The information was useful, but Ser Hemming cursed his ill luck. He had hoped to steal away with Ser Estienne while both the other knights slept. That plan, it seemed, was not to be. Yet further cunning would be required.
A bold idea occurred to him. He almost dismissed it for fear of the girl's reaction; however, no other plan came to mind. It appeared he must attempt this or admit defeat and see Ser Estienne dragged across the sea.
He turned back to the serving wench. "What is thy name, my girl?"
"Elinor, my lord."
"Tell me, Elinor, hast thou any cause to enter the knights' chamber?"
She considered a moment, then brightened. "Aye, my lord. I could take a late supper to the one who keeps watch."
"He won't find it strange, coming as it does unbidden and at such an hour?"
"So what if he does? If someone brought you wastel and wine at no cost, would you refuse it? Besides, they none of them called for food after their arrival, so like as not, they're hungry."
A word had never been more truly spoken. Like him, the knight still awake would doubtless be exhausted. Hungry and tired, would he question such an offering? Ser Hemming thought not. The plan, as it stood so far, appeared to be sound.
"Thou art right, Elinor. Now take heed. This is what I need thee to do...."
*~*~*
The girl carried the tray up the stairs with care. The ale sloshed against the sides of the cup but did not spill. Bread and cheese overflowed from the plate beside it. She reached the door and balanced the tray on one arm before giving a soft knock. Footsteps sounded, drawing closer, and the door opened. Frowning, the knight opened his mouth, but any protest died on his lips once his gaze fell upon the tray.
"A gesture from my master," the girl whispered. "To thank you for your custom." She peered past him into the room. "I trust your injured friend doesn't fare too ill, my lord."
"That is none of thy concern, wench." The knight's frown returned, and the girl recognised her error.
"No, indeed, my lord." She lowered her gaze and tried to look simple and innocent. "I'll just set this down and then I'll be on my way."
The knight glowered, but he stepped back and let her pass. She strode in, set the tray upon a chair, and turned to face him.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?" She fluttered her eyelashes and swayed her hips in what she hoped was an enticing manner.
The knight's grimace transformed into a leer. He glanced to where his companion lay sleeping. The girl followed the line of his gaze and saw Ser Estienne stretched out on the floor beside the bed. His eyes were closed, but whether in insensibility or sleep, she could not tell.
The knight sauntered forward and tugged her against him. His hot, stale breath buffeted her forehead and he roamed his hands over her body. Apparently satisfied with this inspection, he tilted her chin up, closed his eyes, and leaned in, seeking her lips.
She made her move, wrapping her hands around his neck before he realised what was happening. She squeezed and his eyes shot open. He grappled and tried to prise back her fingers. The element of surprise was on her side, however, and the restriction on his throat prevented him from crying out for help. She tightened her grip, using all her strength, and a few moments later, the knight's eyes rolled back. He went limp, but she caught him before he hit the floor and lowered him gently and quietly. Then she turned to the bed.
The remaining knight slept on, undisturbed by his fellow's demise. She considered her options. Would he pose a danger to others in the tavern if she let him live? She thought not, so long as he slept on. She could kill him easily, removing any possible threat, and yet there was little honour in slaying an opponent in cold blood, not allowing him the benefit of a fair fight. All the while he lay in slumber, she would let him be. Instead, she turned her attention to Ser Estienne... and jumped back in surprise.
He was awake and regarded her with a thoughtful expression. He glanced at the bed before returning his gaze to her, but she shook her head, pressing a finger to her lips. He nodded and tried to rise; however, something prevented him. He swayed, as if turngiddy, and would have fallen had she not caught his arm. Casting a wary glance toward the sleeping knight, she adjusted her grip, pressing her free hand to Ser Estienne's back, and helped him stand.
They made slow progress to the door, Ser Estienne's every step laborious and followed by another wave of dizziness. Once they crossed the threshold, they continued toward the main stairs. Here, the banister offered a firm structure against which Ser Estienne could lean; nonetheless, she maintained her grip on his arm, lest he lose his balance.
Within the inn, all was dark, quiet, and still, save for the occasional creak of wood as the house shifted and settled. By the time they reached the ground floor, Ser Estienne's breaths came in heavy gasps, so they paused a moment while he gathered his strength. She wondered at the extent of his injuries; however, he made no complaint, and she felt no tell-tale wetness to indicate further bleeding, so she hoped they would prove slight and that this lethargy was more from fatigue than from his wounds.
Outside, the wind had picked up and it buffeted against them, threatening to topple them, as she half-dragged Ser Estienne to the stables. They collapsed inside the doors, both now breathing heavily. However, she knew they were not out of danger yet. She needed to get Ser Estienne onto a horse, and then they must put as much distance between themselves and the inn as possible before the sun rose and the knight awoke.
Using a bale of hay for leverage, she pulled herself to her feet and reached out a hand to help Ser Estienne rise. "Ser Estienne, please, you must stand and mount. I have not the strength to lift you into the saddle."
He tried to obey but fell. Three times she attempted to aid him, but her strength waned with each attempt until she was panting and struggled to remain upright herself.
Ser Estienne brushed her hand away and closed his eyes. "Go. Help conceal me somewhere here and ride in search of succour. You can do no more alone, Ser Hemming."
Chapter Six
She froze. The name cut through the spell Elinor's clothing wove, reminding her of the painful truth: this transformation was only a temporary façade. Beneath these garments, she remained trapped in a man's body. Tears stung her eyes, but he blinked them away.
"How did you know?"
"Your voice. Your face in the moonlight." He paused. "It was a clever plan, though, and you do look..." He fisted Ser Hemming's apron, tugged him down, and pressed their mouths together.
It was barely a kiss—simply a touch of lips—yet it sent a shiver down Ser Hemming's spine. So absorbed was he in the moment, he failed to notice they were no longer alone until an arm wound about his waist and jerked him up. A scabbard banged against his leg, alerting him to the new figure's identity.
"Well, my pretty wench, what games are you playing?" There was nothing but irritation in the knight's voice—he had not yet realised the truth about the girl he held. "That man is my prisoner, but after I take him back inside, I will return to... talk with you further." He loosened his grip, preparing to push Ser Hemming away, and Ser Hemming took his chance.
He spun and stretched out his hand. When he felt the hilt beneath his fingers, he grasped it, yanking the sword free as he stepped back.
"What?" The knight reached for his empty scabbard as if unable to believe what had happened. Then he peered at Ser Hemming through the gloom. "By the Lord! Unnatural!" He pointed a finger at Ser Hemming. "You disgrace your title and position."
Behind him, Ser Hemming sensed and heard Ser Estienne make another failed attempt to rise, and he gathered what little strength he still retained. Focusing on the knight, he brandished the blade. "May I have the honour of knowing your name, Ser Knight?"
"I am Ser Henri."
"Then, Ser Henri, I would ask you to leave. If you go now, you may do so freely and we need not resort to further violence."
"I take it my companion, Ser Guarin, died at your hands."
&nb
sp; "He did."
"Then honour forbids a retreat. I must avenge him. In any case, although I do not recall your name, I do remember your laughable performance in the tourney. We both know you are no match for me, even with the advantage of the blade."
"My name is Ser Hemming. As for the odds, I put my trust in God, for I believe my cause is just."
Ser Henri charged. Ser Hemming swung the sword, but Ser Henri ducked and flung himself forward. He collided with Ser Hemming's knees and grabbed his skirts, sending them both to the ground. The sword clattered out of Ser Hemming's hand and there followed a brief grapple as both tried to gain possession. However, Ser Henri was the faster and rose to stand over Ser Hemming, the blade raised and a broad, triumphant smile cutting across his face.
"You should have kept to your disguise and stolen away while I carted Ser Estienne inside. None but Ser Estienne would have known your dishonour, and he will not live long to speak of it."
"I am sorry," Ser Hemming called back to Ser Estienne. "I have failed you." He kept his gaze fixed on Ser Henri and waited. If he must die, he would at least make it a good end. He would not beg for his life under any circumstances, and certainly not to a man such as Ser Henri.
Ser Henri made to swing the blade, but suddenly he froze, eyes wide in surprise and horror. He dropped the sword, which clanged to the ground, narrowly missing Ser Hemming's legs; then he fell facedown, revealing a frightened stable boy standing behind him and a hayfork embedded in his back.
Fingers fumbled against Ser Hemming's wrist and he clutched Ser Estienne's hand. In the distance, he thought he heard the beat of hooves, but then the darkness that had long threatened claimed him at last.
*~*~*
Ser Hemming woke in a sudden rush. One moment asleep, the next wide awake, he blinked, confused to recognise the chamber as his own. There was his oak chest, the lid not quite closed, just as he had left it that long ago night; there lay his sword, propped against the wall, his battered ecranche from the tourney alongside it; and beneath him was his familiar, slightly lumpy mattress.
"Ser Hemming! You're awake at last!"
He turned and found Stace leaning over the bed, peering down at him. He shook his head and tried to fill the missing pieces in his memories. "What happened?"
"Oh, my lord! Piers returned with the princess. 'S heart, 'twas chaos all around. He says you went after Ser Estienne, and the king dispatched four knights; but by the time they reached you, all the battle was done, and you and Ser Estienne stretched out in the hay. None could rouse you. They had to hire a cart to get you back to the castle."
Thoughts of what he had been wearing at the time he collapsed entered his mind and Ser Hemming flushed. "Was anything said of my... attire?"
"Not to worry, my lord. It didn't half cause a stir for a while, but Ser Estienne explained everything when he woke. He said how them bad knights forced you to wear it, and you did so only to save his life. He commended an innkeeper, a serving maid, and a stable boy too, and King Wybert sent them all three purses full of gold."
"I see." He relaxed, happy to hear his situation was accounted for and that rewards had reached those who helped them along the way. Although many questions yet remained, Stace was not the one to provide the answers he sought. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A day and a night, my lord."
"What!" Ser Hemming shot upright. The sudden movement made his head spin and he steadied himself with a hand against the wall. "Ser Estienne and Princess Isabel, have they already departed?"
"Nay. Ser Estienne will make a speech at table tonight. Piers told me."
"Then I will attend."
"You sure you're ready, my lord?"
"Aye, Stace. I have slumbered long enough."
The remaining hours until the meal Ser Hemming passed in pacing his chamber. When he descended, he was shocked to find himself an object of keen interest to knights and noble ladies alike. All bowed and called out greetings and well wishes, and when he moved to take his usual seat, the page guided him farther up the table, closer to the royal family beneath the baldaquin. For a moment, he was almost happy, but then Ser Estienne entered, Princess Isabel on his arm.
This forceful reminder of all the joys he would never know was like a blade piercing his breast. Indeed, he wondered whether the bite of Ser Henri's sword would not have been preferable. He found it impossible to meet Ser Estienne's gaze, despite Ser Estienne's frequent attempts to catch his eye, and the fact that the seating changes placed them opposite one another, Princess Isabel to Ser Estienne's right.
King Wybert arrived and took his place at the head of the table. He raised his chalice and proposed a toast. "To Ser Estienne and Ser Hemming—the noble knights who rescued Our beloved daughter."
"Ser Estienne and Ser Hemming!" the crowd roared.
Then King Wybert called for silence. "Ser Estienne wishes to speak."
Ser Estienne rose. "My friends. Though a stranger in these lands—and not withstanding my recent misadventure—" He broke off and waited for a smattering of laughter to pass. "I am humbled and gladdened by the warm reception I have found here at King Wybert's court. My victory in the tourney won me the hand of your most beautiful maiden, the Princess Isabel." He offered her a warm smile. "Any man—yea, though he be the highest under God—would count his blessings to obtain so fair a prize." Hearty cries of approval greeted this pronouncement and Ser Estienne waited for them to fade.
Ser Hemming wondered where this was leading. His anxiety only increased when Ser Estienne finally succeeded in capturing his eyes and held his gaze as he continued.
"However, this precious gift is one which I, with sad heart, must decline. I renounce my victory in the tournament and my right to Princess Isabel's hand."
The room erupted in exclamations of surprise and outrage, but King Wybert raised his hand for quiet.
"The reasons behind Ser Estienne's decision are known to Us and they do him honour. After much contemplation, We have determined to grant Princess Isabel the opportunity to choose her own husband from amongst those knights here gathered."
Ser Hemming tore his gaze from Ser Estienne to regard Princess Isabel. Clearly already aware of this change to her fortunes, rather than show annoyance at being thus cast off, she seemed elated as she rose to stand beside her father.
"I choose Ser Morris."
Ser Morris leapt to his feet, dashed across the room, and grasped Princess Isabel's hand, turning it to press kiss after kiss to her palm. King Wybert looked on with an indulgent smile, so Ser Hemming assumed he approved her selection and all was well. Yet that still did not explain Ser Estienne's strange behaviour.
Nor were the answers to Ser Hemming's questions to come any time soon, for all resumed their seats—Ser Estienne making room for Ser Morris beside Princess Isabel—and the meal commenced. Then later, when he sought Ser Estienne, he was nowhere to be found.
It occurred to Ser Hemming that Ser Estienne was likely preparing to depart on the morrow. It could be he would not see Ser Estienne again before he left. That thought caused a tightening in his chest that robbed him of any chance to enjoy what remained of the second betrothal festivities. It was not that he had expected anything—he had not. That kiss was nothing but a reaction to the situation in which they had found themselves, and he was a fool if he assigned it any deeper meaning. Nonetheless, knowing Ser Estienne was leaving shattered any lingering hopes that remained hidden in his breast. So, heavyhearted, he quit the company and headed to his chamber.
He knew something was wrong the moment he opened the door, and he tensed, peering into the gloom.
"'Tis only I, Ser Hemming."
"Ser Estienne?"
Ser Estienne stepped forward, into the torchlight that streamed in through the open doorway.
Myriad thoughts filled Ser Hemming's head. There were so many things he wanted to say—so many more she longed to say—but all that came out when he parted his lips was, "You are leaving."
"Aye."<
br />
"You left the princess."
"I did." If Ser Estienne tired of pointless questions to which the answers were plain, he made no mention of it.
"Why?"
"May I ask you something first?"
"Of course."
"Why become a knight? For someone trapped, as you say you are, within the wrong form, why choose such a path?"
"I had no choice. My father discovered my... inclinations at a young age. Horrified, he tried to beat it out of me. When that failed, he decided the manly life of a knight—the training, the fighting—would suffice to exorcise the demons within. Though my father is but a minor noble, he had money enough to buy me a place, first as a squire, then as a knight-in-training. What relief for him that I am only a second son. We have not spoken in several years. Not since I received my knighthood.
"His plan was not without merits. This life did force me to live as if I were a man. To accept that that was how others saw me and to act accordingly. Though, I confess, it requires effort, and if I lower my guard, in exhaustion or in sleep, my true self breaks through." He blushed and looked down. "As you discovered at the inn."
"If you had the chance to change—to be in all outward respects the woman you are inside—would you take it?"
"Aye."
"You do not hesitate."
"Nay. It has been mine only dream my whole life."
"Your only dream?" Ser Estienne stepped closer, until there were mere inches between them and Ser Hemming could feel Ser Estienne's warm breath against his face.
"Nay, not the only one." Ser Hemming closed the remaining distance and caught Ser Estienne's lips in a soft kiss.
They stayed that way for a moment, neither deepening the embrace nor ending it; then Ser Estienne stepped back. "I know a powerful man, Ser Hemming—a mage. Come with me to Frankonia and I will take you to him. He can help you."
Ser Hemming sucked in a sharp breath as a new spark of hope ignited. If such a man existed.... But no, surely Fate could not be so kind. He had no doubt of Ser Estienne's sincerity, only the veracity of his information. "You truly believe this possible?"
To the Victor Page 10
