“I’m her husband!” Garman thundered. “Do you think I haven’t already seen it all before.”
“Quite, quite,” the doctor said hurriedly. “But this young man—?”
“I’ll duck out,” Kit said. “And go and pacify Eden. She’s still fuming she wasn’t allowed to tend her.”
“Tell her all is well with me,” Lenora called after him. Her voice had a wobble in it that embarrassed her. Raising a hand to her face she tried to cover her face, but Garman was already dragging her up by her armpits. “I’m really quite well,” she croaked in a voice that wouldn’t convince anyone. Then she burst into tears.
“Shhhh now, Lenora,” Garman said gruffly, lifting her into his lap. “You’re fine. You’re absolutely fine.” His large hand was at the back of her head, pressing her face to his chest. “I’m here with you, and all is well.”
She stifled a sob and peered up at him.
Seeing her expression, he asked, “What?” in a low voice.
She shook her head. “It’s just… that’s what you always say. When I have a nightmare, I mean.”
He looked at her uncertainly a moment, then glanced at the physician. “Well?” he barked. “What do you want her to do?”
“If the good lady could extend her arms out in front of her,” the doctor quavered.
Lenora tried to rouse herself to comply with the doctor’s orders, but she felt stiff and sore and winced her way through the exercises until she realized that just induced Garman to snap and snarl at the poor man. Things went quicker after she suppressed her groans and the only one of her bumps and scrapes the gentleman seemed concerned about was the one on her head.
“The swelling must be kept to a minimum with the application of poultices of crushed linseed and ground horseradish root,” he finished briskly.
Garman nodded and escorted him out. When he entered again, she heard him fiddling with the tent flap a moment before he turned.
“Let me take a good look at you, Lenora. I need to reassure myself.”
She cracked an eye open and gazed up at him. “What do you mean.”
“Come on, arms up.” He had her shift whipped over her head before she even realized his intent.
“Garman!”
“Let me see. There’s no point for maidenly modesty with me now, is there,” he lightly scolded.
“The physician already—” She started to protest.
“That doddering old fool barely saw a thing. You scarcely lifted your skirts above your calves!” he said with exasperation. “Now get up on your feet. I want to see you turn in a circle.”
Tottering to her feet, she felt too dazed and miserable to be embarrassed by her nudity. Docilely, she turned a full circle before him. Garman clicked his tongue and suddenly she was filled with misgivings. “What is it?” she asked, trying to peer over her back. “Am I black and blue?”
“You likely will be soon,” he admitted and sat down on the bed. “Come here.” He helped her back into her shift and she crawled into the bed. He settled the covers over her and lay on top of them next to her. “I’ve said you’re not up to seeing anyone.” This was flung at her almost like a challenge.
“Good,” said Lenora, raising a hand to the lump at her brow. She gave a faint moan. “I don’t want to see anyone.” She looked even less presentable now, she thought dolefully, a thing she had scarcely thought possible. “I feel terrible.” He ran a hand up and down her hip in a comforting motion. Lenora closed her eyes and sighed.
“Go to sleep.”
She glanced down at his large hand at her waist. To her surprise, it was bound up. “What happened to your hand?” she murmured drowsily.
“It’s nothing,” she thought she heard him answer, as her stinging eyelids lowered.
She did drift into some semblance of sleep but was awakened sometime later by raised voices just outside the tent.
“Did you not see what occurred to my wife?” she heard Garman say in a voice of suppressed fury.
“We did indeed, Sir Garman,” she heard another man say soothingly. “Sir Roger and myself were a good deal shocked and upset, but the audience, my good sir. You must consider the audience! Some have traveled a good distance to see—”
“I have no interest in them,” Garman cut in ruthlessly.
“The Lady Bridgette begs you will allow the lady to accompany us back to the manor where she may rest in a proper bedchamber and be assured of every comfort,” the voice continued in appeal.
“I will see to my wife’s comfort and none other,” Garman said tersely. “She does not leave my side.”
“I’m sure Kellingford manor would happily extend its hospitality—”
“We have no need of it and will be leaving first thing on the morrow,” he interrupted in clipped tones. “I would ask you leave us now, for my wife needs rest.”
“Sir Garman—”
“No!” His voice rose on that word but was then lowered to a menacing rumble. Whatever was said, Lenora could not catch, but the tone was ominous in the extreme. Hasty farewells were uttered by the Kellingford deputation and footfalls were heard moving away before the tent flap swished open and Lenora sat up.
“They woke you, I see,” Garman said grimly.
“What’s happening? Did they want you to complete the joust?”
He gave a short mirthless laugh. “They did.” He moved to the table and poured a from a jug which he brought toward her. Lenora was startled to see both his hands in fact were bound up.
“What happened to your hands?”
He glanced at them. “It’s nothing. Drink this.”
Lenora sat up and felt a poultice slide down from her head. She made a grab for it and placed it gingerly back over the lump on her head. Then she took the cup from him and sipped the fruity beverage, her eyes fixed on him the whole time. “How many hours have passed?”
He glanced at the tent opening. “It’s about four o’clock.”
“Four o’clock?” She was startled. “A good deal of the day has passed.”
“It has.”
“If the crowd has been waiting all this time…”
“They can wait until Doomsday for all I care.”
She watched as he poured himself a cup and then tossed it back. “You said you were going to win,” she reminded him, clutching the goblet stem. He said nothing but set his cup down. “I should like to have seen it,” she added rather wistfully.
That made him pause. “I would have thought this would have put you off tournaments for life!”
“Hardly! I am not quite so fragile as all that!” She plucked at her bedsheets. “I am aware I was a bit maudlin and indulging in self-pity this morning, but—”
“Self-pitying?” he repeated, then shook his head.
“But really, I just have a bump on my head that is all.” She gazed up at him appealingly. “It would seem a shame to let Sir Roland win purely by your failure to present.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
Lenora took a deep breath. “I want to watch you compete in the joust,” she said, sitting up.
“You’ve got a lump on your head the size of an egg!”
“What of it?” She shrugged. “My appearance little signifies these days.”
“Lenora—”
“Garman,” she said, calmly countering his belligerence.
“If you think I’m leaving you here—”
“Certainly not!” she interrupted firmly. “You shall carry me down to the arena. Sir Roger can let me sit in his box after what befell me. I would hardly trust to another. And I shall want Hal Payne sat to my right with his broken arm and when you have won, you can place the winner’s garland on my broken head. That is what I want.”
He gazed at her. “You’re serious?”
“Oh yes.”
“You must admit,” a voice piped up admiringly from the entrance. “That’s plucky of her. Damned plucky. Never knew she had it in her.”
Lenora and G
arman looked to find Kit, Cuthbert, and a rather pale Hal stood peering in. Kit was looking highly gratified that his cousin was displaying such backbone.
“Hal!” said Lenora, holding out a hand. Hal Payne came swiftly into the tent and clasped her fingers in the hand that was not lashed up along a splint. Garman gave an exclamation of annoyance that Lenora ignored. “I wanted to thank you for your prompt action this morning. I’m sure my injuries would have been far more grievous if not for you.”
Hal’s round face colored hotly. “It was nothing, Lady Lenora. Nothing at all.”
“You can release her hand now,” Garman said waspishly.
Hal hesitated a moment, then bowed over her hand and pressed an ardent kiss to her fingers.
“It was a great honor, my lady,” he said hoarsely. Lenora deduced that once the boy shed his puppy fat, he was going to be great success at wooing. Even she did not find his kiss distasteful in the slightest. She smiled kindly at him and Garman clapped a hand to his shoulder, propelling him to the tent entrance where his friends were watching with great interest.
“One of you had better run along to speak to the marshal,” Garman said briefly. “And another to Sir Roger, and you, Ames, to your master. Tell them to all make ready.”
“Aye.”
The boys took to their heels. Lenora slid from the bed to make her way stiffly to the trunk. Her rose gown was thrown over the back of a chair and looked both muddy and torn. She suppressed a sigh and reached for the green and gold one, only to find it taken from her hands.
“I’ll help you get dressed, then you help me by fastening my armor buckles,” Garman said.
“Very well, first you play lady’s maid, then I play squire,” she said humorously.
He did not even crack a smile.
24
By the time they reached the arena, it was rather darker than customary, and torches had been lit all the way along the length of the field. Somehow, it leant a more somber air to proceedings and Lenora found the field strangely quieted when she arrived on her palfrey which Kit had fetched from the stables.
The audience fell into even more of a hush as Garman led her right up to Sir Roger’s family box and after lifting her down from the horse’s back, carried her right up the steps himself and set her down on the front bench, between Sir Roger and Hal Payne, as she had specified.
Sir Roger, his heir, and his two illegitimate sons, all stood up to bow very respectfully to her and Lady Bridgette welcomed her with a booming voice and praised her fortitude. In truth, Lenora was feeling a little light-headed by this point, but whether that was due to the incident she had suffered that morning, or the fact she was feeling extremely exposed as the center of all attention, it was hard to say. Despite the decided chill in the air, she felt hot-cheeked and strangely detached from proceedings.
Garman had straightened before her and was looking down at her now, so she forced a smile to her lips and looked up at him. Her mind went blank, for she remembered he had taken exception before when she had wished him good luck. Her brain scrambled for more appropriate words.
“I shall look to see you win, sir knight,” she said loudly.
He ignored these words, reaching instead for her hand which he took thoughtfully in his own. Just as she began to wonder once more about those bandages, he robbed her of all thought by carrying her hand to his lips and kissing it rather in the manner of someone who does something unaccustomed, that slightly baffled him. He frowned slightly, then turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm. Lenora swallowed and felt her cheeks go even redder. Sir Roger cleared his throat. Garman released her hand and made his way swiftly back down the steps.
“Well!” said Lady Bridgette. “That’s a sight you never thought to see, Roger! Sir Garman Orde acting the chivalrous knight!”
“Don’t care what they do, so long as I see ‘em joust!” her stepbrother responded roundly. “Begging your pardon, Lady Lenora.”
Lenora waved a hand absently. She had leaned forward and placed one arm along the front of the box. Garman and Sir Roland were taking up their positions at either end of the field.
“You’ve certainly given us plenty of entertainment this week, Lady Lenora,” Bridgette continued with relish. “First with Sir Lionel trying to run off with you and now your thrilling brush with death.”
“Hardly death!” Sir Roger huffed. “Really Bridget!”
“Well, that’s clearly how Sir Garman views it. Quite beside himself he was when he pulled her lifeless body from the wreckage this morning.”
“What?” Lenora turned from contemplating the field. “What did you say, Lady Bridgette?”
“I said, he looked like a man possessed when he ripped that collapsed box apart to find you this morning, with his bare hands—”
“Shhhh Bridget, for Lord’s sake!” Sir Roger complained. “They’re about to start!”
Lenora turned hurriedly back, in time to see the wave of the flag. Garman’s charger in black and white thundered toward Roland Vawdrey’s in black and red. There was a loud crash as both hit their target of the other’s shield and a great splintering of broken lances. The crowd erupted into cheers. Both knights looked jarred, but remained seated and carried on until they reached the other end. Their squires, Kit and Cuthbert ran to the opposing ends with new jousting spears and officials ran forward to clear away any debris.
“They look to be very evenly matched,” Lady Bridgette commented sotto-voce.
“Yes,” Lenora murmured in agreement. “There is not really much between the top three, I would say.”
Sir Roger looked rather taken aback by her words. “Hah! You are objective, Lady Lenora, in any event. Your cousin Eden will have it that none is her husband’s equal and any triumph over him is a mere fluke.”
Lenora nodded. “I am devoted to my cousin, but she does not have a true appreciation of the joust,” she said. “Her only real appreciation is for Sir Roland. Whereas I enjoy the sport for its own sake, and can see that Lord Kentigern, Sir Roland, and my husband are truly experts in the field. Any one of them can win on a good day or lose on a bad. That is part of what makes the joust so very exciting.”
“Yet Lord Kentigern went crashing out to a mere novice the other day!” Lady Bridgette observed looking puzzled.
“Oh no,” Lenora said, shaking her head. “Sir Renlow is far from a novice. He just has not yet hit his stride. I believe he will be a very formidable competitor once he does find his feet.”
“And loses some of his damned principles!” growled Sir Roger. “Young fool!”
“So, Lord Kentigern was having a bad day,” Lady Bridgette mused. “And Sir Renlow, a good one?”
“Undoubtedly,” Lenora agreed, gripping the edge of the box as the horses once more charged toward each other.
“It is very informative to be lectured by an expert as one observes,” Bridgette said, nodding her head. “Roger usually just yells and stamps his feet, so I have no clue what is happening.”
Lenora clasped her hands together as again, both lances broke with a terrific smash, and both combatants were forced to straighten themselves in their saddles.
Sir Roger and his two sons had sprung from the bench with a smothered yell, but now settled down again for the third pass. In the stands, people were starting to drum their heels and stamp their feet.
“This will be the decider,” Sir Roger said, rubbing his hands together with glee. The crowd seemed to be teeming with anticipation, a low murmur filling the arena. Lenora wondered briefly where Eden was sitting, then dismissed it. No doubt wherever it was, her attention would be solely focused on her own husband.
Lenora breathed in deeply and stared at Garman as he adjusted his breastplate and thumped at a couple of pieces of armor that looked likely dented. Kit passed him up another lance. Garman felt the weight of it and then wheeled Bria’ag around for the final pass. Lenora gripped the ledge, feeling a little giddy. Suddenly, she realized she had not yet breathed out.
Exhaling heavily, she jumped a little when the crowd started noisily yelling and whistling their support. To her surprise, she realized that some of them were even cheering for her husband.
“It seems we are not the only ones to appreciate the high drama of your situation,” Lady Bridgette said dryly. “I’ve never heard them chant his name before.”
“He is not a crowd favorite,” Lenora agreed faintly. Though you would not have known it at this precise moment.
She scanned the excited crowd before tearing her eyes away and fixing them again on Garman. He cut an imposing figure. She focused on him with her total concentration, tuning out the background noise. For a moment, he almost he seemed to move by infinitesimal degrees, his charge forward appearing at no more than a snail’s pace to her.
Then all of a sudden, he seemed to blur and hurtle forward at a break-neck pace. She did not hear the clash of spear against shield, she heard nothing, as though suddenly struck deaf to all sound around her. Lenora stood frozen, as though suspended in time, waiting for her senses to return to her. It was the oddest feeling.
Then next, breaking over her was thunderous applause, shouting, yelling and hooting. She saw in a flash, Roland Vawdrey’s black and scarlet colors rolling around on the ground. Garman had reached the end of the run and turned Bria’ag around to hold his lance aloft in victory. Lenora shot to her feet. She saw Cuthbert’s blonde head as he ran forward to catch Sir Roland’s horse, but Lenora only had eyes for Garman. Was it only her imagination, or did he look to her? She clapped her hands together until her palms felt numb. Hands reached out to pat her shoulder, voices hailed her husband’s victory, but she didn’t really hear them.
“Are you well, my dear?” It was Lady Bridgette, speaking calmly for once in her ear.
“I am well,” Lenora assured her, realizing her face was wet with tears. Lady Bridgette nodded, then passed her a handkerchief to dab her face. “I have no idea why I feel so emotional,” she blurted. “After all, this is what he does. I’ve seen it many times before.”
Lady Bridgette gave a knowing smile and Lenora stopped talking. Garman was steering Bria’ag in her direction and she saw that he had the victor’s garland on the end of his spear. As he approached, the crowd noise swelled louder. Lenora squared her shoulders. She had been given the winner’s wreath many, many times, but all those other times faded from her memory. She scarcely remembered them. In truth, they had been only an acknowledgement of her beauty, nothing more. And she had never been awarded it by Garman Orde.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 23
