Chapter 21
Tristan stared at his flickering candle before returning to the maps in front of him. He should have been outside on the training field, either praising or shouting at his men. But here he was, stewing over maps. There were many new responsibilities that he’d had to get used to doing, such as visiting the farmers. He’d done that the day before and now he was worried about the incessant rain, something he’d never thought to worry about before. Now, his concerns ran the gamut from not getting his rents to another famine sweeping the land.
Another thing he’d been stewing about was the disturbing news that finally reached his far-flung lands. He tried to push it out of his mind and concentrate on the maps, but found they were a mass of useless squiggles in his state. He’d been threatening to knight Brom for at least two years, but his squire had balked each time, insisting he liked the simple life he currently led.
“I would be grateful to continue to serve you until one of us dies. May it be me who goes first, of course,” he’d said, maddeningly ingratiating.
Now, though, Brom had been mildly hinting at it and Tristan knew it had to do with his infatuation with Batty. Thinking of Lady Fay’s maid brought Lady Fay to his mind, which brought the disturbing news back to the front as well. He gave up on trying to pick out a small tract of land to bestow upon Brom when he knighted him and trudged to the small slot window.
One of his squires, a promising young man of eighteen, hurled an axe perfectly. It landed with a satisfying thunk in its target and he could hear the smatter of applause from his prison. He had a steward now. He would assign that poor man the task of choosing some land appropriate for Brom. The way he’d seen Batty looking at his squire, it could end up being the worst bit of marsh and she’d still be happy to live there with him. He’d never do that to Brom though, nor would he ever admit he wished he’d seen a similar look on Fay’s face, only aimed in his own direction.
He cursed everything leading up to him stewing in his chamber at that moment. He should have returned to Grancourt Castle, should have sent a message, but when he’d learned of the news … It had been a crushing blow, much like what he wished to give Lord Drayton.
So the man had won Fay’s hand after all. He hadn’t wanted to believe it when he first heard the gossip that traveled with minstrels and tradesmen, but it had been circulating for so long now, it had to be true or Sir Walter would have publicly refuted it.
“What are you stewing about now?”
He turned to find Brom standing in the doorway and reconsidered the marshland. The man was eerie with his ability to read his thoughts. “The weather. The tenants.”
“Lady Fay’s engagement to Lord Drayton?” Brom asked with a smirk.
“What?” Tristan played dumb. “I hadn’t heard such a thing.”
“Batty swears it isn’t true and it will be proven at the tournament.”
“Which we won’t be going to,” Tristan said.
He wanted to believe what Batty told Brom was true, but it was probably a silly maiden’s wish that her mistress wouldn’t be unhappy. Another thing he wanted to believe was that Fay didn’t want to marry Drayton, but her father had decided it would be a better match. Tristan laughed bitterly to himself. Even he knew it was a better match. Yes, he wanted to believe that, but he knew it wasn’t true. Fay had told him to wait to speak to her father, but had given Lord Drayton express permission to go ahead. That made it clear to him what life she wanted.
To save himself the pain her rejection caused him, he comforted himself that perhaps her mental degeneration had caused her to be confused. Maybe she didn’t know what she wanted. In all honesty, those thoughts only hurt more. He’d wanted to save her from her deadly habits and had failed. Now she was lost to him forever.
“What do you mean we won’t be going? The men will rise up against you for this, see if they don’t.”
“What’s so special about this tournament?” Tristan asked, almost wanting his men to try and say a word out of line. He was in the mood to crack some heads. “They moaned and complained at being dragged to the last one.”
“That was because the last one’s prizes were so stingy. Take a look at this proclamation. The prizes for this one, especially the main purse, could make a man’s fortune for a good long time.”
He waved the sheet of parchment until Tristan took it and smoothed it on his table. The headline was large and showy, then there was a dark scrawl of letters smashed together in seemingly endless lines. No wonder this activity caused Lady Fay to go mad. It was making him want to throw something after only ten seconds. He skimmed until he came to a row of numbers and his eyebrows shot up.
“That is, indeed, impressive,” he said, feeling his resolve swaying. He couldn’t keep his men from trying for such amounts of gold and silver. “Who is confirmed to compete? Do any of the men stand a chance at these prizes?”
Brom rattled off a list of names and Tristan nodded, his own competitive juices beginning to flow. He knew he was better than most of them, as were Brom and several of his other squires. “You could beat half those men in your sleep,” he said to Brom.
“Exactly why we all want to go so badly. Sir Drayton will also be there, with several of his knights competing. If you don’t go, he’ll spread the news that you’re afraid to face his men in a proper setting. You know he’s still upset you broke a lance on that giant of his.”
If Lord Drayton was going there, so too would Lady Fay. As much as he wanted to completely defeat the one, seeing the other might mean his own demise. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of his hands against her skin. Fresh anger arose. She’d shared herself with him, then chosen another who had more land and money. He would put her from his mind as surely as if he’d never known her and win against Lord Drayton, at least on the tournament field. As much as that other man seemed to hate to lose, that would have to be enough. Tristan would make it enough.
“We’ll go to the tournament,” he said. He gave up on the maps for the moment and gestured for his squire to go ahead of him. “Let us practice well, for complete and utter victory.”
He would settle for nothing less than to crush each and every one of Lord Drayton’s men, revenge for his crushed heart.