True Love (30 page)

Catherine was certain that being exposed to
public shame was only going to make Eustace more determined to win
against l'Inconnu and, therefore, more likely to make a move that
was in violation of tournament rules. The fact that his own actions
had brought the shame upon him would mean nothing to Eustace. He
wasn't capable of realizing his own mistakes.

At Royce's signal the knights lowered their
lances and galloped toward each other. They met directly in front
of where Catherine was sitting, so she saw every detail of what
happened.

Just before the knights met, Eustace raised
his lance so he was no longer aiming at his opponent's body, but at
his head. In immediate response to Eustace's murderous intent,
l'Inconnu bent out of his saddle to avoid the blow, which meant his
own lance went wide of its mark. The two horsemen swept past each
other, continuing to the ends of the field.

“Foul!” Cadwallon was on his feet, shouting
with the other men in the stand. “Eustace aimed for his eyes, not
his shoulder or chest.”

“I saw.” Royce was signaling to the
men-at-arms to call a halt to the action. When the combatants were
brought before him, he glared at Eustace as if he would like to
take a lance to the man. “Are you incapable of fighting fairly?”
Royce shouted at him.

“I did nothing wrong,” Eustace protested. “My
horse shied at the last moment.”

“Untrue!” yelled Cadwallon. “You deliberately
raised your lance.” His complaint was echoed by every other man in
the stand except for Phelan, by the knights and squires watching on
the outskirts of the field, and even by the common folk.

“Sir l'Inconnu,” Royce said, “Eustace has
lost the contest by default. You may leave the field satisfied that
the truth of your challenge has been borne out.”

“My lord,” l'Inconnu replied, “with your
permission, I would continue the contest. I do understand the
rules, but default is not satisfaction enough for me.”

“As you wish.” Royce raised his voice so all
could hear. “Since Sir Eustace is incapable of employing his lance
in an honorable manner, the remainder of the contest will be fought
on foot.”

A few minutes later the men faced each other,
swords drawn, and the combat began anew. It was quickly apparent
who was the better fighter. L'Inconnu was faster on his feet, more
agile and daring, and far more disciplined than Eustace, who hacked
and slashed in an increasingly clumsy way.

“He's tiring,” Cadwallon said to Catherine.
“Eustace was up late last night drinking, and he fought in the
melee for most of the morning. He won't last long.”

But Eustace was not too tired for more
trickery. He began a fierce, slashing attack that brought him ever
closer to l'Inconnu. And when they closed, grappling face to face,
Eustace drew from his belt a knife that had been concealed there
and with his left hand stabbed at l'Inconnu. A line of red appeared
on l'Inconnu's right arm and began to run down the silvery
chainmail.

L'Inconnu broke away, spun around on the ball
of his foot, and came back in the blink of an eye with the point of
his broadsword firmly placed at Eustace's throat. Eustace stood
panting, sword in one hand, illicit knife in the other, as aware as
everyone watching was that all l'Inconnu needed to do was push a
little harder on the blade to ram it through the chainmail and into
his neck.

With incredible self-discipline after all
Eustace had attempted to do to him, l'Inconnu stayed his hand and
looked toward the stand for Royce's decision.

“Enough,” Royce said. “Eustace is clearly in
the wrong on many counts. But his sister is married to my son, and
so I am compelled to grant him his life. Sir l'Inconnu, I thank you
for fighting fairly in the face of great provocation. Your claims
against Eustace are proven. This contest is ended.”

“Thank you, my lord.” L'Inconnu lowered his
sword. He bowed to Royce and then, without another glance for
Eustace, he began to walk across the field toward the squire who
waited with his horse. Every eye followed his tall, muscular form,
the men openly admiring, and perhaps envying, his combat skills,
the women murmuring their approval with a different assessment in
mind.

No one was watching Eustace.

Suddenly, a mail-clad shape raced toward
l'Inconnu with sword in hand and deadly intention obvious.
Catherine saw the glint of sunlight on Eustace's sword blade as he
raised it to strike and she screamed a warning.

“No! No!”

Once again l'Inconnu pivoted on the ball of
his foot to meet an attack from Eustace. With his own sword grasped
firmly in both of his hands, l'Inconnu dealt a mighty blow across
Eustace's belly with the flat of the blade, knocking him to the
ground.

L'Inconnu stood looking down at Eustace,
making no move to kill him, which was certainly his right. The
squire who had been holding his horse dropped the reins and ran
onto the field, gesturing toward the blood coursing down
l'Inconnu's arm. As the squire waved his hands the hood covering
his face fell back.

“Robert!” Aldis cried. “Why is Robert here?
Why isn't he with Braedon?”

It seemed to Catherine that from the moment
when she heard Aldis cry out, everyone at the tournament went into
rapid motion. She saw her father's men-at-arms rush to surround
Eustace, who appeared to have suffered no more harm than a badly
bruised belly and having the breath knocked out of him. The crowd
of commoners surged forward, moving toward the combatants while
uttering threats against Eustace, and the men-at-arms who were
acting as guards were hard put to keep them back. Knights and
squires milled around, disturbing the horses, some of which tried
to break away from the squires.

Royce vaulted over the railing of the stand
and ran to where l'Inconnu stood. Several noblemen followed him,
while their ladies began a more graceful but no less rapid exit by
the way they had come. Lady Edith was one of the first to
leave.

With Royce gone from the stand Catherine
became aware of the infuriated expression on Phelan's face. She saw
that he was not hastening to his fallen son, but moving quickly
toward her, and he was shouting something at her. She couldn't hear
what he was saying, because the few nobles who remained in the
stand were all yelling about Eustace's unlawful attack on l'Inconnu
and they were drawing back from Phelan as if he were a leper, which
made his progress toward her easier.

Then Cadwallon took Catherine's arm and set
her into motion, too, pulling her out of Phelan's path and along
the row of now-empty benches, toward one end of the stand,
following the last of the fleeing ladies.

“What are you doing?” Catherine demanded.

“Remember your promise to Braedon and obey
me,” Cadwallon said. With that, he caught her by the waist and
swung her down from the stand, into the arms of a tall,
sandy-haired man who was apparently waiting for them.

“Sir Desmond,” Catherine exclaimed,
recognizing him. “Will someone please tell me what is
happening?”

“We are trying to keep you out of Phelan's
clutches,” Cadwallon told her. “From the way he came at you just
now, it's easy to guess that he wants to take you as a hostage for
his son's safety. You are coming with us.”

“But, my father – Braedon – Aldis,” she
cried. “I cannot leave them.”

“Your father knows about our plan to get you
away should Phelan threaten you,” Cadwallon said. “I consider the
look on Phelan's face to be threat enough. Robert will see to it
that Aldis isn't hurt. And as you may have noticed, Braedon can
take care of himself. He will join us before long.”

She was not at all surprised to discover
there were horses saddled and awaiting them, hidden among the
mounts the guests had used to ride to the tournament. Within a very
few minutes the three of them were galloping down the road to
Wortham village.

They slowed their pace when they reached the
village, and by the time they crossed the bridge on the far side
and were riding through the open fields the men decided that Phelan
was not pursuing them.

“All the same,” Cadwallon said to Catherine,
“I think it's best if we escort you to the place where Braedon has
promised to meet us. It's a hidden spot that's deep in the forest.
You will be safe there.”

“I ought to return to the field, to be with
my father and Braedon in case they need me,” Catherine said, “or at
least go back to the castle.” She pulled the horse she was riding
to a stop, preparing to turn around.

“Please, my lady.” Cadwallon made a move as
if to grab her reins, but then sat back in the saddle. “We will not
force you to obey our wishes. But I beg you to allow Desmond and me
to protect you as we swore to Braedon we would. We've seen enough
of alterations in our plans recently, and of men we thought were
good and honest, who have proven themselves to be villains.
Speaking for myself, I'd like this day's plan to reach its end with
no unexpected changes. Please come with us and wait for Braedon, as
he asked that we do.”

“When you speak of villains, I suppose you
mean Achard,” Catherine said.

“Aye. For years, we thought he was one of us.
It was Royce who first suspected his duplicity and set traps to
prove those suspicions. I would like to meet Achard in combat, but
I expect by the time I'm fit again, he will have left this world.”
Cadwallon rubbed his broken arm, grimacing at the sling that held
it.

“Does it pain you?” Catherine asked.

“It itches.” He grinned at her. “Be glad you
won't be with me to hear what my wife has to say when I finally
reach home again and she sees how I've been injured.”

“If I were your wife, I'd be so glad to have
you back alive that I wouldn't waste time scolding you,” Catherine
responded. Seeing the flush that suddenly stained his cheeks, she
added, “You cannot know what a comfort it has been to me to be
certain that your injury was real. With my father and Braedon, I
always harbored doubts.” Thinking she had teased Cadwallon quite
enough, Catherine gave her horse a nudge with her heels and they
all began to move forward again.

“As for you, Sir Desmond,” Catherine said to
the knight who rode on her other side, “the last time I saw you,
you spoke of having been injured in the recent past. Was that claim
true?”

“It was, my lady. Originally, I was to be the
man inside with Braedon, and Cadwallon was designated as the
contact for Braedon and me outside Wortham Castle. Then I got into
a small skirmish and was wounded, so Braedon made me switch places
with Cadwallon. Braedon's thinking was that he wanted a strong and
healthy knight to back him up inside the castle. By the time
Cadwallon foolishly broke his arm in the melee it was too late to
rearrange our positions a second time.”

“It was you who pretended to be l'Inconnu on
that first day he appeared, wasn't it?” Catherine asked. When Sir
Desmond did not answer, but merely raised his eyebrows, Catherine
said, “I have noticed how similar in height you and Braedon are.
Have you forgotten that I saw the two of you conferring together at
Wortham fair? That was where you met to exchange information and
make plans, wasn't it?”

“So it was,” Sir Desmond said.

Catherine waited only a moment, hoping he
would elaborate on his spying activities. When he did not, she
continued with her version of recent events.

“I believe your disguise served two
purposes,” she said. “First, by challenging and fighting Braedon in
plain sight you established beyond doubt that l'Inconnu was someone
other than Braedon, which meant he would not be suspected when the
unknown knight reappeared today.

“And secondly,” Catherine went on, “by
seeming to wound Braedon in open combat you provided him with the
excuse that supposedly kept him confined to his room. And that
false confinement allowed him the freedom he needed to prowl about
the castle searching for evidence against the villains while the
other guests were in the great hall eating, or out hunting, or even
asleep.”

“My lady, you are too clever,” Sir Desmond
exclaimed, openly impressed by her reasoning. “Truly, you are your
father's child. You ought to be one of us.”

“These last few days, she may as well have
been,” Cadwallon declared. Raising his good arm he pointed toward
the forest. “My lady, we leave the road here.”

They rode across a pasture and into the
trees, taking a narrow path that followed a stream toward the heart
of Wortham Forest. In a clearing where the stream widened into a
pool of clear water stood a tent, its green color blending into the
leafy shades of the underbrush.

“This has been my home since Royce's festival
began,” Sir Desmond said as he helped Catherine to dismount.

“I suspect it is also where Braedon stayed
after he left Wortham,” she said, looking around with interest.

“Yes, my lady.” Sir Desmond responded to her
guess with a smile.

“And where, earlier today, he donned the
armor of l'Inconnu and rode off to the tournament,” Catherine
added.

“With Robert and me at his side,” Sir Desmond
said. “Braedon was determined to confront Eustace of Sutton, and
meeting him on the field, in disguise, was the simplest way to do
it.”

“I understand,” Catherine said. “Braedon
didn't want to have to mention his cousin's name in public, as he
would have to do if he challenged Eustace anywhere else.”

“He told you about his cousin?” Sir Desmond
exclaimed. “I am surprised.”

“I think his cousin is the real reason why he
wanted this mission,” Cadwallon said. “We all know Braedon will
loyally do whatever King Henry requires of him, but in this case,
Braedon made a special plea to be sent to Wortham. When Lord Royce
learned how Braedon was planning to meet Eustace today, he tried to
stop the contest, but Braedon wouldn't listen. He insisted his
cousin's honor must be avenged.”