True Love (29 page)

“I'm sure she would.” Gwendolyn flounced
along the back of the dais to Lady Edith's place at the high
table.

As soon as she was gone, Cadwallon winked at
Catherine. She couldn't help herself, she grinned at him, until she
saw Phelan watching her with a gaze that was far too sharp and
knowing for Catherine's comfort.

On the following day Royce elected to join
the spectators in the viewing stand, claiming his stomach was still
too unsettled to allow him to fight. With Achard and Braedon
missing from the lists, and several other worthy knights too
injured to participate, the final day of the tournament could have
been as uninteresting as Braedon had charged the previous contests
were.

For the early part of the day the knights
were once more to be divided into two opposing groups that fought
on horseback. The second half of the day would feature duels which
were to begin on horseback and finish on foot after one of the
duelists was unseated.

Catherine rode to the field with Cadwallon,
and with Aldis, who was seriously downcast over Robert's departure.
It had taken Catherine more than an hour to convince Aldis to
attend the tournament, and once mounted and on her way, Aldis sat
her horse like a drooping flower.

“I will never see Robert again,” she said to
Catherine. “He has no choice, he must follow his master, but oh,
how angry I am with Braedon! How could he behave so badly?”

“Poor girl,” Cadwallon whispered to
Catherine, bringing his horse closer to hers so she could hear him.
“I am sorry for her, but we cannot tell her the truth.”

“I will explain everything to her later,”
Catherine promised.

“I talked to Achard early this morning,”
Cadwallon said. “He claims you warned him of a wicked plot that
Phelan is hatching, and he says that is why he seized you, to
protect you from Phelan, because Braedon had killed Royce. He still
believes Royce is dead.”

“I did say something about a plot, and asked
him to watch Phelan for me, when I was trying to convince Achard to
join the hunting party that Phelan was leading. I wanted to be free
to care for my father without Achard learning Father had been
poisoned,” Catherine said. “You do know about the poisoning? I
assume either my father or Braedon has told you.”

“Braedon did.” Cadwallon's mouth was a grim
line. “A most unpleasant business.”

“How clever of Achard to use my own words as
an excuse for abducting me. Does this mean he and Phelan are not
working together?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that question.”
Cadwallon shook his head. “There are many tangled strands still to
be sorted out.”

“So many lies, so many schemes,” Catherine
said. “Will we ever know the whole of it?”

“By heaven's grace and hard use of our wits,
we will.”

“Where has Braedon gone?”

“Ask me no more questions, my lady,”
Cadwallon responded with a laugh. “I am sworn to silence, and I've
already said too much.”

Most of the guests were seated and eagerly
awaiting the beginning of the mock battle when Royce led a
procession into the stand, where the choicest places were being
saved for him and the group accompanying him.

Lady Edith walked beside Royce, her fingers
on his wrist, her nose in the air, obviously very conscious of her
position. Catherine, who was following with Cadwallon, began to
wonder anew what her father's intentions were toward Lady Edith.
Perhaps Royce was only being polite, though the lady did seem to
feel she had a right to be exactly where she was, in one of the two
large chairs that were placed in the first row at the center of the
stand. Catherine, Cadwallon, and Aldis were all relegated to
cushioned benches, like the other guests.

The mounted combat began. Men were unhorsed,
weapons clashed, clouds of dust rose to obscure the fallen knights.
Catherine tried to look as if she was interested, but she was
thinking about Braedon, wondering where he was and what he was
doing. Perhaps he had crept back into Wortham Castle to try to get
information out of Achard. Or perhaps he was miles away.

The first half of the day's entertainment
finally ended and servants began to offer trays of refreshments,
wine and dainty pastries, or bread and cheese for those who were
more hungry. Anyone who craved still heartier fare could visit the
long tables that were once again set up behind the stand, where the
common folk were welcome.

Catherine sipped a cup of wine and nibbled on
a pastry, but she wasn't really hungry. Her growing sense of unease
was fueled by the tense restlessness of the man beside her.
Cadwallon's face was flushed, and he repeatedly looked around as if
he expected to see someone who had not yet arrived.

Just before the duels were scheduled to begin
Catherine heard a murmur from the crowd, a sound that quickly
escalated into loud cheers. A tight knot of people at one side of
the field separated to let a man on a black horse approach.

“It's him!” the crowd roared. “L'Inconnu has
returned! Cheers for l'Inconnu!”

It was indeed the same black warhorse, with
the same black and silver trappings. And the same large,
chainmail-clad knight sat astride the horse, the butt of his
upright lance resting lightly on his foot. As on his first visit,
his face was hidden by the noseguard and cheekflaps of his solid
metal helm.

The knight rode directly toward Royce,
halting a few yards in front of the stand to dip his lance in
salute.

“My lord,” l'Inconnu called in a hoarse
voice, “I have returned to offer a challenge to one of the men
fighting here.”

“The last time you came to these lists, you
almost killed a man,” Royce said.

“What else are such contests for, if not to
win?” asked l'Inconnu.

“Who is the knight you wish to challenge?”
Royce demanded. “Reveal his name before I decide if you may fight
him.”

L'Inconnu waited before responding, waited
until the noise of the crowd had subsided to a murmur and the
nobles in the stand were all craning forward, eager to learn who
the chosen opponent was.

“I challenge Sir Eustace of Sutton,”
l'Inconnu called out.

“Why?” Royce's voice rang across the field
and the silence grew deeper. “Eustace of Sutton is my kin by
marriage. For what reason do you challenge him?”

Catherine looked at her father in surprise.
It was enough for a knight to issue a challenge. The reason could
be, and often was, simply the desire to hone one's own skills by
meeting a worthy opponent. She could not understand why Royce was
making an issue of l'Inconnu's reason, until she recalled that
Eustace was a rather clumsy and brutal fighter...and during this
Whitsuntide entertainment, nothing at Wortham actually was as it
appeared to be. She stared at the unknown knight on the black
horse, trying to see the face behind the concealing helm, and
puzzled by the feeling that she ought to know him.

“Eustace of Sutton is a liar, a habitual
drunkard, and worst of all, a rapist. Eustace is a violator of
innocent maidens.” L'Inconnu's harsh voice carried clearly to the
crowd. Every noble, every knight, and each ordinary person within
the sound of his voice went absolutely still, awaiting the response
that Eustace was now required to make.

“Oh, dear heaven!” Revelation came upon
Catherine in a flash. Of course, l'Inconnu would accuse Eustace of
rape Furthermore, she understood why Sir Desmond was not supposed
to be at the tournament. She started to rise. Only Cadwallon's firm
hand on her shoulder kept her in her seat. She tore her gaze from
the man on the black horse to look at Cadwallon – and saw in him no
trace of her easy-going, affable friend. Cadwallon's eyes were
steely, his jaw was set in a hard line. She had not noticed before
how very firm Cadwallon's jaw was.

“Say nothing,” he ordered her. “Stay where
you are, and do not reveal what you have guessed.”

“I have guessed rightly.” It wasn't a
question. She knew the identity of the knight who sat quietly on
his horse, awaiting Eustace's response to his challenge.
Furthermore, after a quick look at Royce's set face, she would have
wagered her life that he also knew who l'Inconnu really was.

It wasn't Eustace who responded to
l'Inconnu's challenge. Phelan rose from his place a few seats away
from Royce. He put his beefy hands on the bright fabric covering
the rail at the edge of the stand and leaned forward as if he
wanted to meet l'Inconnu nose to nose.

“You are the liar,” Phelan shouted at the
knight.

“Are you willing to meet me in combat to
prove the truth of that charge?” asked l'Inconnu. There was just
the faintest hint of insolence in his hoarse voice, as if he was
certain Phelan would refuse to do battle with him.

“Leave my father alone,” Eustace shouted,
riding onto the field. He drew his horse to a halt a little
distance away from l'Inconnu, but also facing Royce while he made
his response, which was properly couched in formal terms. “My lord
Royce, as you know, I was among the knights who fought in this
morning's earlier mock battle and I was resting in my tent in
preparation for my return to the lists, when word was brought to me
of a challenge to my honor that requires an immediate response.
Here I am to answer that challenge. It is my desire to fight
l'Inconnu, to prove my worth, and my innocence, by force of
arms.”

“'Tis you who violate innocence by force,”
l'Inconnu stated loudly. “Beware, Eustace. You are in the wrong;
thus, you are doomed to lose this fight.”

“You are the one who is doomed!” With no
warning, without waiting for Royce's permission to begin the
contest, Eustace lowered his lance and swung it at l'Inconnu, who
ducked just in time. The lance whirled over his head and the black
horse sidestepped neatly, taking its rider out of the path of a
second swing of Eustace's lance.

“Halt!” Royce was on his feet, fist in the
air, signaling to the herald and to the men-at-arms who were
charged with keeping order. “Unfair! Stop this unlawful
combat!”

Three men-at-arms rode onto the field and
surrounded Eustace. One of them seized the lance, pulling it out of
his grasp, while the other two grabbed the reins of his warhorse.
Still mounted, Eustace was brought toward the stand to face
Royce.

“How dare you violate the rules of this
tournament?” Royce exclaimed. “You did not have my permission to
begin combat, and the use of your lance was most unknightly.”

“That so-called knight, who hides his face
and his name, insulted me!” Eustace cried. “I have a right to
defend my honor.”

“He challenged you by the rules clearly
stated before ever this tournament began,” Royce said. “You are in
the wrong here, and your unlawful actions suggest that l'Inconnu
was not insulting you, but merely stating the truth.”

“I did not give you leave to berate my son
before all these witnesses!” Hand on his sword hilt, Phelan turned
on Royce. Several women shrieked and scrambled to vacate the seats
between the two men.

“Sit down, Phelan.” Royce spared only a fast
glance for the enraged noble. “You are disturbing the ladies. I
will allow no more interruptions to the day's activities.

“Sir l'Inconnu,” Royce said, “Eustace has
wrongfully attacked you. Do you still wish to maintain your
challenge against him?”

“I do, my lord.”

“Very well, then. Eustace of Sutton, you no
longer have a choice. After what you have done, you must meet
l'Inconnu in combat. I will be watching you closely, and so will my
men-at-arms. If there is one more violation of the rules of this
tournament on your part, I will order the combat stopped at once.
You will be imprisoned and I will personally see to your
punishment. Do you understand the terms under which you will be
fighting?”

“I understand that you favor him,” Eustace
said in the surly way that Catherine remembered well from her
encounters with him during the previous winter. Once again, the
violence residing in Eustace’s soul was barely constrained by the
rules of knightly honor.

Without her conscious thought, Catherine
raised her left hand to her face. She recalled the confrontation
with Eustace about his abused wife’s decision to leave him, which
he blamed on Catherine. She could feel again the weight of his fist
connecting with her left cheek, and the sudden, slashing pain of
it. She had not revealed to her brother then, or to her father
later, or to Braedon, that Eustace was the brute who had dealt her
a blow so harsh that she was scarred for life as a result. If any
of those men learned what Eustace had done to her there would be
serious contention among them over who had the right to kill him.
Much as she despised Eustace, she did not want his blood on the
hands of anyone she cared about, so she had decided to keep
silent.

The only other person who knew who was to
blame was her friend and now her sister-in-law, Margaret of Sutton,
who was Phelan’s daughter and Eustace’s sister. Margaret had agreed
with Catherine’s decision in order to protect her family’s honor,
though she declared her deep shame at her brother’s act and swore
to have nothing more to do with him.

“I will not allow the combat!” Phelan
shouted, his rude words recalling Catherine to what was happening
around her.

“Eustace brought this contest on himself,”
Royce said. “Phelan, if you do not sit down and remain quiet, I
will have you removed from the stand.”

After casting a bitter look at Royce, Phelan
did as he was told. He sat grumbling and muttering to himself while
Royce completed the formalities of the contest between l'Inconnu
and Eustace.

The crowd was tense with expectation when the
two knights faced each other from opposite ends of the field.
Eustace's lance had been restored to him with a command from Royce
not to misuse it a second time.