Chapter 22
Fay’s bum hurt but her spirits were high as the massive entourage of Sir Walter and his family made their way to the tournament. This would be the last day of riding. They’d get to stay in a friend’s home in Bimford Village instead of another manky inn. She didn’t know where the men would end up staying, but they seemed adept at finding places to rest their heads. The rain had let up a few days before they departed and, while the weather could in no way be called pleasant, they were dry when they were on their horses. The poor horses and the men on foot had to slog through all the leftover mud, which made their journey slower than it should have been, according to Anne.
“It’s a shame the inn in Gordham had so depreciated,” she said, rubbing her back as she stretched in the saddle. “I do declare it would have been more comfortable to sleep in the barn on the hay than it was on that lumpy mattress.”
“You may be right, Lady Anne,” Batty agreed from her pony, several feet behind them. “I slept on the floor and I feel fine this morning. Lady Fay, do you recall the fine breakfast we had the last time we all traveled through this area and stayed at the Gordham? It was barely more than greasy sausage and day old bread this time.”
“Shameful,” Fay said, trying to crack her own back.
While she had no such recollection of the last trip through, the stay at the Gordham the night before hadn’t been pleasant. She’d been spoiled with the extreme attention to cleanliness and comfort at Grancourt Castle and was shocked to get a more realistic taste of medieval hospitality. On top of the lumpy mattresses, she was completely out of shape when it came to riding. They’d gone eight hours the first day, six the second and, according to Anne, “only” had five more to go today. That was what they considered a short journey.
Despite the aches and pains, she couldn’t wait to see the splendor of the tournament. She’d been soaking in the others’ reminiscences as they rode, and knew they would have a special box of honor to sit in while they watched the competitions. If it was anything like Batty and Marjorie remembered the last tournament they all went to, it would either be festooned with bunting and roses or ivy and banners. Anne thought it was a platform with a snowy white tent shading them from the sun but, no matter how they remembered it, they all agreed those moments were some of the best days of their lives.
“Do you think another knight will fall in love with you, Anne?” Batty asked.
Marjorie scowled and tried to reach from her horse to pinch Batty, but was too far away. Fay nearly gave herself whiplash turning around to get the story.
“A knight fell in love with Anne? Who was it? What happened?” She immediately clamped her lips together. As usual, she recalled too late that it was something she probably ought to know already. There was nothing she could do to backtrack. She took the concerned stares and head shaking until Batty started to tell the story.
“It was Sir Harold of Kings Way Keep, almost as far south as London,” she said. “He was a bit older, but so handsome and refined. His beard was the most beautiful shade of golden red, and his hair was a bit darker, and he wore it shorter than the fashion—you don’t remember any of this at all?”
“There’s nothing to remember,” Anne snapped, turning to shake her head at Batty. “It was nothing at all.”
Fay saw her swallow and turn to the side, pretending to be fascinated by the same kind of trees they’d been tramping past for two days. She raised a brow at Batty, who just shrugged and shook her head. Fay burned with curiosity to know what had happened to Sir Harold, the sexy older ginger who’d had a crush on her sister. It was obviously something to make Anne snap at Batty like that.
They rode in silence from then on. For a while, Fay got lost in the scenery, then was distracted by her numb legs. When the town could finally be seen from the top of a hill, she began to worry what would happen when her father confronted Lord Drayton.
Sir Walter had assured her there was nothing to be concerned about, that he would see to it that anyone who’d heard about her so-called engagement had been outright deceived by Lord Drayton. She had feared Lord Drayton would make life difficult for her father, what with his favor with the King and his importance in the region. Sir Walter had tutted and said he had plenty of his own favor and importance. He added that what was worth far more, he had the true loyalty of many old, powerful friends.
“I gained that trust through showing myself worthy of it,” Sir Walter had said, without a hint of boasting. “Those that matter will not think ill of us.”
She’d appreciated that he’d said us, since it was really all on her for not nipping it in the bud the moment Lord Drayton asked for her hand. The curse made her crazy and she thought she had to keep every option open, when all the while she’d known she’d never love the man.
Thinking of love always brought Tristan to her mind and, with the village gates only a stone’s throw away, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d run into him at the tournament. Batty assured her through her correspondence with Brom that they would all be there, competing for the hefty prizes. She knew she’d see him on the field during the games. There was no way she could keep her eyes from him, even if she tried. But would he seek her out to speak to her? Could she work up the courage to find him, propriety be damned? She hoped she could find the courage, because she had a very good feeling she would be damned if she didn’t get another chance with him.
As they rode through the town, most of the men dispersed, leaving Sir Walter, his squire, old Roric the chamberlain who couldn’t have been kept away from the fun, and the girls to carry on to Sir Walter’s old friend Lady Heloise’s home. It had taken some piecing together, but Fay finally worked out Lady Heloise was a half-cousin of her late mother’s, or rather, Sir Walter’s late wife. Fay had grown so comfortable with them, she often forgot she wasn’t actually a part of the family.
Heloise had been married to and outlived three husbands, each one richer than the last, and her house was huge, taking up an entire block in the bustling village. Fay couldn’t let her eyes rest for a moment for fear of missing something. Permanent shops and makeshift stalls lined the lanes. People called out advertisements and ran along beside them, trying to get their attention. Signs and banners for the tournament were everywhere and, as soon as Sir Walter got them settled with Lady Heloise, he took off to check out the playing fields.
Their hostess was an imposing looking woman, with hints of raven black hair peeking out from her mantle. Her clothes and the furnishings in her house were the finest Fay had seen and, for the first time in a long while, she thought of Uncle Randolph with a pang. How he would have loved seeing all of it. An idea hit her like a lightning bolt. She would begin writing her own book, specifically for Uncle Randolph. If he was still trying to restore the castle, he might find it and know that she hadn’t really died back in her old time. It was a long shot, but she determined to get started as soon as they were back home.
“It’s so good to see you two lovely girls again,” Heloise said, hugging her and Anne for the third time. “You don’t visit often enough.”
She led them to the room they’d be staying in. It was a gorgeously-appointed guest suite with a huge four-poster bed, several luxurious padded chairs, intricate wood carvings, and a vibrant tapestry on the wall. The maid’s chamber was only slightly smaller and connected through a side door, much as their rooms at home. Anne hurried to the tapestry, smiling.
“I made this one when I was only ten,” she said. “I must give you a better one. I promise I’ve greatly improved since then.”
“I would cherish another tapestry, Anne,” Heloise said. “But you’ll never convince me that one isn’t perfect.” She smiled and promised them refreshments before leaving them to rest and freshen up.
Fay strolled around the room, running her fingers over the rich furnishings. She’d been anxious Lady Heloise would denounce her as an imposter, but apparently the curse followed her around or it affected Lady Heloise because she was a relation. A huge platter overflowing with food appeared shortly after they settled in and, as if by magic, as soon as they were done eating, servants brought in a bath, which was quickly filled with buckets of steaming hot water. It was more efficient than any volunteer fire department could have ever hoped. After they were scrubbed and changed, they fell onto the bed, exhausted and stuffed full of food. Batty and Marjorie got their baths and then Anne dismissed them until it was time to get ready for supper.
“I don’t think I could eat again for at least a day,” Fay said. The tray Heloise had sent up had at least four different kinds of sweet cakes on it and Fay had crammed her face with all of them.
Anne coughed and rolled over, her eyes tired. “Nor me,” she said. She grimaced, clearly trying to hide a much needed cough.
“Just let it out, Anne. You might be fooling Marjorie, but you’re not fooling me.”
Anne laughed, culminating in a wracking coughing fit that had her sitting up and clutching at her chest. “I’m fine, really,” she said when it was over. “The dust of the road, that’s all.”
Fay didn’t bother calling her bluff, but determined to rat her out to Marjorie as soon as she saw Anne’s maid again. She knew Marjorie wouldn’t have left home without some of Great-uncle Edgar’s potions and tinctures. She put her own pillow under Anne’s, propping them up so she could rest more comfortably and breathe easier.
“Take a nap,” she said, laying on her side with her head on her arm. “I’m going to. We need to ride more. I am sorely out of shape.”
“I agree, sister dear,” Anne said sleepily. Her long, dark hair was spread out over her shoulders like a fairytale princess. “I’m just plain sore after the journey.” She closed her eyes and Fay watched her chest rise and fall shallowly as she drifted off to sleep.
She wanted to ask more about Sir Harold, and what had become of that, but not if Anne was on the brink of getting sick again. As much as she longed to know about that unfinished love story, it would have to wait until another day. As tired as she was, her own unfinished love story kept tugging at her mind and it was a long time before Fay was able to fall asleep.