Joust of Hearts (4 page)

“Sir Devin! Sir Devin, I must make thee readied! The joust is first! Did you not hear me when I called out?”

Devin dragged his attention from the Bergavnys’ pavilion. Parker had made it clear time and again that he was more than thrilled to have been Sir Devin Blackburn’s squire for over three years now. He was ten and four—almost five, he had warned many a man who dared to comment on his age of late—and he wished to be a duplicate of his lord. Parker was getting taller by the day and had a fair amount of muscle already developing on his young body, owing to all the jobs Devin would find for him to do around Willowbrook. His brown hair was left just long enough to reach his jaw line, and most of the time was kept tucked behind his ears.

“Aye. Excited are you, Parker?” Devin enquired, knowing full well that Parker lived for the games.

“For certain, it has been too long. Come, we must return so I may get thee armed.”

At the armory tent, Parker adjusted the chain-mail tunic so that it sat properly laid over the padded doublet, then tied Devin’s vambraces onto each arm.

Devin stepped away, took a few strides forward then returned to Parker’s side.

“Is the fit well?”

“As I said before, if I can walk, you’ve employed my metal skillfully.” Devin ruffled his squire’s hair.

Parker batted his hands away with a muttered curse.

After Devin’s horse was saddled and suited, Parker helped with Devin’s helmet, but not before Devin took one final glance toward the Bergavnys’ dais.

Likely referring to the storyteller that held Devin’s attention, Parker warned, “She was pleasing to look upon my lord, but mind thee about the games. A knight needs not a maid to distract him.”

Devin chuckled. “You, Parker, have much to learn yet. There is none so satisfying a distraction as a beautiful woman and the promise of evening pleasures that sparkle in her eyes.”

“Has the great Sir Devin, the Black Knight, been reading poetry, then?” Parker mocked.

“I have no need of poetry when the truth will suffice. Now gather my lances or next time I come across a leather-bound manuscript, I shall throw it at your head.”

His squire laughed and vowed to continue their verbal repartee on a more convenient occasion.

The participating knights on horseback assembled in front of the pavilion as if Lord and Lady Bergavny were the King and Queen. All knights gave a salute with their swords. Then the lord leaned forward and raised his hand in approval.

Fitzherbert turned to Helena and asked, “Whom shall you favor this day, my love?”

“’Tis a difficult task to choose but one. Perhaps Lady Melisande would take my place in the championing of a knight?” She turned to Melisande with a gleam in her eye.

Melisande’s stomach lurched in shock. “In sooth I could not,” she refused politely, not wishing to be disrespectful to her hosts.

“But I insist. Come, come. Whom shall you choose?” Helena persisted.

Fitzherbert spoke to Melisande beyond Helena in a mock whisper. “My dear, ’tis always wise to follow as Helena instructs, that is what I find,” he said, mirth ringing in his voice. As Fitzherbert reclined back in his chair, Helena stole a sideways glance at her husband and kissed the air in his direction. The love they shared, even at their age, was unmistakable.

“Very well then, I shall do it for
you,
Lord Bergavny.” Melisande nodded a bow.

From her belt Melisande pulled a dark gray satin ribbon. She stood, looked over the knights and pictured her shriveled-up husband, barely able to sit erect enough to see out of the sights in his visor. All were polished and adorned with colorful plumes on their helms, and emblems on their mighty shields. One of the knights wore blackened chain mail. In fact, his entire suit was such, save the silver etchings and roped edges. His plume was black, his coat of arms was mostly black—though the outline of the snarling panther’s head was white—even his dark gray stallion was draped in flowing black satin. Between the rider and his horse, they seemed to match her pessimistic mood perfectly.

Melisande stepped forward and crooked her finger at the knight in black. He moved his mount next to the platform and leaned toward her. She bent to meet him halfway and tied the ribbon at the base of the black plume of the knight’s helm. The knight backed his steed away from the pavilion and saluted the lady whose colors he now wore.

The salute was magnificent. The knight grunted a command to his steed and the horse tucked one of his front hooves under while stretching his other front leg as far forward as was possible. When the horse’s nose practically rested on the ground, the knight remained upright in the saddle, holding the hilt of his sword over his heart. All those along the lists were stunned into silence. When a few moments had passed, the knight grunted a second command and the horse returned to its upright position. After an explosion of cheers from the crowd at the sight of the tribute to the Bergavnys’ guest, the other knights paraded around to gain favors for themselves.

“Splendid choice, Lady Dupree, and how fortuitous. The Black Knight is Willowbrook’s finest warrior,” Lord Bergavny commented.

“Oh.” Melisande placed her hand at the base of her throat. “Would you have preferred that I’d championed one of your guest’s knights?”

“Nay, my dear. You may choose whomsoever you wish,” Helena said in a comforting tone.

Helena’s support did not make Melisande feel any better. Was she condoning the violence by championing the knight? Melisande sat back in her chair and covered her face with her hands.

“Something ails you,” Helena insisted and placed her hand on Melisande’s knee.

Melisande raised her head. “It must be all the excitement of the day,” she assured, not letting on to the truth.

“If at any moment you must excuse yourself, Fitzherbert and I shan’t be offended.”

“I thank you, Helena, all will be well now.” The last thing she wanted was to worry them.

Lord Bergavny motioned to the trumpeter to summon the first opponents. The herald announced the men by their colors and the entitlements they held.

A knight with green and yellow plumes sat atop his ornately decorated mount at the north end of the sand-covered field. The Black Knight and his steed were positioned and ready at the south.

“See how each studies their rival in order to find a weakness to use to their advantage?” Lord Bergavny enquired, the excitement in his voice evident.

Melisande squirmed in her seat, preparing for the worst.

When the herald lowered his upraised arm to begin the charge, they started forward, gaining speed as they approached the center.

To Melisande, the sound of the wooden lances splintering against the metal shields was deafening, and she quickly placed her hands over her ears, muffling the sounds of the thunderous crowd as well. The knights received new lances from their squires and made ready for another pass. As they met in the center at full speed, the Black Knight angled his shield so that his challenger’s lance skidded off the smooth surface. The Black Knight swiftly grabbed the averted lance and, with a sharp tug, proceeded to unseat his opponent. It had happened so fast that the crowd’s reaction was delayed. A moment later, a great roar of approval went up from all around the lists, drowning out Melisande’s cry of anguish for the unseated knight. Streamers, banners and handkerchiefs were waved in the air in a celebratory frenzy.

The Black Knight turned to salute Lord Bergavny. To Melisande he placed his gauntleted hand over his breast in salute. She almost missed the gesture, for she was overly concerned about the yellow and green plumed knight being helped up by his squire. She raised her hand in recognition just in time. If either Lord or Lady Bergavny had been paying close attention to Melisande, they would have indeed noticed her disquiet, for she was sure it showed on her face. She relaxed just enough to settle the bunched muscles from her head to her shoulders, but was unsure as to how long she could keep up the charade.

The rest of the jousting matches went mostly the same way—the Black Knight unseating all of his rivals in one way or another by the second or third passes, and gaining more
atteints
toward victory.

Everyone seemed to be having a most wonderful time—except Melisande, who now felt like her shoulders were part of her ears. At one point she had been gripping the arms of her chair so hard that her hands ached. When the dinner hour came, food was offered to Melisande, but she refused it.

“Melisande, what is the cause of your vexation?” Lady Helena asked. Both she
and
her husband were looking to Melisande now, their concern palpable.

She tried to put her feelings into words, but it was too difficult. Lord Bergavny had his personal valet fetch a flagon of wine for her.

“Are you not having a pleasant day?” Lady Helena enquired, more privately this time.

Melisande was about to express her feelings when the valet appeared and placed the wine into her hands.

“Drink. You will feel the color in your cheeks again in no time,” Lord Bergavny assured her.

It was announced that the sword fighting competition was to be next. Melisande gulped down half of her wine at the declaration.

Over and over again, Melisande tried not to look at the fighting, but could not help herself. She was loath to see any blood, but could not tear her gaze away. The sound of steel against steel held her rapt attention.

From directly across the lists, Devin watched the terrified maiden.
What is it that makes her thus frightened
? There was nothing for it but to find out for himself.

The match going on in the lists between the knight in blue and the knight with the brass cross on his breastplate was so intense that no one had noticed Devin step up to the platform. He saw that Lord and Lady Bergavny had the best view of the games, so he stood and watched for a time.

A sudden light breeze caused a feminine fragrance to blow across his face. He drew the scent in on a deep inhalation and his gaze wandered from the lists to the Bergavnys’ guest. She must have been a lady, for her robes, upon such intimate inspection, appeared to be expensive. She also had the hands of a lady—soft looking, with clean, long, elegant fingers. Oh, aye, she was most certainly a lady and not just a hired entertainer. With a grin he couldn’t help, he wondered if her hands were as talented as her voice.

Finally, the blue knight bested his opponent and a cheer resounded all around.

Devin left the Bergavny pavilion and made his way back to Parker.

“Thou art next, Sire! Where had you gone? I looked to the privy and—”

“Parker, calm yourself, ’tis not a battle we fight.”

“Pray forgive me, m’lord, in sooth, ’tis the excitement of the games! It fairly gives me gooseflesh!”

“Aye, it shows so plainly on thy face,” Devin teased. His squire Parker was a late bud about to bloom, and at any moment would discover the young maidens who hid behind corners watching him. Devin figured that Parker’s passion for life would surely sweep him away when that day came. Perhaps he should hurry it along and give Parker more time to himself. This in turn would give Devin the opportunity to get to know Lady Helena’s guest.

While Parker proceeded to ready him for the next match, Devin thought about what was making the young lady so upset. The only sights that he had observed from behind her were the sport upon the lists. That had to be it.
She is not amused by the fighting
. It suddenly became perfectly clear to him that it was the games that made her greatly ill at ease. There was much to consider if Devin were to be presented to her. He would have to make sure that no one mentioned to her that he had participated in the games today. That profession would have to come later, if at all.

Chapter Four

Melisande downed the last bit of wine as the Black Knight and the burgundy-caped knight took their places and bowed to their lord. Lady Helena gained Melisande’s attention and suggested they go have an early supper together while the games were finishing.

“That is most considerate of you, Helena. If you would rather see to the finishing of the contest, I could go alone.”

“Nonsense. I have confidence that one of the Willowbrook knights will triumph and be dubbed best in all of Christendom by Fitzherbert.” Helena smiled and took a quick peek at her beloved, who caught the action and winked at her.

“You seem to know these procedures well.” Melisande felt relief flood through her veins like a simmering brew.

“Indeed I do. Now, I for one am famished. Fitzherbert plundered the last half of my game hen, leaving me naught but the bony carcass.”

For several seconds, Melisande merely gazed at Helena. By and by she realized Helena was but jesting. She allowed a bubble of a giggle to escape from between her lips, the first since she’d left Dupree Castle.

“Let us see what we can find to eat, lest I faint from hunger,” Helena added, then took Melisande by the hand, leading her toward the food pavilions.

* * * *

Melisande ate her fill and saw that Helena had done the same. She sat back in her chair and stretched her hands above her head, a very unladylike motion, of course, but she didn’t give it a second thought. “I think I could fall asleep, so full is my belly.”

“Mm,” Helena agreed. “I, too, could use an early evening rest. To be honest, I could miss the hunt without any remorse whatsoever.”

Leaving the table and tent, Helena walked arm in arm with Melisande up the path to the keep, then escorted her to her guest chambers. “Do not sleep too late, my dear. Give your maids enough time to ready you for the feast and rounds this eve.”

“Oh. I did not realize dancing was planned for this evening’s entertainment. I am sure I do not have the proper gown for the event.” Melisande drew her hands down the front of her skirts. She’d be most grateful to be excused, thereby bypassing the occasion altogether.

“If this were the only gown you had, I would say to wear it, for it is most lovely. But, alas, I was informed of your three trunks of clothing…”