Although the gentlefolk were scattered about the field’s edges, most clung to the meadow’s far end, where Lord Haydon had provided makeshift benches, rough wooden planking set upon barrels. A goodly length of tenting canvas had been raised for shade. At first, the only ones on the seats were the gentlewomen, the few churchmen and those oldsters who chose not to participate in the sport. They’d made quite a picture, all dressed in their finery. The scene had grown a little more ragged over the hours. As knights were eliminated from the contest they shed their heavy armor and hot woolen underarmor, then joined their womenfolk, wearing only their rough shirts, chausses and boots.
Rafe found Kate in their midst with ease. Her pretty blue gown glowed like a beacon next to Amicia’s scarlet. He was in time to catch Kate watching him. A brief but oh-so-pleased smile flashed across her face as their gazes met then bright color washed her cheeks. An instant later, she looked down into her lap.
That she could gaze at him so after he’d interrupted her with her lover this morning sent a rush of triumph through Rafe. His gaze swept across to the field to where the Daubneys ran. He didn’t know which pleased him more, the fact that it seemed he’d already stolen Kate’s affections from Sir Warin or that he was about to meet Bagot’s steward and prove to Kate he was the better man.
Sir Warin, it turned out, was a fine jouster although Rafe hesitated to believe him as fine as himself or Josce. Still, Rafe liked the thought of facing the steward as an equal. That way there was no chance that defeating Warin might stir a grain of pity in Kate’s heart for the man.
Just as with the Godsols, the Daubney division was in its final round. It was Sir Warin against Sir Gilbert DuBois, Lord Bagot’s neighbor and staunch supporter. As the herald gave the sign, the two men, lances leveled and shields high, spurred their mounts. The thunder of galloping horses resounded across the meadow.
Rafe shook his head. The match was Sir Warin’s. Even from this distance he could see Sir Gilbert’s lance tip drag. So did the steward. Sir Warin subtly shifted his shield to take advantage of the other man’s error.
Shield metal shrieked and lances groaned as they collided. In that split second Bagot’s steward gave a twist of his arm. Sir Gilbert’s lance tip dropped so suddenly that it caught the sod. With his horse galloping on to the alley’s end, the effect was to lift Sir Gilbert out of his saddle.
The crowd cheered, the Daubneys roaring as they welcomed Sir Warin as champion. After all he was Lord Bagot’s representative in business. Why shouldn’t he be his proxy in war games? Even Rafe offered his rival mental congratulations on the well-played trick. Aye, it would be a fine thing indeed, to meet and defeat Sir Warin.
With the Daubney champion revealed, it was time to determine the Godsols’ representative. Rafe looked back at Josce. His friend had finally decided on a lance.
The herald, played this day by a knight too old to participate, rode back across the field to where the Godsols ran. Reining in his horse, he called out the names of the contestants, not that anyone didn’t know who either Rafe or Josce was. With his announcement, folk all around the field dropped into a breathless silence.
Rafe hefted his lance. His knees tightened on his horse. It wasn’t necessary. Gateschales, well-trained beast that he was, was more than ready. There was nothing that this horse liked better than the joust, being a marvelous sprinter.
The herald retreated. Rafe positioned his shield. His hand tightened on the lance’s hilt. At the sign, they were off.
Gateschales breathed like a smith’s bellows as he threw himself into his fastest stride, his hooves tearing up great chunks of soft sod. As always, Rafe’s world constricted until all he saw was the spot on Josce’s shield he intended to hit. Leaning forward, he allowed long practice to lead his body where it must go.
Lance met shield in an explosion of noise and thrust. Every muscle in Rafe’s body strained as he absorbed the force of both Josce and his horse. He gave not a inch, nor did Gateschales, who strained to stride on when all nature tried to drive him back.
As had happened two weeks ago during practice Josce’s heart betrayed him. Rather than drive forward, he let Rafe’s lance shove him back in the saddle until he tumbled out of it heels over head. His horse veered to one side, trumpeting and raising in trained response to an empty saddle. Grooms raced to catch the dangerous beast.
Rafe drew Gateschales into a quick turn and rode back up the field to his fallen friend. Dropping shield and lance, he threw himself off his horse. Hugh and Simon were already kneeling in the torn dirt at the knight’s side.
“Josce!” Hugh shouted, lifting Josce’s head.
Simon tried to remove Josce’s helmet in case of injury, but the metal headgear clung to the mail hood beneath it and refused to give. “Damn me, but what if we have to bring him to the smith to have it off?” he muttered.
Rafe crouched at Josce’s side in time to see his friend’s eyes open. “God’s pain, Rafe,” his friend breathed. “Why do I keep letting you do this to me?” That he spoke was enough to make all three of the waiting men grin.
“He’ll yet live to spite his father,” Rafe said in abject relief, his hand closing over Josce’s shoulder in what was meant as a comforting touch.
Josce winced. “Only as a broken man,” he said, managing a laugh. Simon and Hugh put their arms beneath him to aid him in sitting. “I concede to you. Now go on and take the prize as is your due. As for me, I’ll slink back to my father’s house and lay poultices upon my bruises, hoping I’ll be limber enough for the morrow’s melee so I might make my fortune ransoming horse and armor.”
With a grateful laugh Rafe rose, only to find Lord Haydon standing behind him. It was a tiny, satisfied smile the nobleman sent in Rafe’s direction before he knelt at his son’s side. However short the glance, Rafe read the message hidden in it. Lord Haydon couldn’t be happier at his son’s defeat, for it meant the Godsol responsible for the uproar at the picnic would face one of the Daubney participants in that same event. Lord Haydon had what he so needed. The morrow’s mock battle would have nothing at all to do with politics.
Pleased with his victory for his own reasons, Rafe strode toward the groom who held Gateschales. As he went he threw a glance at Sir Warin. The steward had removed his helmet and now stood beside the defeated Sir Gilbert. Sir Warin offered his opponent a friendly hand, but smug satisfaction filled his face. Rafe smiled a tight grin. Sir Warin best gloat while he could. In a few moments, he’d be sitting on the ground in Josce’s place.
“Well now, if it isn’t our Godsol champion,” Will called, striding out to meet his victorious brother. Having long since shucked his mail in defeat, blood and dirt stained the hem of his rough shirt where he’d used it to wipe his face. Sweat traced the outline of his helmet’s eyepieces in the dirt on Will’s face. “Yon benighted horse is worth every pence our sire spent on his breeding and training,” Will laughed, pointing to Gateschales, complimenting the horse’s skill before acknowledging Rafe’s talent.
“Good work,” the eldest Godsol continued, offering Rafe a pat on the back. “Now go and take the purse from yon rat-kisser. Show all the world that the Godsols are the better men. In fact, you have my permission to kill the worm-eater if you so desire.” He smiled a wicked grin. “One less Daubney, even a servant like de Dapifer, is far better for this world.”
Rafe laughed as he picked up his discarded shield, shrugging it into place on his forearm. He left his used lance where it lay. There’d be fresh weapons for the final round. “I think I’d be better off saving the steward’s murder for the morrow when I can disguise so dastardly a deed behind the chaos of the melee.”
Will opened his mouth to reply, but Rafe held up a forestalling hand. “We’ll chat after I’ve taken the purse, Will,” he said, needing to hurry into his meeting with Sir Warin. Rafe knew well enough from sparring with Josce that sometimes the only edge a man had over his competition was what he held in his heart. If Rafe delayed even an instant Sir Warin
might well garner confidence from the belief his opponent was reluctant to meet him.
Nodding, Will gave Rafe another congratulatory pat. “Go now and take that prize for the Godsols and our honor.”
“That I shall,” Rafe vowed as he mounted Gateschales.
As he started for the middle alley, where the run for the purse would be held, the Godsols bellowed their approval. Nearing the place where Kate sat, a place of honor beside the bride and groom, he dared a quick glance at her. She glowed as she gazed back at him. It was something better than desire for him that filled her smile and softened her face. She was proud of him and what she felt for him, the way a wife should be proud of her husband.
Rafe’s heart twisted sweetly. Images flooded him, none of them having to do with lust. They were pictures of mundane future events, such as sharing a meal with Kate, and holding her hand as they walked the lands they’d own. It was this, the quiet domestic bliss he’d never expected to own in his life, that he wanted from his marriage to Kate. Lord, but he couldn’t wed her soon enough.
Priest and Stephen, who’d ridden with the Daubneys, met Rafe as he drew his horse into position at one end of the alley. Both men grinned as they offered him their congratulations.
“Well run,” said Priest.
“Never doubted the Godsol champion would be you this day,” Stephen said, his voice filled with true pleasure over the achievement of a well-deserving comrade.
“My thanks for your confidence,” Rafe replied with a quiet laugh, grateful to have friends such as these. “Now, what can you tell me of Sir Warin?”
Stephen pulled a sour face and shook his head. “He runs like you Rafe, sitting in his saddle as if he were a piece of it.”
“I’ll add, for what little it’s worth, that he holds his shield low and tight,” offered the sober, priestly Alan, then he shook his head. “His confidence is supreme. Unless you shake him on the first run Rafe, I think you’ll fight hard to take the purse from him.”
Rafe grinned. “Then shake him I shall,” he said, “doing the deed with all my heart just as I always have and as I must. A third son knows his lot in life is to vie for the scraps that other men, those who are their father’s only heir, leave behind them.”
Alan grimaced at Rafe’s gentle taunt. “You may have my life if you want it Rafe, even the wife my father wishes to press on me. Let me take yours.”
Stephen laughed and clapped Alan on the back. “Don’t look so glum, Priest,” he said. “Your time to join Gerard in the marital estate hasn’t yet come. Until then, lift your spirits far enough to help me sort through the lances they’ve brought Rafe.”
As the two of them turned to inspect the weapons for these final runs, Rafe dared reach inside his left glove. With a finger he rearranged Kate’s stolen ribbon into the cup of his palm. He hadn’t intended to bring it with him this morning but there’d been something about keeping it on his person he couldn’t resist. It was like a promise to himself. Now that he owned this much of Kate, the rest of her would soon follow. It felt like a talisman, a guarantee that he’d take the purse and her heart along with it.
Stephen and Priest reappeared, Stephen holding the weapon they’d settled on for the first run. Rafe took the lance.
“Come what may,” he said to them, “I promise you this will be a match to remember. Inform the herald that I’m ready when my opponent is.”
It was all so thrilling Kate could hardly catch her breath. She watched Rafe ride past her. Her two champions, one acknowledged and no longer wanted, the other unacknowledged and definitely desired, were going to vie for the day’s prize! She might as well be one of the ladies in Lady Adele’s tales.
Almost better, her sire had been so busy that he hadn’t had time to thrust suitors at her. For the whole of this glorious morning she’d enjoyed Ami’s uninterrupted company. The only mar, slight as it was, was that she and Ami hadn’t been alone from the moment Kate entered the women’s quarters. Once at the field, Lady Haydon had sat Kate and Ami near Emma, now joined by her new husband. Kate hadn’t dared even the most innocent of questions regarding how to gracefully--or rather, painlessly--detach herself from a man she no longer loved.
“Poor Sir Josce. I hope he’s not injured,” Ami said, her gaze yet aimed at her hero as he was helped from the field by his friends and sire. Then she smiled and reached over to catch Kate’s hand. “Well, if my Sir Josce must be defeated by someone, it’s just as well it’s Rafe Godsol who does it. They are the best of friends.”
“Are they?” Kate asked, stunned that Ami would know something so intimate about Rafe. “How is it you know that?” she demanded.
Amusement sparked in Ami’s green eyes. “About Sir Josce?” she teased, knowing full well that wasn’t who Kate meant. “Why, I learned it at court. You might say Sir Josce and his life are of interest to me.”
From her place at Kate’s right Emma giggled and shifted to look at the women beside her. Now that Kate knew Emma better, she saw that all the bride had from her lady mother was her red hair. Just as with Sir Josce, it was Lord Haydon’s stamp Emma wore upon her face, with her high cheekbones and the slight hook to her nose.
“What’s this, Ami?” Emma asked, her tone taunting. “Are you still pining for my half-brother, even though you know full well he’s too cautious to return your affection the way you wish?”
Ami laughed, not in the least embarrassed by Emma’s pronouncement. “Cautious he may be and with good cause, but this only presents me with a challenge I cannot resist. I will have his heart as my own, will he, nill he.”
Gerard’s laugh was a quiet huff as he sat beside Emma. Wearing naught but his shirt and chausses like the other defeated knights, his brown hair flattened by his helmet, he looked out of place next to his new wife in her pretty green and yellow gowns. “Don’t think to play the matchmaker between our Josce and Lady Amicia, my love,” he warned his wife. “There’s no hope for them, especially not while Lady Amicia thinks all men are but mountains to be climbed and conquered,” he said, his statement forthright and with such a hint of lewdness that it was just this side of good manners.
Ami had the grace to blush. Emma giggled again. Leaning near to her new husband, she touched her lips to his ear.
“Are you content to know I want to climb but one mountain?” she murmured loudly enough for the two ladies beside her to hear.
Gerard shuddered and groaned softly. “Is that so?” he replied, catching his wife by the waist. Much to Kate’s surprise Emma squealed with pleasure as her husband lifted her into his lap. Yet laughing, the new bride wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and rested her chin upon his shoulder to lay kisses upon his cheek.
That Emma could be so obviously pleased by Gerard’s pawing given her newly wedded state truly astonished Kate. Lady Adele had been very clear that all a woman could expect from marriage were the twin aches of consummation and birth. It was womankind’s doom, the price they all paid for Eve’s sin in the Garden.
God knew Kate had more than paid her price in her union with Richard, although only in consummation pain. At least Richard had never beaten her; he wouldn’t have dared, as his illness kept him smaller than her. Lady Adele hadn’t had that much comfort in her marriage. Twice Adele’s age, Sir Guy de Fraisney had been a crude man, who beat his wife when it suited him. Beyond that, he had no interests save his sword, his horse and his hawks.
Fanning herself with a hand to hide the fact that her cheeks had reddened with Gerard’s comment, Ami vented a mummer’s great breath of disgust. “Lord preserve us from the newly wed,” she said, although her tone was fond rather than chiding. She came to her feet. “Come Kate, let’s wander. I’ve had enough of these two and their lovemaking.”
Kate gaped at Ami. Lovemaking was done with chaste words, never touches, and only happened between a lady and her courtly lover. Everything else was lewdness or marital duty. Kate shot a shocked glance at Gerard and Emma. There was nothing chaste about what they were doin
g and there was nothing pleasurable about marital duty, so it certainly wasn’t lovemaking. Ami must have misspoken.
“Can I help it that I desire my wife?” Gerard muttered, turning his face as he tried to catch Emma’s lips with his own.
“Don’t apologize to her,” Emma laughed, managing to avoid her husband’s kiss. “It’s not our fault that we happen to find joy in our duty.”
Coming to her feet, Kate blinked away a second wave of shock. Emma couldn’t be serious. She enjoyed the awful intrusion of Gerard’s shaft into her most private part?
Ami gave a snort. “All I can say is that if a babe doesn’t come from this union nine months hence it won’t be for lack of trying. Come, Kate,” she said, taking Kate’s arm.
Together they left the awning’s shade for the day’s bright sun and strolled in silence for a moment. It was no surprise to Kate that the direction of their steps led them ever closer to Sir Josce. The bastard knight now knelt on the ground not far from them, his friends helping him to creep out of his mail shirt.
As they walked Kate stewed over the idea of anyone finding pleasure in the marriage bed. Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile what she knew to be true about the act of procreating with Emma’s comment. She gave it up when her head began to pound. The day was too fine to be wasted on such a morbid subject, especially when she could be watching her love.
Her gaze leaped to Rafe. Oh, but mounted on his massive warhorse he looked every inch a hero. The Godsol colors on his shield and surcoat were jewel-bright while the sun made his mail gleam silver where his surcoat didn’t cover it. Better still, he was watching her in return.
Kate’s heart turned a circle in her chest as he smiled at her. All on their own, her cheeks took fire. The sinful temptation against which Lady Adele had so strictly warned rose like a wave to engulf her. It didn’t matter that Kate knew it was wrong or that feeling this way made her a lightskirt. There was no stopping it. She longed to feel Rafe’s arms around her and his mouth on hers once more.
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