DISCUSSION AND DECISIONS
“Rubina.” Camden let the name settle on his soul, like honey under his tongue. “Her name is Rubina.”
He said it to his companion, Sean. It was easy enough to find the name of the only daughter of a powerful duke. His companion sighed.
“Well, at least you have a name for her, now.”
Camden shot him a look. “What's that s’posed to mean, eh, Sean?” He was really offended.
Sean closed his eyes, his handsome face contrite. “Sorry, Cam. It's just...I felt someone on your mind for the last few days. You've been distracted, like. Knew summat was bothering you. There, I said it,” he said, looking up tiredly. “No need to glare at me that way – you asked.”
Camden sighed. “I know. I shouldn't have.”
His eyes caught Sean's pale brown ones and they both smiled.
“Fine,” Sean said. “You win. Now. How's that blade going?”
Camden sighed again. They were doing repairs to their armor. He had been supposed to be sharpening his dagger – slightly shorter than a dirk, longer than a hand-dagger. However, he'd forgotten; the thing lay desultorily by his hand. The edge was sharp from where he'd last polished it. He lifted it in one hand, the rag with its mix of sand and vinegar in the other.
“It's better,” he assessed the effects on the blade optimistically.
“Good.”
Camden looked across the gray, bare room. He was here since his father thought it prudent to prepare for conflict. Where and with whom, Camden still didn't fathom. He had no faith whatever in this current theory about the English king.
“Too many people restless,” he said.
“Sorry?” Sean was polishing his chain-mail, the scrape of sanded cloth on steel too loud to hear words over.
Camden let out an exhale. “Talking to myself, that's it.”
Sean raised a brow. “Well, you could share it,” he said with the faintest hint of offense in his voice. “Or d'you reckon I'm not intelligent enough company?”
His lopsided grin bisected his lean, strong face. Camden found himself feeling a slight pang of wistful envy when he contemplated his companion. He was far better looking that Camden himself was, or so he considered, anyhow. With hair a sandy russet, eyes almost the same, and a lean, squarish face, he was always knee-deep in a flock of admirers whenever he took to journeying. Or so Camden always noticed.
Which leaves me on the edge of the field with a long lance in one hand, no one around me, watching the lasses watch him.
He smiled humorlessly. Raised together, the two young men were like brothers, though they couldn't have been more different in character, Camden reckoned, if they'd been sent as a lesson in opposites for everyone. Sean was funny, with a sort of dry humor that made everyone like him and set the girls shrieking with laughter. He was modest, too, with that lopsided grin, and easygoing personality. Camden was, well, intense.
Quiet, intense, brooding. My father always said Sean and I were shadows and flame. With the emphasis on Sean being the flame, that was.
He sighed. Though Sean was the ward of the baron, sent by his own father, Baron Almswray, he was closer to the baron. Anyone would think he'd wanted him as a son instead.
“You planning for the joust?” Sean asked lightly.
Camden shook his head. “Thinking of Father,” he said.
Sean raised an eyebrow. “This new focus?”
Camden nodded briefly. “It's his mind.”
Sean let out a huffing sigh. “I dunno, Camden. It's a big problem...”
Camden clenched his jaw. He really didn't want to hear anything more about this. As far as he was concerned, his father was getting both too suspicious and too worried about his reputation, which was why he focused on the threat of the English.
If he could fight them, Camden thought, then he had a chance to go out in a blaze of glory, the fighter he was. He wants that, not to molder here in this fort.
He could understand. He could sympathize. He just wished it didn't mean he had to skulk about in woods, collecting intelligence.
“Maybe it is,” he said softly.
Sean sighed. “I dunno whether it is or not,” he said with a gentle grin. “All I care about right now is my technique.”
Camden had to chuckle. “You training with Master Eugene?”
He nodded. Their trainer, Master Eugene, hailed from Paris. He had trained many jousters and had been a fine one himself. He was strict, stubborn and so fond of lecturing and hectoring on every finer point that Camden had to keep a grip on the lance's handle not to throw it down and storm off.
Sean grinned. “My patience torments me. But yes. Starting to improve.”
Camden laughed. “Good for you.” He was sure he would never manage to go through his paces without the venerable teacher rolling his eyes or practically frothing at the lips.
“He said you're improving,” Sean informed.
Camden dropped the knife he held. “Say that again.”
Sean chuckled. “He did. I assure you. He said you're doing well. We both are. We'd be ready for the tournament.”
Camden found he was laughing, though a moment earlier his mood had been low.
“Well, if that isn't terrific.”
His companion laughed. “It's true. So let's get these spots of rust off, get this armor packed and go to the practice ground. I desperately want to improve my forward lunges...”
Camden nodded, feeling his high spirits return.
“Yes. That sounds good.”
He finished sharpening the dagger and they started to pack the different pieces of armor away safely. Camden stood, stretching.
“Let's go.”
They went.
“Well,” Sean breathed, lifting the visor and then taking off his helmet altogether, shaking out his thick red hair. “That was good.”
Camden felt frustrated. He sheathed his sword – they'd moved on to sword craft by the end of the hour – and let out a ragged out-breath. “Mayhap.”
“What?” his friend asked, confused.
“I couldn't think.”
He sighed. He had no idea why, but as soon as he started practicing, the girl occupied all his thoughts. Rubina Invermore. Daughter of a duke and a formidable lady.
And here I am, a second-rate knight with a chilly fortress in the woodlands to inherit, and no fortune to speak of.
He bit his lip, trying not to let his wry distaste show on his features. All the same, Sean must have seen the sadness on his face, because he gave him a teasing glance.
“Well, I think even Master Eugene would say we did well,” he said. “And that's all the praise a man needs. If I could die afterward, I'd consider my life well-lived.”
Camden had to chuckle. “Sean?” he said inquiringly.
“Yes, old friend?”
“What would I do without you?”
Sean laughed. “Be sane?”
Camden felt a laugh start to bubble up inside him. “You're saying, I assume, I'm not sane now?”
“Precisely. I...ow!”
Sean laughed as Camden gave his armor a resounding whack with a practice blade. Then the afternoon training disintegrated into a playful game of tag as they ran about the practice ground like youths, striking at each other with the wooden spars.
“I deny it!” Sean panted, grinning wildly. “You're as sane as I am.”
Camden grinned. “That's not a denial of insanity, Sean McLoman.”
Sean laughed. “Fine. But it holds.”
“Fine,” Camden agreed. He gave him a playful shove and they both staggered in, weary and tired-out, up the fortress steps into the dark hallway.
“An hour before dinner?” Sean asked, squinting in the dark, stone-damp place.
“Think so,” Camden agreed mildly. The quality of the light was such that it was likely six of the clock. He sighed.
“I'm going to warm up.”
“Me too.”
He headed up to his bedchamber, where his manservant, Seamus, had lit a roaring fire in the grate. He collapsed wearily onto a stool opposite. The warmth enlivened his feet.
It's freezing outside.
Thoughts of the cold and thoughts of warmth brought back, inevitably, thoughts of her. All red hair and brown eyes and frowning.
He sighed.
“No point, Camden.”
There was no point at all in the wild, stirring longings that thrummed through him just thinking about her, in the strange tenderness that melted his chest.
She was above him and he would just have to accept that or spend his life longing for the sweet kisses and gentle satiny soft touch he would never know.