Chapter 23
“Watch your step, Lady Fay.”
She stopped just short of sinking her slippers into a thick, filthy patch of mud. She smiled at their burly bodyguard, one of Lady Heloise’s men who’d been tasked with taking them to their viewing box the first morning of the tournament. Sir Walter and his men had already been gone since the crack of dawn, readying themselves for the competitions.
She rerouted to the area of boards that had been thrown down to try and make a walkway over the soggy ground and tried to pay attention to where she was going. The bustle and noise and color of the merchant area leading up to the fairgrounds nearly overwhelmed her senses. Every time someone came within a few feet of them to try and show their wares, Lady Heloise’s knight made chopping motions with his meaty fists and growled at them to back away.
She quietly made plans with Batty to sneak back and look at some pretty purses hanging in one stall, as soon as they could free themselves from their grouchy guard. They broke from the crowded merchant area and threaded their way behind the stands for the common folk. Fay kept her gaze straight ahead and tried to breathe through her mouth until they were past. Another thing that her cushy life at the castle hadn’t prepared her for was the unwashed masses of medieval life. The last few days of travel and seeing how regular people lived had opened her eyes to the fact that she was extremely lucky to have ended up where she did.
“Oh no, it’s Lord Drayton,” she hissed, grabbing Batty’s arm.
He was dead ahead of them, about twenty feet away and closing in fast. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her and looked around for a place to hide, prepared to fling herself into the stands if she had to.
“You needn’t speak to anyone you don’t want to,” their guard rumbled, squaring his shoulders. He made gruff Sir Tristan seem downright jovial.
“Act like nothing’s wrong,” Anne demanded, slowing down and falling into step beside her. “It’s between him and Father, so if he speaks to us, you pretend to be completely ignorant to any of it.”
It was a brilliant, though cowardly move. When Fay first heard of Lord Drayton spreading his stories throughout the countryside and possibly fouling up her chances to make another match and, even worse, fouling up her chances with Tristan, she’d determined to let him have it if she ever saw him again. If not raining down on him with fists, then a stinging storm of words. Now she was ready to take Anne’s advice and cut her losses. She hadn’t recalled how tall and broad he was, nor how brooding. She was glad Sir Grumpy was with them. Only a few feet to decide her fate…
“Lady Anne, Lady Fay, how pleasant to see you here.”
He’d decided to stop and talk to them. Fay took a deep breath, looking into his eyes, which were no longer friendly and kind, but hard and cold. Anne pinched her hard in the back of her arm.
“So very pleasant to see you as well, Lord Drayton. It’s been such a long time since we’ve met. I hope you’ve been well. Have you seen our father yet?”
There. She snuck a bitter glance at Anne. She couldn’t possibly have played more dumb than that. And to her surprise, it worked. A brief flicker of confusion passed over his face, then he visibly relaxed and the smile he now gave them was sincere, his eyes no longer hard as diamonds.
“I have, Lady Fay. I wished him well in the tournament, though, of course, I must be cheering for my own men.”
Anne tinkled a laugh, which Fay quickly copied. Or tried to. It came out sounding more like a startled cat. “Certainly, as you must,” Anne said. “We wish your men all luck as well.”
“Yes, good luck,” Fay parroted.
Lord Drayton bowed and moved on. It was over. “That was way too easy,” Fay said when they were far ahead of him.
“He only needed to think you weren’t aware of it,” Anne said. “To save his pride. Perhaps he believes you truly don’t know what he did, but all that matters is that you acted like it in front of him.”
Fay sighed. “Men are so confusing and …”
“Foolish,” Marjorie finished. She turned, watching Lord Drayton wind his way through the onlookers with a disappointed look on her face.
Fay didn’t know how to feel, still not convinced it was over. If she was so inconsequential in the whole scandalous affair that all she needed to do was pretend she didn’t know about it, then how important could she have been to Lord Drayton in the first place? She realized he’d only cared about the alliance, not her. It stung her pride more than her feelings. To try and put a positive spin on it, she told herself she was a catch and that plenty more men would want their chance to marry her. Honestly, the whole thing turned her stomach.
“There’s our stand,” Batty squealed. “Oh, it’s so festive.”
Fay wrenched herself out of the mood she’d momentarily sunk into, dodging the sour feelings as deftly as she’d dodged the mud earlier. The area where they were to sit and watch the proceedings was, indeed, festive. The open-sided tent had red and gold bunting along the front, with her father’s crest hanging from a banner in the center. White cloth festooned with a garland of roses was draped over a waist-high barrier, to protect them from any dirt that got kicked up. Under the tent were two rows of benches, scattered with throw pillows.
“Luxurious, too,” Fay noted. “But where’s Father? He’s going to watch with us, isn’t he?”
“Your father will join you after the procession,” their guard said, motioning for them to get under the tent and sit down.
No sooner had they settled onto the benches, trumpets blasted from the far end of the field. They were on their feet again, leaning over the pretty barricade to get a better look. Sir Grumpy rolled his eyes, but didn’t interfere. He had the faintest look of interest in his eyes, probably as excited as he ever got.
The knights proceeded past the cheering onlookers in a long line, two or three abreast, waving like rock stars to their fans. The horses were as decked out as their riders and Fay couldn’t help but feel a tightening in her chest. Would she see Tristan in this fancy promenade?
As if to answer her thoughts, Batty grabbed her sleeve and waved furiously. “There they are! I see Brom. Look at the shine of his armor, they must have polished all night.” She bent over the barrier so far Marjorie grabbed the back of her skirt to keep her from tipping head first into the path.
Fay was too busy being entranced by Sir Tristan. He was slightly ahead of the rest of his men, Brom a bit behind and to the right. The armor was as shiny as Batty exclaimed, the sun winking off Tristan’s plated chest and shoulders. He had his helmet under his arm and his glossy, dark hair waved gently behind him as they trotted ever closer. Her head turned of its own accord, her eyes glued to him, waiting to see if he’d get close enough for her to see the blue of his eyes. A weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe, and she clutched at the front of her gown.
She missed him. That was what was crushing her. She missed how he looked at her as if she were odd, but he didn’t really mind and might possibly like it. She wanted to cling to those gleaming shoulders without their armored plates. She wanted to fling herself over the flower-strewn barrier and grab the reins, forcing him to stop and face her. Tell her why he never came back. Then she could tell him it didn’t matter, she still wanted him. If only he still wanted her.
The men were mere feet from their platform. There was no way they could miss the women with Batty waving and flailing about. And yet, Sir Tristan sat erect in his saddle, eyes straight ahead. He was purposely ignoring her and it felt like a slap.
Brom saw Batty and pulled his horse close enough to toss her something. She caught it and held it to her chest, then blew him a kiss. She was swiftly punished by Marjorie yanking her braid and pulling her back under the tent. Fay could tell Batty didn’t feel it at all as she unfolded the cloth-wrapped bundle Brom threw her.
They were past. Fay continued to watch them. She would watch him until she couldn’t anymore, despite how much it hurt. She was so desperately envious of Batty’s token she thought she might throw up. She would have been happy for a look, a mere glance from Tristan.
“Call his name,” Batty hissed.
Fay opened her mouth, but couldn’t say anything. She’d already gone against her nature in letting Lord Drayton off the hook, and she found she still had a shred of pride left. He knew she was there. He knew and he didn’t turn.
“Sir Tristan,” Anne called, imitating her voice remarkably well. Her face turned red and she sat down, fanning herself from her recklessness.
Fay would have murdered Anne if Tristan had been gone from view, but she still couldn’t tear her eyes from his back. He turned and their eyes met. It was too far to see the brilliant blue, but she could tell at that distance that he wasn’t happy to see her. She silently beseeched him not to look away but, in a moment, he’d be crowded along by the swarm of competitors who followed him.
“He must have heard the gossip about Lord Drayton,” Batty said, her jubilant mood doused.
Fay had a half-second to decide what to do. “I’ll find you,” she silently but exaggeratedly mouthed. Her eyes began to water but she refused to blink and break contact with him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he nodded and her pathetic hope soared.
*
Tristan paced the length of the temporary stable, punched one of the support beams, then returned to his horse. The creature had no words of advice for him so he resumed his violent march. He needed to calm down, concentrate on the first competition he and Brom were both entered in. Normally, the cheers of the crowds didn’t affect him and, indeed, they hadn’t this time, either. It was one voice calling out to him that had him so worked up.
He’d made up his mind to pretend she didn’t exist and he’d done a fine job of it. It was all the harder when her maid had practically flung herself into the parade to get Brom’s attention. He knew Fay would be upset if the girl got trampled, so it took all his willpower not to glance that way to make sure she caught Brom’s daft token without getting killed for it.
He was pleased to see Brom so happy, and there had been a day when he might have imagined himself presenting a token to a fair maiden. He punched the beam again, thinking of the bracelet he’d never gotten rid of. He carried it with him wherever he went, for what reason he didn’t know. It was in his saddlebag now, buried deep. Taunting him. He would sell it while he was here. With all the merchants, he was sure to get a fair price for it from someone. With that and all the prize money he planned on winning, he’d be able to ride home much happier, richer, and freer.
But why had Lady Fay called to him? He stopped in his tracks, wanting to save his punches for the fighting ring. He thought he’d imagined it, wished for it so hard his mind had tricked him into hearing things. Then when he turned, only to make sure he was losing his mind and hadn’t actually heard her, he found her staring at him hungrily, passionately. He was going to take some hits, hard ones, before this tournament was over, but he wagered none of them would hurt more than that look of hers.
It made those moments they’d been together come rushing back at him, like a river flooding too fast to get out of the way. Only a few, fleeting moments. He should have forgotten them by now, but he’d only pushed them aside. Her look had brought them back and now he was pacing, distracted, full of anguish. He should have been focused on beating every opponent in every category, not wondering what a look meant or why she’d called out.
“She’ll never be yours,” he growled.
He hadn’t seen Lord Drayton yet, but knew he was there. He couldn’t wait to pummel his men, send them home in disgrace and defeat. He would erase her voice from his mind and replace it with the sound of clanging steel and his rivals’ cries of pain.
Then, to confirm his descent into madness, he heard her voice again.
“Sir Tristan? Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid I was good and lost.” She peeked her head through an opening in the back of the canvas tent. She looked as beautiful as ever, a shy, fearful smile on her face.
“Are you alone?” he bellowed, pulling her fully inside. “Where is your escort? You’re walking about out there without even your maid?” He had his hand wrapped around her arm and knew he should let her go, but couldn’t. “You daft woman, do you know how dangerous it is out there?”
“Very dangerous, I’m going to guess,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him with that same longing he thought he saw in her eyes when she’d called his name. “I snuck away from Lady Heloise’s knight. I had to see you,” she said, looking down.
“This is highly irregular,” he told her, finally shaking himself free from touching her. “What are you doing? Beside the fact that you put yourself in danger walking around unescorted in the midst of all these violence hungry men, don’t you know you’re putting your—your engagement in jeopardy being here with me?” He almost choked on the word and glared at her with such intensity, it should have set her on fire.
She flinched, but he could see it wasn’t because of his anger. She closed her eyes and sighed. “So you did hear about it.”
“About your engagement?”
“Stop saying it,” she demanded, stamping her foot. “There was never an engagement. Don’t you think if it was real, my father would have sent out an announcement? Would he have relied on gossip and hearsay to spread the news?” Now she looked at him with enough ferocity to set him aflame but, instead, the words she spat at him filled him with hope.
“Never an engagement?” he repeated, dazed. He took a step toward her but she took a step back.
“That’s why you never returned,” she accused. “Never sent me a message, not even a word. You believed that—that blackguard instead of me.”
Before he could feel ashamed, for that was exactly what he had done, he grew defensive. “What did you give me to believe in?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. No easy feat in his armor.
Her eyes widened and, for a brief second, he thought she may attack. “Are you seriously asking me that?” She looked around and lowered her voice to a hiss. “After what we—after that night? I told you I was your lady—” she broke off, her face a deep shade of crimson.
“Then you gave Lord Drayton permission to speak to your father, while you told me to wait.”
Her mouth opened and closed, then she screwed up her brow. “I didn’t give him permission. I don’t remember exactly what I said before he spoke to my father, but what’s more important is what I said after. Which was that I didn’t want to marry him.”
“You didn’t? You don’t?” he asked, trying again to lessen the gap between them. This time she didn’t back away. “Then why would he risk your father’s ire by lying like that?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. “I waited to give my answer. I wish that I hadn’t, but I did, and he must have taken my silence on the matter as consent.”
“What is your fascination with waiting?” he asked, wanting to pull his hair out.
“I wanted to be sure. I need to be in love. Real love. And I wanted to be sure, that’s all. I was foolish, I admit it, because I knew I could never be in love with Lord Drayton.”
She was as frustrating and strange as ever. Carrying on the way she did, as if only she could hear herself. He also found it … intoxicating. Perhaps she wasn’t good for him, but he wanted more. He wanted to ask if she thought she could be in love with him but before he could find a way to utter the words, she put her hands on his shoulders and stood on her toes, trying to pull him toward her.
“I wish you weren’t wearing all this metal,” she said. “I want to touch you.” She reached up and laid one palm against his cheek.
He was undone. “How can you say such things so freely?” he asked, turning his face so his lips grazed her hand. He also wished he wasn’t wearing so much metal. All thoughts of thoroughly destroying Drayton’s men on the field were disintegrating under her touch.
Her cheeks grew red again, but she didn’t look away. “It isn’t easy,” she said. “I have pride, too, you know. It isn’t just for knights. But I don’t have the luxury of being coy. I have to be honest, and I think I may know …”
“You make no sense, as usual, Lady Fay,” he said, pulling her closer and leaning down. Their lips were inches apart. “What do you think you know?”
She truly did look like she was suffering, but he’d suffered, too. He’d as good as made his confession when he offered to ask for her hand and telling him to wait had been the first blow. Now, he knew the news of her engagement to another hadn’t been her fault, but that had caused him pain as well.
“It had to be real,” she said. “I know now that it is. I—”
He should have waited for the full confession, but he felt such a swelling in his heart that he acted without a thought. He crushed his mouth to hers, feeling what she felt, knowing what she knew.
*
Fay would have collapsed to the dirty, hay-covered ground if Tristan hadn’t been holding on to her so firmly. It had taken every ounce of courage to say the things she’d said, and if it hadn’t been for the damn curse she would have played at least a little bit hard to get. Instead, she laid it all out on the line. If this had been modern dating, she would have been thoroughly dumped, so she was more than grateful she was being thoroughly kissed instead.
“Don’t do the tournament,” she said, only pulling away long enough to get the words out. She had no clue how to dismantle his armor or she would have tried. “Let’s find a spot to be alone.”
He kissed her more, his teeth gently grazing her lower lip, his hands roaming her sides and back. “But I promised myself I would decimate your fiancé’s men to ease my pain.”
She gasped, but he wouldn’t let her pull away. He nuzzled behind her ear as she said, “Don’t call him that, even in jest. You had pain?”
“Of course I did. I told you how I felt.”
She punched him in the shoulder, tears rushing to her eyes at the pain of cracking her knuckles against the solid metal. “No, you didn’t.”
He took her hand and kissed it, shaking his head in dismay. “I certainly did, when I said I wanted to marry you.”
“It’s not the same. It could have just been an advantageous match, or I thought maybe you felt morally obligated after we spent the night together.”
She glanced around. Outside the thick canvas walls, she could hear people tramping around and calling out to each other. It was as private as it was going to get, but anyone could pop their head in. The place was so crowded with people, eager for entertainment and violence, that she wasn’t sure there was a truly private place for miles. It was here and now if they were going to work things out.
“It would be an advantageous match for me,” he admitted, scowling at her. “Marrying Lord Drayton would be an advantageous match for you. Does that mean you want to do it?”
She hated that he had her and she made a face at him. “Of course not. But what about the other thing?”
“Moral obligation?” he asked. “Of course there is that. But if I didn’t feel the way I do, I suppose I would have bargained with the nearest priest for absolution.”
She felt a grin splitting her face, though she was certain she should have felt more offended by that answer. “What is it you feel?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes and kissed her again. Not a long, lusty, deep kiss this time, but a soft, questioning one. “I love you,” he said. She opened her mouth, but he placed a finger to her lips, scowling down at her. “And do not ask me if I’m certain. I promise you that I don’t think nearly as much as you do, nor do I worry over my feelings. I knew then and I know now. I’ll know tomorrow, as well.”
She hated that he thought she was neurotic, but it was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. “Then let’s go find my father and tell him at once,” she said, gripping the neck opening of his armor and trying to pull him down to her for another kiss.
He didn’t budge. “I’ve told you why I must compete,” he said.
She really was sure. Even his stony resolve sent shivers up her spine. She positively tingled everywhere. That had to be love. All the warm fuzzies she felt running through her veins instead of blood were put there by Tristan. Her very heart beat for him now. “But you’ve already decimated Lord Drayton. I’ve chosen you over him and, soon, everyone will know it.”
He raised a brow. “But the people will be disappointed if I don’t compete. No one can beat me in archery, and the crowds will pack in as far as you can see for hand to hand combat when it’s my turn. Besides excelling at everything, I’m extremely popular in this area.”
She gaped at his blatant bragging. “I never knew how modest you were.” Even this unsavory trait of his didn’t put a dent in her glowing feelings.
“I only speak the truth. As you will see. You can be proud as well.”
“Why is that?” she asked, letting him kiss her again. She still wanted him to ditch the entire tournament, toss her on the back of his horse, and take her away to the nearest inn.
“Because I will be winning the tournament in your honor.” He smiled smugly.
“But I don’t want you to win it at all,” she cajoled. “I want you to skip it and—”
“There’s a great deal of money to be won,” he interrupted, placing her away from him. “And if I’m to be married soon, I need all I can get. I’ve seen where you live and I know what you’re accustomed to.”
He looked so earnest that her heart ached a little. “I don’t care about that, honestly I don’t.” If only she could tell him everything she’d already learned to live without, such as running water, safe water, computers and phones, proper medical care … He’d know that she could easily do without a fireplace in every room. “But if you want to show off in front of me, then I suppose I can cheer you on while you do it.”
He beamed. “I didn’t think there could be a better motivation than revenge, but now I know there is.” He kissed her, then took her arm, leading her out of the stables. “Did you say Lady Heloise’s knight was escorting you and your sister? Lady Heloise Chevaux?”
“She is my mother’s half-cousin, or something like that. My father is great friends with her.”
“She’s very powerful,” he said, winking at her. “This match gets more and more advantageous for me.”
She’d learned her lesson about punching armor, so she smiled at him instead, wishing they weren’t out in the open now so she could kiss him again. It was all over. All the worry and waiting. She was in love and he said he felt the same. She could see it in his eyes that he felt it.
He paused behind her family’s viewing pavilion, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I have something for you,” he said. “I’ll give it to you after the tournament is over. Watch for me. I will give my all to win.”
He turned and hurried back the way they’d come and she felt mildly guilty for keeping him from his preparations. The guilt was gone in two seconds when she closed her eyes and mentally relived their kisses, the look in his eyes, and the sure way he’d said he loved her. Every bit of her awkward, uncomfortable confession had been worth it to hear him say those words.
She realized then that she hadn’t said it back to him. She’d started to, had mostly said it, but he’d cut her off. Or had she chickened out? She couldn’t remember, and doubt and worry started creeping back in. She had to dot every i and cross every t if she stood a chance of breaking the curse. The moment she was alone with Tristan she would tell him. She wanted to tell him everything, all her thoughts and feelings. She even wanted to tell him the truth, not that he’d be able to hear it.
The flowing fabric back of the tent jostled and rippled, then Anne finally found the parting and flung it aside. “I thought I heard someone snuffling about like a wild boar back here. Lady Heloise just arrived and is in a terror that you’ve been murdered. She sent the guard off to find you after berating him for a solid ten minutes for losing you in the first place. You need to apologize at once, and thank the saints that Father hasn’t arrived yet to know you ran off.”
Fay ducked her head, certain she wouldn’t be able to fake a proper level of remorse. “Sorry, Anne, I didn’t mean to worry everyone.”
“Did you find him at least?”
“Find who?” she tried.
Anne shook her head in disgust. “Really, Fay? Do you think I’m an idiot just because I’m an invalid? You snuck off not a moment after Sir Tristan went past.”
Fay hugged her sister, her remorse growing. “You’re not either of those. And yes, I did find him.” She couldn’t hide her smile.
“Hurry and tell me.”
“He’s going to speak to Father. He’s going to win the tournament in my honor. Anne, he said he loved me!”
Tears filled Anne’s eyes and she returned Fay’s hug. “I’m so happy for you. I truly am. Make it a long engagement, will you? I want to keep you as long as I can.”
Before she could assure Anne she would never lose her as a sister, Lady Heloise tossed aside the canvas and actually grabbed her ear, yanking her back under the tent. “You wicked girl. It would break your father’s heart to know what a foolish child he has, which is the only reason I won’t tell him you ran off. I yelled at my most faithful knight because of you.” Fay kept her head down as she was all but tossed into a seat next to Batty. “If you so much as move a finger without asking permission, I’ll force your father to start believing in beating you.”
“Yes, Lady Heloise. I’m truly sorry.”
“Was it worth it, young lady?”
Fay snuck a glance at Anne, who barely lifted one shoulder. Then she risked a direct look at Lady Heloise. Instead of getting hit, she got a knowing smile. It was gone in an instant, replaced with a stern scowl, although there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“It was, Lady Heloise.”