Chapter 15
“I find it extremely suspicious that Lord Drayton’s pressing news from home changed precisely as you got better,” Batty said, pouring lukewarm water over Fay’s head.
She huddled in the tub, glad to be getting the last of her sickness off of her, but the water could have been hotter. She’d been a real diva about it, calling for two tubs, and now that she’d been thoroughly soaped and rinsed, she got out and hurried into the one that had clean water in it.
“Well, this isn’t as luxurious as I’d hoped,” she said. The water in that one had cooled off as well and she splashed the clean water over herself a few times then got out. “Experiment failed.”
Batty ignored her rambling. “What do you think of Lord Drayton staying?” she asked.
“I’m not as offended by it as you are, clearly,” Fay said.
She let Batty wrap her in a huge drying sheet, then collapsed onto her bed, cocooned in warmth at last. She was feeling loads better, but not yet at full strength, and her bath had worn her out. Two days after Sir Tristan had arrived—thanks to Batty, who’d sent a secret message to Brom—she’d turned a corner.
No one would let her out of bed until that morning, but no one seemed to think she was on the brink of death anymore. She was more grateful than she’d ever been that she’d made it through, and made a vow to take everything in her new time with due seriousness. No more gulping water of unknown origins. Boiled well water or mead for her from here on out.
Thinking how precarious life was made her think of Catherine and she felt fresh fear over her friend’s upcoming birth. As soon as she could walk more than ten steps without having to lean over and catch her breath, she’d visit with her friend and catch up on all the castle and village gossip.
Batty threw a blanket over her and made to leave, but Fay was sick of sleeping. “Don’t go, Batty, please. Stay and tell my why you don’t like Lord Drayton.”
Batty immediately pulled up a chair. “Do you like him?” she asked instead of answering.
Fay shrugged. “I don’t know. I barely got to speak three words to him before I got sick. But I think it’s nice he extended his stay in hopes to get to know me better.”
Batty made a gagging noise. “Don’t you mean, he decided to stay the amount of time he originally planned, but only when he realized you weren’t going to die?”
“People die,” Fay said, earning a scowl. “Some people aren’t strong when faced with illnesses.”
She knew that was the truth from when her aunt had been diagnosed and was in and out of hospital for her chemo treatments. She frequently went whenever Uncle Randolph couldn’t and her Aunt Terrie had pointed out another woman who was there all alone, getting the same treatment. It turned out her son sometimes came, but her husband never did. Aunt Terrie thought it was shameful, but the woman had defended him, saying he’d never been good when anyone in the family was sick. He was too tenderhearted and sensitive, she’d argued.
“Sir Tristan didn’t have a problem with it,” Batty said.
Fay shriveled slightly in her blanket nest, thinking about how wretched she must have looked during that visit. She’d spent half of it rambling about things she couldn’t remember because she’d thought she was dreaming. But he’d said she was beautiful, and she was positive it wasn’t a lie because he’d been so matter-of-fact about it. Now she was too warm and kicked away the extra blanket that covered her.
“That’s true, he didn’t,” she said dreamily. “Has Brom made any advances?” she asked, turning the tables on Batty.
Batty turned red and scurried to the window, suddenly intensely interested in the weather. “Look, Lady Fay, the first leaves of spring are here at last. It seems like they popped up overnight. I do love the first tender, green shoots. Such a short winter we had.” She turned back to Fay with a slight frown. “Did it snow only once? That one time around Martinmas that led us to believe it would be the fiercest winter we’d ever seen, and then not much else.”
Here was one of those moments where Fay hadn’t a clue and would either come across as a dingbat or someone with a faulty memory if she tried to answer, so she only shrugged noncommittally.
Batty was deadly serious in wanting her to look at the leaves, so Fay pulled herself out of bed, slowly making her way to the window. How she longed to be completely well again. She looked out through the slightly wavy glass window, something that she’d found out from Catherine was a luxury of the highest order, and one of the reasons her and Anne’s rooms were so cozy and bright. Most of the other windows had either some sort of wax-treated cloth stretched over them or nothing at all. Batty wouldn’t let her open it, sharing everyone’s fear of fresh air in this time.
Fay tried to remind herself the plague hadn’t been all that long ago and she wasn’t sure when the actual cause of it had been discovered. For all she knew, they still thought it came from some mysterious floating humors. She’d caught their healer, Great-uncle Edgar, talking about humors more than once, and she pictured them to look like angry ladybugs wielding devil pitchforks.
Indeed, as she peered down at the front courtyard, small patches of green were starting to spring up around the edges of the outer wall, and a spindly rogue tree that grew within its perimeter did have a few delicate shoots budding from its branches. The sky was Tristan-eyes blue, without a cloud as far as she could see.
“It is beautiful out there today,” she said. “I wish I could go out.”
“Not today, but perhaps tomorrow,” Batty told her, rivalling Anne in her prim authority. “I do hope you can because they’ll be having a jousting demonstration. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, and I wager Brom is very capable.” She gusted out a longing sigh. “It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper tournament nearby.”
Fay wanted to see Sir Tristan show off his jousting skills in a way she’d never wanted something before. It was stronger than Christmases when she was a little girl and couldn’t wait to see if she’d gotten what she’d put at the top of her list. She would go so far as to allow the indignity of being hauled out by Gunther if she had to. They could put her in a barrow and wheel her to the grounds if that’s what it took. Imagining Tristan leaning over the neck of the horse, those powerful thighs of his gripping its sides, the lance—oh, goodness. The lance. She had a flashback to the bath, remembering his thighs first hand and everything else about him.
“I’ll be well enough,” she said breathlessly. It wasn’t because of her illness, but she let Batty believe it was and allowed her help to get back into bed. “Don’t you worry, Batty. We’ll see the jousting. I wouldn’t miss that for all the world.”
*
Her heart was a lot more chipper than her body the next day and Gunther had to carry her down the stairs. Anne walked beside her, with a look on her face that clearly said “Not so fun, is it?” It wasn’t. But she’d take the embarrassment of being carried down the long, winding stairs and out through the courtyard if it meant she’d get to see the ultimate in medieval knight fighting action. She was beginning to think she had a problem. But when Tristan was there, the training was so lively and everyone worked so much harder than when it was old Sir Knobby (who she’d found out was a cousin from her late mother’s side) instructing them.
“Are we leaving the castle grounds?” she squealed, when everyone paused at the gates, making sure they had everything they needed for the excursion.
It was much like going on a modern day road trip and Fay found herself grinning with anticipation. She hadn’t been outside the castle walls since she’d driven up to the ruins in her own time. Batty and Marjorie had everything they’d been allotted to carry, extra blankets and a basket with snacks. The other servants carried what looked to be the makings of a portable tent, complete with wooden poles and great swathes of fabric, chairs, more baskets of food and jugs of ale and wine. It was enough to go on a weeklong excursion, but it turned out they didn’t have to go too far past the gates.
“Gunther, thank you, but I think I can manage now,” she said, wanting to venture outside the walls on her own two feet. He only let her down when Anne nodded it was all right and he kept a firm grip on her arm. With only a slight scowl, she accepted the help, not wanting to be too tired to enjoy the festivities on such a lovely day.
When they first stepped out, she half-expected to see the muddy, makeshift parking lot and the tarmac road in the near distance. Instead, it was the smooth, packed-dirt lane that led down the hill through a vast open expanse, with the river running to the west and nothing but fallow farmland in the other direction. Around the back of the castle was a long, flat expanse leading all the way out to the river, then extending into the forest that reached as far as Fay could see.
There weren’t half the trees in her time that there were now and it fairly took her breath away. Seeing all of them crowded together like dark sentinels guarding their secret lair made her understand why it would be so easy for people of this time to believe in faeries and unicorns and other magical creatures. The entirety of the place had such an otherworldly aura about it, with the castle looming opposite, she felt foolish for not believing in them. After she got her fill of the woods, she turned and looked back at the castle, gasping at its glory.
“Are you all right, dear?” Anne asked.
“Yes, fine,” she said, waving her and Gunther away.
She took a few more steps back to really take it in. This was the first time she was seeing it from the outside in all its entirety. It was far too large a place to see it all within the walls and, even then, she’d found it impressive. It took her breath away, but she kept quiet about it so Anne wouldn’t have a conniption and send her home.
She was a bit disoriented, but figured out which of the two towers she and Anne shared. The other was at least two stories higher and she’d never been up in it. Catherine had assured her it wasn’t for holding prisoners. “That’s what the dungeon’s for,” she’d said, shaking her head at Fay’s continued ignorance of her own home. Since then, she’d searched around as best she could without some helpful servant redirecting her, but she hadn’t yet found the elusive dungeon.
She turned slightly to take in the crenellated walkway that ran at midlevel of the castle, between the two towers, several feet above the level of the outer wall. The wall itself looked so much more foreboding from this side, rising impossibly high on its already elevated spot atop the hill. The chalky grays and beiges of the stones almost sparkled in the hard, early sunlight. The place was absolutely gorgeous, even more beautiful than Uncle Randolph’s paintings of what historians surmised it must have looked like before it became mostly a pile of rubble.
That hit her straight in the heart, thinking of what it was to become. Fay wondered fearfully when its destruction had taken place or if it was only the slow erosion of time. She was shocked that she now thought of the place as her home and felt real sadness thinking about its future demise. She still grew bitter sometimes about her circumstances, but it wasn’t the fault of the castle. It was under the same curse she was.
It won’t happen for ages yet, she reminded herself. And you get to live here now, that’s something to be grateful for.
That was another shocking realization. She did feel grateful to get to live in this magnificent place, to, however strangely, get to be a part of its history. She wondered if Uncle Randolph would ever read about her in a book, but never know it was her who was mentioned.
She didn’t want to venture down that sad road on such a perfect day. It was spring at last, and she was about to witness some actual jousting. With her initial awe somewhat abated, she noticed some of the boys were already out on the flat area, scuffling amongst themselves. She saw Sir Knobby trying to keep them in order, but no sign of Tristan anywhere.
The servants had their tent set up in no time flat and she sat down in one of the chairs with Anne on one side and Batty directly behind her, leaning forward eagerly. Marjorie sat beside Batty but had brought her stitching with her, steadfastly refusing to enjoy the spectacle, having already voiced her poor opinion of knights and their barbaric violence. They’d ignored her as usual.
“Good morning, Lady Fay, it’s such a pleasure and relief to see you well again.”
Lord Drayton took the chair beside her and smiled, his eyes flitting over her as if to assess the damage. She pushed that uncharitable thought from her mind, determined not to be poisoned by Batty’s clear preference of Tristan for her. She didn’t have the luxury of dismissing any suitor if she stood a chance to break the curse. And now that he was in front of her again, she remembered just how appealing Lord Drayton was.
“I’m glad you could extend your visit,” she said, nodding graciously. She heard Batty snort behind her.
He nodded seriously. “As am I. It seems the same marauders who attacked the land to the north of you were seen in the vicinity of my property. I found it hard to believe that they’d venture so far, but another holding confirmed it.”
“My goodness,” she said, turning slightly to give Batty a look. “If there’s danger to your property, then why did you stay?”
“They were soundly routed by Sir Christophe’s men and sent on their way north again, so the men I have with me now weren’t needed at home after all.”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” she said, but worried that they might try to take Dernier Keep, sending Tristan away again. “Who are they? Do you know?” She’d still been hazy from her illness when Tristan had spoken to her about it, but she thought she remembered him having a bad feeling about them.
He shook his head. “Savages from the north, men without clans most certainly, hoping to gain through taking what isn’t theirs.”
“The way of all knights,” Marjorie muttered.
Anne turned and gave her a quick reproof, then apologized to Lord Drayton, making Fay wonder how he’d come across the ownership of his own lands. She would have given anything to have paid more, or really any, attention during her history classes.
“No, your maid has mostly the right of it,” Lord Drayton said magnanimously.
Fay was not only impressed by his kindness, but his forward thinking way of not immediately dismissing the opinion of a woman who was also a servant. A double whammy to most, but Fay knew Marjorie wasn’t a fool, so she was pleased to see that Lord Drayton treated the maid with respect.
“This fine kingdom, as we know it, was built by a man who took what he wanted with force,” he said. “We who now have the keeping of its lands have to do the same. It is important to recall that we have the grace of our good King behind us, though.” He gave a world weary sigh. “I must admit that I long for the day that it isn’t so, and we can be more at peace and less at arms.”
Fay tried not laugh. That day wasn’t coming for a good long while, if ever. She liked his speech though and snuck a glance at Marjorie, who looked like she wanted to sign up for Lord Drayton’s fan club. Finding a man who had peaceful aspirations and treated women as equals should have been an impossibility, but here was one. Fay looked at him more seriously when she turned back to him. And he was really very handsome to boot.
A trumpet sounded and they all craned their necks in that direction. “Here come the savages,” Marjorie said, returning to her needlework.
“It’s almost like a real tournament,” Batty squeaked, bouncing forward in her chair. She gasped. “Oh, I almost forgot. I was speaking to Sir Knobby after supper last night and he said a tourney should be coming to Bimford Village this summer. Isn’t that wonderful? The last one was so long ago I barely remember it.”
Fay wasn’t an expert in the area, since her uncle had only lived there a year. When she’d visited, she’d been preoccupied with helping Aunt Terrie. Still, she didn’t know of any Bimford Village in her own time. It had probably been absorbed into one of the larger towns or died out altogether.
“That’s right,” Anne said, looking excited by the prospect as well. “It has been ages. How old was I, fifteen? And Bimford is a safe distance so I’m certain Father will let us go.”
Fay felt a bit of a jolt at that, knowing there’d been a reference to a tournament in her instruction book. It had mostly been crossed out, but she made a mental note to look it up again and confirm. It didn’t make her feel confident that the curse had been in place for so long that a reference to an event in her book was a distant memory to everyone. She was twenty-three for goodness’ sake, practically ancient in terms of being marriageable. Had the others given up because they’d been declared official spinsters? On the shelf and off the market, so they had no choice but to give up and let some new blood give it a go?
Thankfully, the trumpet heralded the knights and squires riding toward the jousting area in full armor, their horses decked out in colorful finery. She gave up worrying about the curse for the moment.
The pages lined up at attention as Sir Tristan, Brom, Sir Knobby, her father, and more of the squires trotted past their little pavilion, their helmets under their arms so they could greet their audience.
“Father looks so handsome,” Anne said proudly.
He did, indeed, but Fay found she only had eyes for Tristan. Everyone did a turn around the field after parading past, then stopped in a neat line, dismounting as one. It almost brought a tear to her eye as he found her and caught her eye. A quick, almost imperceptible smile twitched the corners of his lips and her heart fluttered, knowing it was for her. The sun glinted off his hair as the soft waves rustled in the mild breeze and she wanted to brush it off his face, run her fingers through it. It took all her willpower not to lean forward in her chair like Batty was doing as she found Brom in the lineup.
“I can’t wait,” Batty breathed. Fay silently agreed, trying to maintain her dignity, though inside she was waving and shouting and jumping up and down.
The first group to go was comprised of Sir Walter’s younger squires, lads of fourteen or so who tried with all their might to appear manly. They didn’t have fitted armor, having never yet gone to battle, but were decked out with chest plates and helmets. Their horses pawed at the dirt as their helpers adjusted their hold on the blunt-tipped wooden lances. She saw Sir Tristan giving some last minute instruction to one of the boys, then nodding encouragingly as he backed away.
A page stood in the middle of the field with a flag, making Fay think of car racing. He waved the flag and tore out of the way as the two horses thundered toward each other. Fay couldn’t help it. She leaned forward, noting that Anne did the same.
“Awwwww,” everyone under their tent groaned at the same time when neither kid succeeded in hitting the other.
She’d never felt such disappointment that someone hadn’t been knocked from a horse. Those were children out there and she wanted one of them to be knocked out of his saddle by a pointy, wooden stick. With a small sigh, she accepted this new bloodlust and waited impatiently while they set up again.
“They seem to have a good grip, but their aim was slightly off,” Lord Drayton said. “Would you care to place a small wager on who will win it?” He grinned at her, showing a bit of mischief. Or a gambling problem.
“It’ll be Thomas,” Anne said, not taking her eyes off the field. “Bet a copper on Thomas and you won’t lose, Fay.”
With Anne’s permission to partake in the friendly wager, Fay bet a penny on Thomas. As promised, she won when poor Nicholas took Thomas’ lance in the shoulder and went flying. He bounded right back up again and only limped slightly as he made his way off the field in disgrace.
After several more fruitless attempts by the squires, Fay lost interest in watching them miss and have to get ready again and again. After all, it was for training and not specifically to entertain them. She was being more than adequately entertained by Lord Drayton. He made her laugh a few times. But he never asked a single question, which she might have taken as rude in her own time. Since she couldn’t actually speak about her old life, and hardly knew anything about her new one, however, she found it relaxing not to have to think very hard.
About an hour passed pleasantly this way when Batty flung herself forward so passionately, she nearly shoved Fay out of her chair. “This is it, this is it,” she said, squeezing Fay’s shoulder. “Sir Tristan will square off against Brom.”
“Finally, the real deal,” Anne said.
Fay continued to be surprised by her new sister, who she’d never dreamed would be so interested in jousting or so knowledgeable about it. Fay had won every bet she’d made with Lord Drayton due to Anne’s shrewd counsel.
Everyone on the field had been waiting for this moment as well, for they lined up and cheered as Tristan and Brom made a showy trip around the field on their horses. Lord Drayton said something to her she couldn’t hear over her pounding heart, and she didn’t dare look away for fear of missing a second of Tristan doing what he did best.
“If only he’d put on an archery display for us,” Anne said. “You should ask him, Fay. It would be so interesting.”
“I’ve always found archery to be beneath the station of a knight,” Lord Drayton said.
Fay and Anne both cast him dark looks and Fay noticed his previous good cheer had gone missing since they all only had eyes for Tristan and Brom. She didn’t want to lose his favor, but she really couldn’t miss the main event they’d been waiting all morning for. A real joust by men who were skilled warriors.
“Brom says archery is to be the wave of the future,” Batty said.
This time, Lord Drayton wasn’t as amicable toward an opposing opinion and ignored her, looking sourly at the men as they completed their round. Brom made his way to his end of the field but, to Fay’s complete surprise, Sir Tristan pulled his horse up in front of their tent. He made a graceful hand gesture toward her.
“My lady Fay, I shall win this for you,” he said before trotting to his side.
She looked at Anne, who reached out and pressed Fay’s chin upward, effectively closing her gaping mouth, then smiled knowingly, albeit sadly. Batty pounded on her back, then quickly apologized, recalling Fay had been close to death only a week before.
“It’s all for fun,” Anne said. “Please settle yourself, Batilda.”
“Now he just has to win it,” Marjorie groused, but she put her sewing aside, eyes trained on the field.
“Oh, I wanted Brom to win, but now how can I?” Batty said. “Lady Fay, you should have given him a token.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Drayton cut in sharply. Then he said with forced calm, “As Lady Anne has said, it’s only a jest. It’s not a real tournament, only training. I rather wonder now that I haven’t wasted the better part of my day.”
Fay didn’t have time to figure out how she felt about Lord Drayton’s sudden poor attitude. She supposed acting jealous was a good sign and that she should say something to put him at ease but, at the moment, she didn’t give a bag of beans about his feelings. She leaned forward, part out of eagerness, part because Batty pressed heavily against her shoulder. She reached up and grabbed Batty’s hand. Both their men faced off against one another. What would be the outcome?
Wait, had she just considered Sir Tristan her man? Nothing was set in stone and, like Anne said and Lord Drayton had so bitterly reiterated, Tristan was only playing. Wasn’t he?
The horses took off, much faster and with more ferocity than any of the young squires’ mounts and everyone, even Lord Drayton, drew in a breath. It was over in the blink of an eye, with Brom ten feet from his horse on the ground, Tristan’s lance pulverized, the pages jumping and shouting with glee.
Her father caught her eye from where he stood near Sir Tristan’s and Lord Drayton’s men, and winked. She wondered if he thought the romantic announcement was a joke. She’d thought he approved of Tristan until Drayton showed up, but now she wasn’t sure who he favored.
“Quite impressive,” Anne said.
Batty babbled her agreement, gushing about Sir Tristan’s ability for a solid twenty seconds. “I was certain Brom would win. He’s bragged about his prowess, but Sir Tristan blasted him from his horse. I can’t wait to tease him about it.”
“Be careful,” Marjorie said. “Fragile egos can lead to things getting broken.”
“Brom doesn’t have a bit of ego,” Batty said. “If he’s not in terrible pain, I’m certain he’ll be laughing as well.”
“He looks to be standing up all right,” Lord Drayton said. “And it was an impressive match. I wonder how he’d do against my knight Sir Ulrich.” He pointed to a burly man that Fay remembered from the parade of knights he’d brought with him. He was taller than his horse at the ears and almost as wide. “I’ve never seen him lose.” He shouted for Ulrich to come over to where they sat and the giant ambled over at once.
“Lord Drayton,” he said with a slight bow, also tipping his head at the ladies.
“Challenge Sir Tristan,” he said imperiously. “The man obviously thinks very highly of his skills, but I was telling the ladies here that I’ve never seen you unhorsed.”
Fay thought she saw a hint of a frown darken Sir Ulrich’s face, but he nodded, bowed again, and backed away. A moment later, he loudly announced his challenge. They’d already been out practicing for hours with the squires, and the last joust between Sir Tristan and Brom had meant to be the finale for the spectators. Servants were already setting up long plank tables and loading them up with food. After only a brief hesitation, Tristan turned to the tent. He caught Fay’s eye instantly since she hadn’t taken her eyes off him once since he dismounted his horse.
Do it, she silently pleaded. And send him flying even further than you sent Brom.
Something about Lord Drayton’s last second challenge reeked of poor sportsmanship, bordering on outright babyish behavior. Her stomach was finally sending her ravenous hunger signals after being out of commission for so long and she wanted to get the show on the road so she could eat.
Sir Tristan smiled at her and, just as loudly, accepted the challenge. He was already heading back to his horse. A squire hurried to bring him a new lance and the two knights paired off.
“It’s one thing to lose against a squire,” Lord Drayton said. “Another to meet your equal or better on the field.”
Both Fay and Batty scowled at him. Anne was too busy practically hanging off her seat, her lips silently moving as if she were praying. For Sir Tristan to win, or that he wouldn’t get hurt? It occurred to Fay how dangerous all of it was. Even with the blunted points, getting tossed off your horse at a full gallop couldn’t be fun. Fear snaked up her spine as she envisioned Sir Tristan’s neck breaking, his skull being crushed within his helmet. She almost stood up and screamed at them to stop.
It was too late. The furious race toward each other had already begun and, like the showdown with Brom, it was over in a blink of the eye. Neither man fell from his horse, but Tristan’s lance was in pieces.
“Oh no,” she said disappointedly, wishing he had won.
“No, no, he still won,” Anne said. “Sir Ulrich didn’t even touch him and Sir Tristan broke his lance cleanly on his shoulder. It’s only because he’s so big he wasn’t knocked off.”
“Not if we do the full four courses,” Lord Drayton argued doggedly. “They should—”
“Lord Drayton, my sister has been ill,” Anne said. She had a look on her face that Fay didn’t think even Lord Drayton could continue to argue with. “She must eat, and since this was only for training the boys, and the final matches were only in fun, surely you must agree to the outcome.”
He pressed his lips together, but finally nodded, smiling widely. “It’s too bad. I thought I might finally win back all I lost to Lady Fay.”
Fay was glad to see his good mood was restored, too hungry and tired to be able to put up with his competitive streak if it had continued. She let him lead her to the benches, finding that sitting for so long had worn her out. She’d grown weak doing nothing but sleeping all day while she was ill, and needed to regain her strength. It further grated on her strained nerves to find herself exhausted from doing practically nothing.
Her father intercepted them, starting up a barrage of technical questions for Lord Drayton, wanting to know his opinion on the squires he and Sir Knobby were training. Lord Drayton looked longingly at Fay as Anne took over invalid watch, but Fay was too tired to care and let Anne lead her to a seat. She collapsed onto the hard bench, the twenty yard stroll having almost completely depleted her resources. She had to fight putting her head on her arms and taking a little nap.
A moment later, Sir Tristan sat beside her. He’d removed most of his armor and sat in the balmy air in his breeches and tunic, which nicely showed off his muscular arms and thighs. All her exhaustion whisked away on the spring breeze when he smiled at her.
“My lady. I hope you enjoyed the demonstration?”
“It was riveting,” she said, completely honest. “I even made a bit of money.”
He laughed raucously as if she’d told the most hilarious joke ever. She liked hearing it, and seeing him in his element. “The lads are sorely lacking, so I’m pleased to hear it didn’t bore or frustrate you to watch them.”
“Not at all. And I greatly enjoyed watching you show your skill,” she said.
He shrugged modestly. “I know I’m a bit better than Brom since we’ve trained together for so long. That was mostly a bit of showing off, in hopes to impress you.”
She nodded, unable to take her eyes off him. Any thought of acting coy or pretending she wasn’t impressed would have been impossible. It was the same as not wanting to be late to their first and only rendezvous. She found she could only be completely open and candid with him. Well, as much as was possible under her strange circumstances.
“Very much impressed. Especially the second round.” She glanced around and found that Lord Drayton was still occupied with her father. “I thought it fairly unsportsmanlike for Lord Drayton to call you out like that, so I’m glad you won. He wanted another—what did he say? Four rounds?”
Sir Tristan nodded. “Yes, tournament rules. To be honest, if I thought you ladies weren’t suffering from hunger, I wouldn’t have minded. I wish I had unhorsed him, but that’s just my pride. It’s a fault of mine,” he said with a shy duck of his head.
It was all she could do to keep from grabbing him and hugging him; it was such an adorable admission. She wanted to think of a fault of her own to share, but felt like he must already think she had enough shortcomings from when she’d acted like an idiot around him the first time they’d met.
“I was starving, so I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
She recalled Lord Drayton hadn’t been so thoughtful. But Tristan smiling at her, causing a slight crinkling at the corners of his brilliant, blue eyes, shoved Lord Drayton straight out of her thoughts. It only gave her a slight pause to have to admit to herself that meant Lord Drayton was out of the running to fall in love with. If he’d ever really been in it. How could anyone compete for her heart when Sir Tristan was around?
He reached for the bread basket and held it for her while she took a chunk. The servants came around and filled their plates with cold meat, dried fish, cheeses, and some sort of over-baked root vegetable. As much as she wanted to dig in, finally feeling hungry again, she was wary of giving herself a relapse, so she nibbled daintily at each thing, pausing to see how her stomach felt after every bite.
“You spoke of tournament rules?” she asked, while she waited to see how her dried fish settled in.
He looked delighted that she was interested. “Four courses,” he said, after swallowing a healthy bite of cold ham. “If we’d done it that way, Sir Ulrich may have had his chance to redeem himself. He’s a big one.”
“You’re plenty big,” she said, feeling her face heat up. Visions of the bath danced in her head and what he’d felt like after she “fell” in. “I mean, if that matters in jousting.”
“It matters,” he told her. “I don’t want to bore you, Lady Fay. I’m very much enjoying your company. Please don’t feel like you have to ask me questions that don’t interest you. You could be silent and I’d be just as content.”
She gaped at him. “Are you telling me to shut up?”
She’d been having such a good time, too. She recalled in the book the adamant note advising against knights as a valid love option and began to see there might have been a reason for it to be added.
Color rose in his face and he shook his head hard enough to send wavy strands of soft, shiny hair into it. He brushed it away and, as annoyed as she was by him at that moment, she envied his hand. Then she was more annoyed with herself for getting distracted by his incredible manly beauty when she needed to recall he’d just told her to be silent.
“No, Lady Fay. I swear that wasn’t my intent.” He slapped his forehead, causing two of their dining companions to look his way. He made them go back to their meals with a fierce glare. “I only—I meant it as a compliment to your lovely, fine countenance, and because I truly feared if I rattled too long on the subject of the joust, that you’d think I was a terrible bore.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “As I once told you, I lack experience in gentle company. I’m more used to bashing heads, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re very good at making apologies,” she said, smiling at him. Once again, he was completely forgiven. “You’re quite good at bashing hearts, too. Or at least melting them.”
She wanted to pinch herself for saying it, but it was out and it was the truth. Hers had been completely turned to mush at his awkward, sincere words. She made herself promise not to have such a short temper around him.
He laughed at that, clearly relieved, and leaned even closer. It was to the point that another hairsbreadth closer and they were going to raise some eyebrows. As it was, she was sure Batty and Anne were going to have some things to say when they were back at the castle.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said. “It’s only one heart I wish to melt.”
She felt altogether too warm and could almost feel the warning looks she must be getting from Anne. As much as she wanted to close her eyes and tip her chin back, waiting for a kiss from Sir Tristan, she edged away. He nodded briskly and straightened up, covering his embarrassment with a mouthful of food. She followed suit and, by the time she was done chewing, she felt enough of her equilibrium had returned to speak again.
“I was honestly interested in learning about jousting,” she said, earning herself another of his glowing smiles. “I’ve heard there’s to be a tournament this summer, and that we might be able to go.”
“If you are to go, I will be certain to compete.”
“And will you fight for me there, as well?” she asked, feeling shaky as she waited for his answer.
He paused with another bite of ham skewered on his knife, halfway to his lips. He put the knife down and turned to her, his face completely serious. The sun was warm but she shivered.
“Always,” he said solemnly. Once again, he leaned closer and she wondered if they might have some kind of magnetic pull toward each other. Despite propriety and being surrounded by others, they couldn’t seem to keep from wanting to touch. “Would you meet me again? Tonight?”
Her eyes widened at the bold proposal and she felt a desire so strong it made her gasp. She moved her hand carefully along the bench until it rested against his leg and he slid his hand from his lap to rest on top of hers. It was the barest touch but it shook through her as if he were electrified. It seemed like ages when they had last touched and she longed for more, hating the sunny day and the cheery crowd of people surrounding them now. The intimacy of night sounded perfect.
“Yes,” she said simply. She meant to suggest their spot by the stream but, with her luck, it would rain for the first time in weeks, and she wasn’t sure how well patrolled the wall was at night. “I’ll come to your chamber,” she whispered.
He blinked and she was afraid she’d scandalized him. But when his eyes opened, they’d darkened to a midnight hue and dropped to her lips for a second before meeting her gaze again. He moved his hand away, the brush of his fingers along her skin sending more shockwaves through her. Such a simple touch, yet it made her crave more.
With a slight nod, he turned back to his food with a huge grin that made her feel oddly satisfied with herself for putting it on his face. She shivered slightly with anticipation, wondering what she’d gotten herself in to. She couldn’t wait to find out.