and l'Inconnu would fight each other on
foot, armed only with swords.

“I cannot believe Sir Braedon challenged
l'Inconnu over Achard,” Aldis exclaimed.

“It didn't look like a challenge to me,”
Catherine responded.

“A formal challenge is not necessary in games
such as these,” Cadwallon explained. “They only need to agree to
fight for the sport of it, to discover who is the better man.”

It was Catherine's opinion that such a
decision could not be made by means of armed combat, but she knew
she was alone in her belief, so she kept quiet.

The two knights began their combat directly
in front of Catherine's place in the viewing stand. Raising their
broadswords they saluted the spectators and Catherine saw Braedon's
grin flash in her direction.

The opponents were almost exactly the same
height and were similar in the breadth of their shoulders. It soon
became apparent that they were also well matched in strength and
training. With both chainmail-gloved hands gripping the hilt of his
heavy sword, each man took a turn at slashing toward his opponent.
They circled and slashed again, wove back and forth with quick
footwork, bent and twisted and ducked to get into better position
to deliver a telling blow. The ground beneath their armored feet
grew ever more muddy and dangerous, yet the knights kept their
footing.

The nobles in the stand fell silent out of
respect for the surpassing skill they were witnessing, and soon the
rowdy common folk went quiet, too, as they became caught up in the
growing tension.

There were some telling hits. L'Inconnu
struck Braedon's arm where his old wound was not yet healed and it
began to bleed. Braedon got in a fast thrust to the thigh and
l'Inconnu displayed a streak of red running down his leg.

Catherine did not know how long the duel
continued. She was watching so intently that she was unaware of
time passing, and she all but forgot her headache. There was a
horrid fascination in the movements of the two accomplished
warriors before her.

“They must begin to tire soon,” Aldis
whispered.

Indeed, so silent was the audience that it
was possible to hear the rasping breaths of both men, and it seemed
to Catherine that they were moving more slowly, thrusting and
parrying with greater effort.

Then, as Catherine stared in disbelief,
l'Inconnu raised his sword high. Catherine thought it was too high;
she could see how he left himself open to Braedon's attack. It
appeared to be a move out of character with the way l'Inconnu had
been fighting until that moment. Braedon took advantage of the
opening as Catherine expected him to do – and as l'Inconnu also
expected him to do, for as Braedon stepped nearer, l'Inconnu dealt
him such a blow on his left side that Braedon faltered and went to
his knees. Another hard blow across his shoulders from l'Inconnu's
flashing blade and Braedon was face down in the mud.

L'Inconnu approached the stand and raised his
sword in salute. Catherine had the strangest impression that the
gesture was meant for her. The unknown knight offered a similar
salute to Royce, who acknowledged it politely. Then Royce hastened
onto the field, heading in the direction of Braedon's inert form,
with Robert and several other squires in attendance.

The unknown knight turned and walked off to
the side of the field, where a squire was holding his huge black
horse. L'Inconnu mounted and rode away before anyone thought to
stop him.

All of this Catherine observed within the
space of a few heartbeats, while she sat stupefied with shock,
along with the rest of the audience. A low murmur rose as people
began to talk again, to cheer or hiss the result of the match,
depending on who was each individual's favorite combatant.

Catherine saw that Braedon had not moved,
that her father was reaching down to grasp his left shoulder and
roll his limp form over to lie face up. The sight of Braedon's left
arm flopping onto the ground as if there was no life in him
restored Catherine's ability to speak and move.