by Mary Wine
He pressed a kiss against her cheek and stood up. His squire was ready with the padded under tunic that went beneath his mail. There was grim focus in his motions, a determination that she felt radiating from him.
“Jacques has no honor,” she said.
Ramon flexed his fingers as his squire slid a gauntlet into place. “Which is why I must ride against him. Only a baron has the right.”
“I cannot bear to lose you.”
Ramon waved his squire away. “I will join you in the yard.”
The squire and his assistant gathered up the remaining pieces of armor and headed out of the chamber with them. Ramon came close again, sitting beside her and reaching out to smooth his fingers across her cheek.
“As I cannot bear to lose you. As long as Jacques draws breath, you remain his target. I could never be worthy of you if I did not face this threat. Pray for me, tell me you understand, but do not ask me to be a coward. You could never love a coward.”
And he wanted to be worthy of her love…
It was there in his eyes. A need as great as her own. Her breath was frozen for a long moment as she found her secret yearning fulfilled.
“No, you are not a coward, nor could you ever be.” She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes. “I am proud to be your wife. I want to continue being your wife more than anything else. You let him be after he wounded you, so let him be now. Let us live in peace.”
His eyes brightened, his expression softening for a moment. He stroked her cheek.
“An attack against myself, I could ignore.” His expression hardened. “Against you? I will fight to the death. You are the keeper of my heart. I can deny you nothing except this.”
“You could die,” she argued. “And I will be here without you.”
“I cannot live knowing the man who harmed you draws breath. Forgive me for that failing.” He kissed her cheek before he left.
She was sure that her heart left with him.
* * *
“What are you doing?” Mildred was horrified, but Isabel only waved her into the chamber.
“Hurry. I must go to the tiltyard.” But her legs weren’t cooperating. They quivered so badly Isabel was learning against the wall next to her wardrobe. “Help me dress, Mildred.”
“I will not,” Mildred stated firmly. “’Tis back to bed that I will be helping you with.”
“I must go,” Isabel beseeched Mildred. “I cannot lie here while he dies.”
“I do not think the baron will be the one dying,” Mildred informed her.
“You have never seen Jacques Raeburn,” Isabel whispered. “He lacks all honor. Do not deny me every moment with my lord. Besides, I never gave him my favor to carry…”
Isabel held up a long ribbon. It was green and fluttered from her hand. “I must make sure he has it.”
But she didn’t have the strength to do it. She looked at Mildred, desperate to find assistance. Yet her hope was fading as the moments stretched out and Mildred contemplated her.
“Well then,” Mildred said at last, “if we’re going to the tiltyard, we’ll be needing a few more hands.”
She went back to the door and spoke to one of the men standing guard. Isabel heard him walk down the steps before Mildred turned and came to the wardrobe.
“Now, let’s find you something worthy of the wife of Baron de Segrave.”
* * *
The tiltyard was still decorated from the harvest festival, but the garlands were wilting now and the mood subdued. The snow had melted, leaving the ground muddy.
Isabel rode in a cart, Mildred beside her, and another woman who was strong enough to help hold her up. The curious looked at her as she passed and more than one cheered. Her driver took her to the tilt field. People were already swarming into the stands. Colorful pennant flags were flying in the morning breeze, set up for the tournament by the people of Thistle Keep and Ramon’s men.
They looked out of place, just as the faces in the crowd were not covered in excitement, but deadly anticipation. Jacques Raeburn had taken the north side of the field, his flag flying above the stands. Only his men were there to cheer him on. Yet they were great in number and Ramon’s men watched them from the south side of the yard. Only the fact that their masters were set to battle kept them from charging at one another.
Her belly clenched tight with horror. There would be blood spilled today; the only question was how much? Ramon might prove the champion, only to be attacked by Raeburn’s men.
Isabel raged against the unfair nature of fate.
On the south side, the stands were so full Isabel feared they might collapse. More people were still arriving and pushing their way up the stairs and crowding in. Her driver pulled onto the field and she heard a huge cheer. People balled up their fists and shook them as they shouted.
Ramon was behind the gate, but Ambrose rode out and slid off his horse in front of her.
“Lady?” His tone was deadly as he offered her a hand out of the cart. “My lord needs no distraction.”
“I am here to stand firmly in the box as a loyal wife should and make certain Jacques sees that I am well.” She gave him a hard stare. “Let Jacques be the one to worry that everything is not as he wants it to be.”
Ambrose looked her up and down. “You lie better than most ladies do. I believe the wind might blow you off your feet.”
“It will not,” she informed him tightly. “Besides, there is a chair in the box, is there not?”
He offered her a slight curving of his lips, so slight she wouldn’t call it a grin. “You have courage, lady.”
He reached past her hand and grasped her wrist to help her rise. He hooked his other hand around her back and actually lifted her up most of the steps while keeping her feet only an inch from the ground. A box was built on the first tier of the stands for the nobles. Ambrose settled her in the high-backed chair and inclined his head.
“I would tell you to have my lord come for his favor, but I fear Jacques will not respect the rules of chivalry and allow me the time to tie it on his arm.” She pulled the ribbon from her sleeve and held it out. “Yet I would have him wear it. And have Jacques see it.”
Ambrose took the ribbon, but there was still doubt clouding his blue eyes. Isabel sat up straight.
“You will see no weakness from me,” she assured him. “Yet I must be here. I must see with my own eyes.”
“Then you shall, lady.”
It was a hard compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. Ambrose took her ribbon and disappeared behind the closed gate. Time began to creep by, each moment stretching until it was a torment she couldn’t endure much longer.
Yet she didn’t want the time to arrive, because it might be Ramon’s last.
Mildred was praying beside her, softly beseeching the saints to intervene.
Isabel wasn’t sure anyone in Heaven had anything to do with what was about to happen. This would be a battle of flesh against flesh.
The sun shone overhead but the gates did not swing wide. People strained to see what was happening, but nothing did. At last, Jacques rode onto the tilt field, his stallion’s hooves kicking up the mud.
“Segrave!” he bellowed. “Who is the coward now?”
He beat his chest armor with his sword and roared.
In the distance, the sound of approaching riders came. It grew louder and louder as Isabel felt her heart accelerating. At the far end of the field, a group of riders appeared, another baron’s pennant flag fluttering in the breeze. There were two dozen knights at his back, all of them in full armor.
“Another baron?” Mildred asked.
“My lord is no fool,” Isabel said softly, because it was the only way to hide the fact that she wasn’t relieved. There was still a challenge to be fought.
The newcomers rode onto the field. One of them stop
ped and faced the crowd. He reached up and pushed his face guard up.
“I am Baron Smyth.” His stallion danced in a circle, the huge beast snorting as his master pulled him up. “I will stand witness to this challenge.”
His men rode to the four corners of the yard. The baron rode to the stands and dismounted. He climbed to the box where Isabel sat and paused before her.
“Lady.”
She should rise.
Isabel bit her lip and rose from her seat. She felt Mildred watching her as Baron Smyth offered her his hand. She placed hers into his but he didn’t raise her hand to his lips. He grasped her wrist and supported her as her knees gave out.
“Your husband was wise to send a rider to Havenworth. I see his report of poison is no lie.” He turned and braced his hands on the rail. “Let this challenge be done with honor! Else face my judgment!”
His men pulled their swords, the blades flashing in the noon sun. The gates hiding Ramon opened with a groan as he rode onto the field.
“You are the coward, Raeburn!” Ramon accused clearly. “You deal in poison, and I will have satisfaction.”
The crowd howled with outrage. Curses filled the air as Ramon beat his chest plate with his sword.
“You shall have my steel!” Jacques shouted as he pulled his face guard into place and guided his stallion forward.
Her heart stopped at they charged toward one another, their stallions pawing up the mud and flinging it out in dark clouds behind them, their nostrils flaring as the powerful beasts charged forward.
Each knight leaned forward, focused on one another. They collided with a clash, a horrible meeting of metal as the stallions shrieked and reared up.
They turned and swung their swords at each other again, the deadly blades bouncing off their armor. Jacques twisted around and drove his sword through the neck of Ramon’s stallion.
The horse screamed and collapsed, rolling over Ramon as it died.
Isabel’s heart stopped. People in the stands cursed, but Jacques pulled his horse around and sent it charging toward Ramon as he struggled to free his leg.
Jacques swung low, leaning far out to make sure his blade would reach. Ramon rolled out of the way and at the last moment came up onto his feet.
The crowd cheered but Jacques had the advantage now. He guided his horse up the field and turned to run Ramon down. There were other horses, but weighted down by his armor Ramon would never be able to mount one in time. Ambrose sent something sailing through the air.
Ramon plucked it from the mud and turned it with a smooth motion. The sunlight flashed off the head of the spear before Jacques ran into it. The tip slipped beneath Jacques’s shoulder plate and breast plate. He howled as he tumbled from the saddle to land in the mud.
“Well done,” Baron Smyth said beside her. “Finish him!”
But Ramon didn’t take the opportunity to plunge his sword into Jacques’s back.
He waited while Jacques scrambled in the mud, fighting to get to his knees and onto his feet.
“I’ll see your face when I kill you, Raeburn,” Ramon declared.
“You will be the one losing his head!” Jacques snarled as he swung his sword in a wide arc designed to decapitate.
Ramon dodged the attack and reached in to deliver a hard punch to his jaw. The smack echoed around the field to another cheer rising from the stands.
Isabel didn’t join in.
Neither did Baron Smyth, and that was what terrified her the most. He had gray eyebrows and age lines on his face. He knew the fight might go either way.
Just as she feared.
It was the worst fear she had ever known, holding her so tightly she could barely draw a breath.
Jacques stumbled and came back with an overhead swing. Ramon took the blow on his shoulder, snarling as he pushed up and punched Jacques in the face again. The sound was brutal, the scent of blood filling the air.
This time, Jacques stumbled when he tried to swing his sword. Ramon sidestepped easily, before smashing his foot into the back of Jacques’s knee.
He crumpled, cursing, and the people in the stands howled with approval.
“Confess and be forgiven before your death,” Ramon offered.
Jacques growled on his knees, looking beat, but suspicion tingled through her.
“Finish it!” Smyth yelled.
Ramon looked up and Jacques took advantage of his inattention. He pulled a dagger from his forearm and lunged at Ramon’s neck.
Isabel bit her own hand as she smothered her cry. The people in the stands surged forward. Ramon pulled back, Jacques following him. They hit the ground, their armor clanking as the mud splashed up and coated them. For a moment, they were nothing but a tangle of limbs, straining as they struggled. Time felt as if it weren’t moving, trapping her in a moment where her worst fears were reality.
There was a harsh grunt and a gurgle as one knight proved the victor. One set of legs stiffening in death spasms before slumping to the ground. Everyone held their breath as they waited for the victor to rise.
“Holy Christ…” Isabel prayed. “Sweet holy Christ…”
Ramon rose from the mud and she honestly wasn’t sure if it was real or the sight of her husband rising from his body. He stood and pushed his face shield up, the dagger still in his hand.
The midday sun illuminated the blood on its blade.
The crowd roared with approval, shaking the stands.
All Isabel could do was collapse back against the seat in relief. “Thank God.”
“Aye,” Baron Smyth muttered. “Thanks be to God, for that was a nasty bit of business that might have ended badly.”
He stood up and held up his hand. “The challenge is finished! Any man who does not go in peace will face justice!”
There was a pounding of hooves. Raeburn’s men began spilling into the yard, herded by Baron Smyth’s men. They were ruthless as they drove them into the tiltyard to join their master’s fallen body.
The crowd started howling, their blood lust running high.
Ramon climbed up to the first level where a platform stood for a master of ceremonies. He pounded the wooden rail with his fist.
“There will be no lawless men in this county.”
“Or in mine!” Baron Smyth added.
“Give up your swords or kneel and swear loyalty to a new master,” Ramon declared. “Or you shall be cut down where you are.”
Raeburn’s men looked around, searching for escape, but there was none. Smyth’s men had them surrounded and Ramon’s men mixed with them, making the numbers unbeatable. They would be slaughtered.
They pushed one of their captains forward. He held up his hand to quiet them.
“What man do we kneel to?” he asked of Ramon.
“Ambrose St. Martin.” Ramon pointed toward his second in command. Ambrose sat on the back of a stallion, his armor as solid as the grim look in his eyes. “I will personally ask the prince to raise him to the station of baron.”
Many of the men nodded, for only a baron could have armed men.
“Kneel or throw down your swords and leave in peace. Make no mistake. Unrest will be dealt with swiftly and harshly.”
Snow started falling again. Just a soft sprinkle, but the men surrounded in the yard looked up at it with horror. There was no place to go where hungry mouths would be welcomed during the long months of winter. Perhaps in the spring they might have had a chance of making a place for themselves. Now, they were dependent on Ramon’s good will.
“I will kneel.”
It was the captain who spoke. He turned to face Ambrose and hit his knee. The men behind him followed, until they were all on one knee.
Would it be the solution they all craved?
Isabel didn’t know, but all she cared about was looking at her husband standing at the rail.
Ambrose rode out, his new men rising and following him.
Only Jacques’s body was left behind.
Isabel didn’t give it a single glance.
Instead she ran into the arms of the man she loved. Ramon clamped her against him, burying his face in her hair.
For once, fate had been kind.
She planned to treasure the gift until her days were done.
* * *
“I have done you no favor with this,” Ramon warned his friend.
Ambrose grinned in spite of Ramon’s grim tone. “You have offered me an opportunity. Never let it be said that I am not a man to make the most of such occasions.”
Ramon looked over Raeburn’s men. They stood waiting for Ambrose to lead them back to the camp.
“This lot will be unruly.”
“Aye,” Ambrose agreed. “I plan to make sure they have enough tasks to do, that by nightfall, they will lack all strength to plot against me.”
“I am leaving you a dozen knights for your personal guard, else you will never be able to close your eyes. Do not eat anything without having it tasted. Let no one into your bed without careful consideration.”
Ambrose nodded. “It seems you have your wish, my friend. You now have the means to curtail my roving ways.”
Ramon slapped him on the shoulder.
“We’ll ride for London tomorrow,” Ramon decided. “You need the prince’s seal.”
There was no guarantee that he would get it, but Ambrose felt his blood igniting. He was full of anticipation, dreams he’d cradled close to his heart for most of his years finally within reach.
He’d get that seal.
There was no other outcome he’d consider.
His gaze fell on the men that were now his. Their strengths and their weaknesses. Every transgression would reflect on his name. It was the burden he’d coveted, and he fully intended to shoulder it. He wanted to earn their loyalty, for that would be a far stronger bond than fear-inspired oaths.
Yet his first test was one that confounded him.
“The witch is inside.” Ambrose eyed the captain who had spoken. The man nodded. “Raeburn brought her from the east. She brewed up the poison.”
