24

24

Konrad bore Aimee back to the tent in silence. Her head rested against his shoulder, and for once, she did not seem to have anything to say. Likely that performance had taken it out of her, he thought glancing down at her dark head. That performance …

By rights, it should not have worked. Aimee Bartree was a spoiled little heiress decked out in jewels, the like of which most people in that hall would never possess. The precious pearls had glowed against her lustrous skin, the sapphires at her bodice had flashed in the candlelight, and still she had held every single last soul present in the palm of her hand.

There had been barely a dry eye in the house. Every woman there, from deposed princess to cynical widow to serving wench, had wept to hear Aimee’s voice uplifted in that damned song. Part of it had been her untutored delivery, he supposed. Her unrestrained manner of singing it.

She sang her song with the simple straightforwardness of a country girl who had been seduced by words of love and had no defense against them. There had been no hint of performing to a crowd, no artifice to the way she had lifted her pretty face to the rafters and sung as though no one else were present, her tale of shining love that had turned to woe and misery and then swung back around again to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

That had been the only point at which she had not been convincing, he thought bitterly. The happy ending had convinced no one. The lover never had returned for her or her pretty babe. Everyone knew he had not kept his vows. In fact, he was pretty sure the name of the song reflected that fact.

Her voice had touched every man present, but he had felt pierced to his very bosom. He had heard her sing before, but she had not sounded like that. He had made her no false promises, he certainly had not seduced her with words of love, but all the same. It was his damned fault she sang like her heart was broken. Why did he keep fucking everything up with her?

As soon as he reached the tent, he set her down and started loosening the laces from her gown. Aimee stood as meek and still as a statue as he undressed her. She made no attempt to help, so he drew out her hairpins and set them on the table along with her veil and jewelry. Once she was down to her shift, he led her to the makeshift bed and set her under the covers. She had not moved an inch when he climbed in to join her and made no objection when he wrapped his arms about her and held her close.

He did not wake the next morning until he heard a footfall and an exclamation. Blinking, he found Jakeman gazing across the tent at him with a look of almost comical dismay on his face.

“Y-your pardon, milord,” he stammered, setting down the hot water he was carrying. “I did not realize you …” Words seemed to fail him for a moment. “Had – er – company,” he ended lamely.

Konrad glanced down at Aimee still fast asleep and tucked into his side. He did not think he had spent the whole night through in a woman’s company in his life. Strange to say, his sleep had been entirely unbroken. “She’s my wife,” he pointed out acerbically, in case his manservant had somehow not recognized just who it was slumbering at his side.

Jakeman’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Yes, milord,” he agreed and averted his eyes. “Will your lordship require me to fetch bread to break your fast, or will you be going along to the Great Hall?”

Konrad considered the matter a moment. In truth, he should have foreseen that both he and Aimee would require Jakeman’s services, for he had never taken a squire. “Fetch me something, then you can accompany your mistress to the Great Hall to break her fast.”

Jakeman nodded and beat a hasty retreat. Konrad carefully slid out of the bed and made his way to the wash basin clad only in his braies. He had washed and was drying himself off before he heard Aimee stir in the bed. She rolled onto her back and groaned.

“Still sore?” he asked, lowering his cloth and feeling his own body perk up with interest.

She sat up looking adorably sleepy and confused. “Ouch!” she winced, answering his question.

“Roll onto your front,” he instructed throatily, coming back to the bed and drawing down the covers.

“Konrad,” she murmured in mild reproach, though he noticed she rolled onto her stomach obligingly enough.

He reached under her shift, his hands settling over her pleasingly plump behind. This time he knew exactly where her sore spots were and sought them out unerringly. Aimee whimpered and moaned in a very stimulating manner until he had finished his ministrations. Then she sighed, sounding so sated and relaxed while he felt anything but.

Swallowing deeply, he covered her back up with the blankets, when his every impulse screamed at him to do the opposite. Considerate, that was what he was aiming for. A considerate husband did not make his wife cry herself to sleep at night. Nor did he lift her shift and swive her first thing in the morning in the middle of a field.

Half an hour later, he was striding over to the next field marked out for the competitors when he heard his name called. Swinging around, he saw Sir Douglas Farleigh and his two friends hurrying toward him.

“Kentigern!” Farleigh hailed him, clapping his shoulder. “We saw you at the feast last night.”

“Don’t think you saw us though,” Leo Symes chimed in with a grin. “We were at the back of the hall.”

“No,” Konrad admitted. In truth, he had forgotten to look for them. “I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Aye, well small wonder as you’ve your wife with you,” Lowell pointed out.

“Lady Kentigern enjoying it so far?” Farleigh asked as they fell in step beside him.

Konrad glanced at him suspiciously, but Farleigh’s expression was guileless and open. Once again, he realized Farleigh was not the most observant when it came to women.

“Quite the songbird, isn’t she?” Symes added wistfully.

Konrad cleared his throat. “Aye,” he rumbled, hoping that would suffice for answer enough for both questions.

“That hothead de Crecy didn’t give you any grief, did he?” Lowell asked. “Only it doesn’t take much to rile him up recently. Apparently, he blacked some fellow’s eye yesterday for helping his wife down some steps.”

“Did he now?” Konrad grunted with surprise. He would not have thought personally that de Crecy’s wife had it in her to inspire jealousy.

“Helping his own wife or de Crecy’s wife?” Farleigh asked critically.

“De Crecy’s of course,” Lowell answered with exasperation. He rolled his eyes at Konrad who found himself giving a reluctant snort of laughter. “Or the story hardly makes sense, does it, you dolt?”

Farleigh grinned good naturedly and punched his friend in the shoulder. “How should I know! De Crecy’s a damned odd fellow. He’s been an icicle the entire two years I’ve known him, till this season.”

“He didn’t look much like an icicle when he was punching Stanyon in the face yesterday,” Symes added. “Looked like the vein in his neck was about to explode.”

They all lapsed into silent contemplation of de Crecy’s unfathomable transformation of late.

“You don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with that his wife of his, do you?” Lowell speculated hesitantly.

“Shouldn’t think so,” Symes frowned. “I feel sorry for the poor wench.”

“She’s not much to look at,” Farleigh agreed. “And that’s stating a fact.”

“Probably seething he was forced to wed such a plain specimen of womanhood,” Lowell murmured. “She does not look as though she would have brought much money to the table neither.”

The other two clicked their tongues and nodded dolefully at de Crecy’s misfortune. Privately, Konrad agreed, but felt he ought to put in a word for the maligned damsel. “Well,” he started, clearing his throat. “She obviously inspires some feeling in him, or he wouldn’t keep getting into brawls over her. That’s the reason he wants to crush my neck too,” he added. When the others looked at him in surprise, he reminded them. “I gave her the tourney crown at the summer tournament.”

“Oh, aye,” Farleigh said, as though only just remembering. “So you did.”

“That might have been a mistake,” Symes said with an annoying air of wisdom.

“Think so, do you?” Konrad responded testily. “Well at least she’s not my sister!”

A stunned silence met his words before Farleigh and Lowell burst into loud guffaws of laughter. Poor Symes turned a dull shade of red, and Konrad felt a twinge of something he wasn’t sure was not his conscience. Gods, what was going on with him lately? He was nearly as bad as de Crecy! He cleared his throat. “What events are the three of you signed up for?”

Farleigh immediately launched into a recital of everything he had signed up for.

“Speaking of which,” Lowell said turning about. “We had better go and see if they’ve determined the teams for the melee. See what side we’re all on.” He pointed to a large white tent nearby. “That’s the one where they’re drawing the names.”

The four of them proceeded in that direction, and Kentigern took his place in the tent beside them. Once inside, they seemed to assume he would remain in their company, so it seemed the easiest thing to go along with them. In truth, he felt less conspicuous surrounded by their boisterous company than he did standing solitary and apart from the crowd. Lowell snagged a passing servant’s tray and pressed an ale cup into his hand as Symes leaned across, lowering his voice. “Don’t look now, Kentigern, but de Crecy’s glaring daggers at you!”

Disregarding his warning, Konrad turned his head to scan the company, but when he scanned the knights assembled, all he saw was a sea of faces turned in his direction, expressions of mingled apprehension and curiosity.

“Do not pay them any heed,” Farleigh recommended. “You are the biggest draw here, my lord. That’s the only reason they stare.”

“I know,” he responded. “I am not offended.” He lifted a hand to absently touch the scarring to the side of his face. With surprise, he realized he had not actually thought of it once all morning.

Beres Caple was old-fashioned in that the melee was fought entirely on foot with no mounted charges. The entire company of knights had been divided into four, and over the day, three mock battles would be waged before one team emerged the overall victor.

Sir Chaucey Howard stood at the front and picked names, allotting them by turn to either the blue, orange, red, or green team. Konrad and Symes were assigned to the same orange team, Lowell to the blue, and Farleigh to the green.

Symes was jubilant about the fact he and Konrad were on the same team, crowing over it and rubbing it in his friend’s faces. Konrad guessed he must have forgiven him that remark he made earlier about his sister. He found he was strangely relieved about that, though he was not sure why.

Jakeman found him shortly after and helped him don his armor. The others soon returned with their own gear, and preparations for battle took up the next half hour.

Farleigh scowled as he helped tie Konrad’s orange armband to his upper arm. “Trust you to fall on your feet, Leo,” he sniped at his friend. “By rights, Kentigern should be on my team, he was my friend before he was yours.”

Symes chortled, not troubling to dispute this. Konrad was a little startled, for he had not precisely realized his standing among them. Apparently, they were friends of his. Friends.

“I don’t know what you’re carping about, Douglas,” Lowell complained. “You have Sir Jeffree on your team. All I have on team blue are a lot of bumpkins who have scarce held a sword above twice in their lives!”

“Oh, I don’t know, is not de Bussell on your team?” Farleigh asked. “On a good day, he’s pretty formidable.”

Lowell snorted. “Didn’t he lose to you last month, one-on-one?” he pointed out scathingly.

“That was in May,” Farleigh corrected him. “And since then, he’s lifted the victor’s cup at Areley Kings.”

“Aye, well, I believe I’ll hold off on praising Sir Armand till I see what kind of day he’s having,” his friend retorted with a curl of his lip. “On a bad day, any fool can beat him.”

Konrad roused himself at this. “We all have bad days,” he rumbled. When three pairs of eyes swung toward him, he cleared his throat. “Renlow beat me at the joust last year at Kellingford.”

“Did he, by gods?” Symes demanded with a low whistle.

“I had heard that tale,” Lowell admitted cautiously. “But some days we walk perforce under an unlucky star.”

“He beat me that day fair and square,” Konrad said frankly. “He was the better man on the field.” When Farleigh opened his mouth as if to argue, he cut him off. “There is no dishonor in losing when that is the case, and I felt no shame in my loss.”

Funnily enough, as he spoke the words aloud, he realized he was speaking nothing but the truth. Of course, knowing as he did now that Aimee had been sat in the audience that day ensured he felt little sting in his defeat. For it had been that very moment … He felt his chest swell before the depressing memory she no longer loved him slammed into his thoughts, cutting off all pleasure in the recollection.

“Where is Renlow anyway?” Lowell broke in with a frown. “I don’t believe I saw him all day yesterday.”

“Not here,” Symes replied. “Broke his arm competing in the summer tournament.”

“Broke it, did he?” Farleigh asked with interest. “Poor devil. He will be sorry to miss a tournament.”

Konrad let their chatter wash over him as he tucked his helmet under his arm, and they made their way toward the field designated for the skirmishes. He had instructed Jakeman to escort Aimee to the Howard family to watch proceedings, and he looked for her now in the crowd. There was no mingling of blue and yellow in anyone’s garb that he could see, but in truth, he had scarcely expected her to wear his crest today.

He glanced down at his own shield and surcoat that blazed with its yellow portcullis on the azure field. He was starting to suspect Aimee would resist wearing her matching heraldic gown even to the jousting on the morrow. The prospect dragged down his sprits. Once, she had worn his colors with pride before he had ruined it. He cursed under his breath as he looked about for the Howard party.

He soon spotted Chaucey who was capering about in long scalloped sleeves and sending servants scurrying in all directions. Lady Howard was stood beside him looking harried with her hands clapped to her temples. She seemed agitated for some reason, Konrad thought, and supposed it must be the strain of hosting a tournament getting to her. Of Sir Darby Howard, there was no sign that he could see.

Konrad’s eye passed over the family to see Aimee sandwiched between two women. One was a short, fair woman, wholly unknown to him who seemed to be juggling two small children on her knees. The other was a tall, well-built female he barely recognized these days. The former northern princess was indeed changed.

He relaxed slightly on locating his wife, though it seemed to him the three women were too busy conversing among themselves instead of looking for their husbands as you might think duty would dictate. Even as he watched, one chubby infant was passed into Aimee’s welcoming arms, making his chest feel strangely tight. She bounced it in her lap and turned towards its mother. He did not think she had even noticed he stood in the arena below.

Farleigh interrupted his thoughts, clapping both him and Symes on the shoulder. “Good luck, Kentigern,” he said before turning to Symes and pointing a finger. “Watch your back, you bastard,” he warned direly, making them all laugh as he headed off to join the opposing team.

“I had better go and see if I can find a decent spot in the stands,” Lowell said, giving them a nod and wandering off in that general direction. He held up his hand. “Fight well and do me proud!”

Symes turned to him. “Isn’t that your man over there?” he asked pointing.

Konrad turned to see Jakeman waving from the sidelines, letting him know he was ready to count his hostages. “It is.” He gave him a nod, letting him know he had seen him.

“Well, best we take up our positions,” Sir Leo said cheerfully.

The first of the melee battles was something of a slog. Konrad believed for his part that he might as well have worn a target painted on his breast plate rather than his coat of arms. He had anticipated as much, but it did not make the constant deluge of opponents flinging themselves on him any easier to navigate.

These young, unseasoned knights were keen to prove themselves, but sadly not through strategy or playing the long game. They hoped for an opportunistic win, to catch him off guard or vastly outnumbered. A win against a knight of his renown would be a fine feather in their cap. They flung themselves at him with battle cries and fought with a desperation that showed they had given scant thought to pacing themselves for the end of the bout let alone the next round.

They thirsted for glory, even a brief taste of it would do. As he sent another one sprawling in the dirt with a well-aimed kick from his iron sabaton, he hoped that maybe a loss to the mighty Lord Kentigern would give them something to tell their wives and mothers at least, if nothing else. Grabbing his victim by the leg, he dragged him toward the edge of the field where Jakeman stood watch. He added him to the sizeable pile of ‘hostages’, some of whom were now coming around and rubbing their groggy heads. Jakeman strode over and gave Konrad a nod, letting him know he had made a note of the latest coat of arms.

Many of these knights would never end up venturing to any of the bigger tournaments, so this would likely be the only test of their mettle they would ever get. So long as peace held over Karadok, he added, muttering a supplication that would be so. Pausing to blink the sweat from his eyes before he rejoined the fray, Konrad noticed another knight who looked almost as beleaguered as himself.

Sir Jeffree de Crecy had no sooner dispatched three challengers, then another four surrounded him in their place. Konrad surprised himself by the pang of fellow feeling that struck him as Sir Jeffree disappeared momentarily under a tide of his united foes. Part of it was de Crecy’s own fault of course, Konrad reflected, for none of these upstarts would face repercussions for their temerity in challenging him. De Crecy thought taking hostages beneath his dignity.

Konrad was pleased to see his young friend Sir Leo Symes was not among those vying for fame by taking down Sir Jeffree. Instead, Symes had cut his own way through their opponents and was engaged now in fighting off two knights wearing matching scarlet surcoats over their chainmail. Konrad headed in that direction, scattering all who stood in his way.

He found himself strangely tempted to glance up at the stands and check to see if his wife was watching him now or still occupied with other people’s offspring. Mayhap it was about time he saw to giving her some of her own to worry her pretty head about.

For some reason, instead of picturing the required Bartree heir, a male vaguely in his image but without his scars, he imagined instead a little daughter, who might reach for him and call him Father. His step faltered a moment. Such a short time ago he had thought Roland Vawdrey mad for simpering over a female child. Now Konrad realized he envied him.

He got his sword up just in time to fend off an attack from his left flank. Konrad found himself vaguely insulted, for his opponent clearly did not even know which was his blind side and which his seeing. He was followed in quick succession by two more overeager types who Konrad dispatched with the flat of his sword, bowling them over with his driving strength. Their armor was so ill-fitting and dated, he thought it likely their father’s or even grandfather’s. For this reason, he did not bother dragging these to the sidelines but left them to stagger to their feet and slink away.

The battle waged on for another hour or so, and it was no surprise that de Crecy was the last man standing on the green side. Farleigh lasted pretty well but went down in the last quarter of an hour. Konrad did not join the others who piled on de Crecy, though Symes ran over to get a view of him being forced to yield.

Horns sounded and the Howard banner was carried into the center of the ring. A flushed Sir Chaucey proclaimed the orange team victorious. Konrad reached up to pull off his helmet and made his way over to Jakeman who was releasing Konrad’s captors now they had pledged their word to pay. A few of them gave Konrad cautious nods which he returned.

“Help me take this off,” he grunted, and his manservant sprang to unfasten his armor.

“Shall I leave on the chainmail, milord?” Jakeman asked, stacking the smaller pieces atop the breastplate.

Konrad considered a moment. The next battle would last little under three hours by his estimation. “No, take it off. I’ll go about in my gambeson between times.”

“Aye, milord.” He passed a cloth to Konrad who mopped his brow, glancing back toward the benches.

“I can tell you whereabouts my lady sits in, if that would be useful?” Jakeman murmured. Konrad waved the offer away.

“I already know,” he said shortly. “Here.” Jakeman took the proffered cloth, and Konrad narrowed his eyes. For a moment, he had definitely seen a glimmer of a smile. “Something to say?” Just as quickly it was gone.

“Nay, milord,” Jakeman’s face bore only an expression of obliging helpfulness.

Konrad grunted suspiciously but left it at that, moving off toward where the Howard family were congregated.

Aimee looked up as he approached and came eagerly to her feet. “Well played, my lord,” she said loudly, for all the world as though he had just completed a game of hammer-throw. “I daresay you are far too tired now to take me for a turn about the field?”

Noting her anxious tone and the faint look of desperation in her eye, Konrad cast a quick glance about the company. Lady Howard was looking rather flinty faced as she spoke to the comely mother of two, with the babes in a state of undress playing at their feet. The princess seemed to have disappeared, and Sir Chaucey was having a heated discussion with his steward about timings for the afternoon events.

“I could probably manage the exertion,” he replied and offered his arm. She seized it at once and bestowed a relieved smile on him.

“You are sure you are not too tired?” she asked quietly as he nodded to the Howards and bore her away.

“I’d likely get stiff and sore if I sat about too long now,” he admitted truthfully.

Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, that makes me feel better about not letting you rest.”

“You did not find your company congenial?” he asked with a frown.

“Oh, it was! The princess – I mean, Lady Una de Bussell is vastly pleasant company. So very down-to-earth and agreeable. I quite see why – that is – I do not see how anyone could fail to be charmed by her.” Her tone was strangely wistful.

Konrad hesitated before he spoke. He did not think charming was a word that had been used for any Blechmarsh in living memory.

“You do not agree?” she asked, giving him a sidelong look.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I never really gave much thought to her personality,” he answered without thinking. “She was more a figurehead for the northern cause than a person,” he admitted gruffly.

Aimee’s brow cleared. “So then, you do not – ? That is …” She corrected herself carefully. “Your admiration of her was not of a personal nature?”

Steering her around an arguing couple, he shook his head. “No,” he said bluntly.

“Oh.” Feeling her gaze on his face, he turned to look at her, but she looked quickly away.

“Are you going to tell me why you were so keen to part company with the Howards?” he asked pointedly, hoping this subject was an easier one.

“Oh that,” she said, flashing him an apologetic smile. “Well, Sir Darby has thrown a cat among the pigeons this morning, and I am afraid that Lady Howard holds me at least partly responsible.”

Konrad’s steps halted abruptly. “She holds you responsible?” he echoed.

Aimee, still hanging off his arm, pulled up short. “Indirectly, yes.”

“How?” he demanded, a heavy frown at his brow.

“I will tell you, if you will only stir your step.” She tugged on his arm until he commenced walking again, albeit with some reluctance. He had half a mind to turn back and ask their hostess what the hells she was playing at!

“It seems my song at the banquet last night inspired Sir Darby to ride into Aldenbrook this morning at crack of dawn and find a priest to bind him to the mother of his two children.”

Konrad halted again. “Darby has children?”

Aimee nodded her head. “Apparently, the family knew all about it, but as she was the daughter of a mere farmer, they did not expect him to marry her.”

“I see,” he said moving forward again. “Though I fail to see how you can be blamed for Darby’s actions.”

“I know!” Aimee agreed. “Especially as Darby is not even her eldest son, so what does it matter where he chooses to wed? Apparently, he has his own income from a property an unwed uncle left him, so he has promised Aileen he will set her and the children up there.”

Konrad grunted. “It seems Aileen has fallen on her feet.”

Aimee sent him a reproachful look. “She has had a hard time of it this past three years by all accounts. Her father was happy to accept Darby’s money to keep her and the babes under his roof, but you may be sure he did not fail to call her some nasty names whenever she incurred his displeasure!”

Konrad grunted. “I expect he did.”

“His own daughter!” Aimee said indignantly. “And he expected her to keep house for him as well as look after the children!”

Konrad eyed her curiously. “It sounds as though you have had the whole story from that lady.”

Aimee nodded. “She told me and Una all about it. Lady de Bussell kindly said I could call her Una,” she added a little self-consciously. “Aileen said you could have knocked her down with a feather when Darby banged on her door this morning and would not be dissuaded from marrying her. She even cried a little when she told the tale.” Aimee lapsed into momentary silence. “I confess, it did make me think of Golda a little.”

“Golda?” Konrad frowned. “Your servant Golda?”

“Yes,” Aimee said sadly. “For it turns out that Unwin is her own son, who I never even knew existed. She was never married to his father, you see. When she came to work for us, she paid another woman to raise him with her brood, but he was not happy there. Golda took the opportunity of our setting up house to bring him close again. She told me Unwin was a stableboy at my father’s house, but that was not true, and I should have realized that had I not been so distracted.”

Konrad recalled Jakeman saying the boy was afraid of horses. “You think he will be suited to working as a pageboy to my sister?” he asked skeptically.

“Golda seems to think so. She came to speak with me before we set forth yesterday and told me the truth of it all. She seemed ecstatic at how things were working out. Indeed,” Aimee confessed in a rush, “your sister has succeeded where I failed miserably. I could not get one word out of Unwin, but since she promised to make him her page, he happily announces her entrance into every chamber.”

Konrad winced. “I hope we do not have to put up with that practice overlong.”

Aimee laughed. “Anyway, it would be nice to think that things have worked out for the best for Golda and Unwin.” She lifted her chin. “I am happy for Aileen too. She had me teach her that song this morning so she can sing it to her own children.”

“You will have to sing the last verse like you mean it next time,” he heard himself say sourly.

“What do you mean?” Aimee’s tone was startled.

“You were not convincing when you sang of the happy ending.”

“Oh,” she sounded uncertain. “Well, Aileen has her own example to add conviction to her words,” she said defensively.

He had just opened his mouth with a rejoinder when they were hailed enthusiastically by Symes and Lowell and glumly by Farleigh.

“Aimee,” Konrad said turning to her. “This is Sir Leonard Symes, Sir Fulke Lowell, and Sir Douglas Farleigh.” He coughed and added, “Friends of mine,” feeling rusty and out of practice with the phrase. “This is my wife, Lady Aimee Bartree, Baroness Kentigern.”

Aimee made her curtsey and regarded the three knights with open curiosity. “You are friends of my husband’s?” she asked with interest. Konrad could almost see the question trembling on her lips. Why did you not invite them to our wedding?

He supposed he would have to explain the friendships were only recently struck up. At least with Symes and Lowell, he reflected. Looking back now, he supposed Farleigh had been trying to make friends with him for months.

All three were answering Aimee’s query with an enthusiasm Konrad felt a little embarrassed about. There was something puppyish about their attitudes. As Farleigh bent over Aimee’s hand, it struck him forcibly that she would be much better suited to one of their number than she ever would him.

He cleared his throat. “You fought well, Farleigh,” he said, distracting the young pup from his wife. Sir Douglas was immediately ensnared.

“You thought so? I was worried I made a damned poor showing in truth,” he confessed, scratching the back of his neck.

Konrad shook his head. “Very creditable,” he assured him. “You need have no worries on that score.”

Farleigh brightened at once as Lowell regaled them with a spectator’s view of de Crecy’s sufferings.

“Serves him right,” Symes chimed in. “The fellow is well-nigh insufferable. Always has been. His uncle’s estate borders a second cousin of mine. The whole family is stiff-necked, but Sir Jeffree’s the worst of the bunch. He’s been raised his uncle’s heir, you know, and is used to looking down on all his neighbors.”

“Who is his uncle?” asked Lowell with interest.

“The Duke of Bethencourt.”

Farleigh whistled. “That would explain it,” he murmured. “Bethencourt is rolling in coin. Does he not own half of Ganfordshire?”

Symes grunted. “Aye, but here’s the rub of it.” He glanced around before continuing. “The uncle, a confirmed bachelor, has recently married some young bride and put Sir Jeffree’s dukedom in jeopardy. That’s one of the reasons de Crecy is in so foul a mood. If this new wife of his uncle’s should catch for a child, he will be disinherited from a title he has always considered as good as his.”

Kentigern looked toward Aimee whose eyes were wide with lively interest.

“Well, that’s one in the eye for Sir Jeffree,” Lowell chortled. “No wonder he’s been in such a passion of late.”

“He is lately married himself of course,” Aimee pointed out. “That might also have affected his equanimity.”

Konrad surprised himself with yet another pang of sympathy for de Crecy.

“What is she like, if you don’t mind me asking, Lady Kentigern?” Lowell asked. All eyes swerved back to Aimee. “De Crecy’s bride, I mean.”

“She is … unusual,” Aimee said after a moment’s pause. “Not what you would expect Sir Jeffree to choose in a wife. And yet …” She tipped her head to one side. “I think she enjoys keeping him on his toes.”

Konrad narrowed his gaze. Where the hells had she gotten that impression? The others made various noises of interest in this point of view. “Aye, well,” he said. “One of us had best be strapping on his armor.” He looked pointedly at Lowell who gave a start.

“Good point,” Lowell said, peering over his shoulder. “Have they assembled? I had better be on my way. Will you stay and watch, my lord?” he asked hopefully.

Konrad looked to Aimee before answering. She nodded encouragingly. “Aye, right willingly,” he rumbled, and Lowell beamed before hurrying off.

“Shall we find a good place to sit?” Farleigh suggested, glancing toward the benches.

“Oh yes,” said Aimee hurriedly and pressed on Konrad’s arm.

He picked up on her unspoken message that she did not wish to return to the Howard’s spot. “How about over to the left?” he suggested obligingly and was rewarded with a relieved smile.

“An excellent notion,” she agreed. “That looks perfect.” Some of the crowds had dispersed after the first battle had ended, and they soon found an empty bench.

“I will go in search of some refreshment,” Symes said, heading off toward one of the more functional looking tents.

Konrad allowed his eye to wander over the crowd as Farleigh told Aimee enthusiastically of the tournaments he had attended thus far this year. He saw Una de Bussell had returned to the Howards and was looking about her with a frown on her face. He lowered his head to speak in his wife’s ear. “I think the princess is looking for you,” he said in a low voice.

Aimee glanced across. “Do you think so?” she sounded gratified. “In truth, I think she will find Lady Howard a good deal easier without me there while I am persona non grata.”

“Why would Lady Howard think that?” Farleigh asked, his ears pricking up. Aimee explained about the aftereffects of her song, and he seemed to derive a good deal of amusement from the tale. When Symes returned with a pitcher of ale and four cups, Farleigh insisted on her repeating the story to his friend.

“It is hardly your fault that Darby’s conscience smote him,” Symes agreed. “I heard he was betrothed to some rich woman in Aldenbrook. A glover’s widow. Likely, Lady Howard was not looking forward to imparting the news the contract was broken.”

“Was he really betrothed to another?” Aimee looked stricken. “Aileen did not tell us that part of the tale.”

“Apparently so,” Symes told her. “But these things happen.”

“I suppose they do,” Aimee murmured guiltily. “But even so, I should not like to think of any lady planning for a wedding that will ne’er take place.”

“I think Mistress Aileen might have the prior claim,” Konrad heard himself point out dryly. “As she has twice born his seed.” He thought Farleigh winced slightly at his blunt manner of speech, but Aimee did not seem to mind it.

“That is true,” she agreed, looking relieved.

“Likely, Darby only pledged himself to the widow for her fat purse,” Farleigh added in what the young fool probably thought a consoling manner.

Aimee’s face filled with color. “Yes, you are probably right,” she agreed in a subdued voice.

Inwardly, Konrad cursed the tactless young idiot.

“Look, they are taking now to the field,” Symes announced. “There’s Fulke,” he said nodding to Lowell.

“And is that not Sir Armand de Bussell?” Aimee asked, pointing to another knight who stood head and shoulders above the others.

“Aye, that’s him,” Konrad agreed.

“Let us see if today is a fair day or a foul one for Sir Armand,” Farleigh suggested with a wink. “I do not know if you are aware of his reputation, my lady,” he said turning to Aimee and then proceeded to give her an account of Sir Armand’s wild discrepancy in the field.

He might not have troubled himself, for from the moment the flag was waved, it was obvious Sir Armand was a man driven with resolve this day. As the knight of most repute in the field, opponents swarmed around him as much as they had Konrad or de Crecy. However, de Bussell seemed to welcome the opportunity it afforded him to pile up his foes.

Watching him from an impartial distance, Konrad was suddenly struck by how cunning de Bussell was in battle. He feinted, he shammed, he wrong-footed his opponents and seemed to derive almost an unholy glee from the effectiveness of his sly approach.

Konrad frowned, for such a thought had never crossed his mind before and that struck him as odd. He had always thought Sir Armand an impulsive and frivolous sort, controlled by his impulses which led to either a good day or a bad when it came to combat. Now he realized that was not the case. De Bussell had been playing them for fools. But why?

A small hand pressed on his forearm. “Why do you glare so?” Aimee whispered. “Do you dislike Sir Armand so very much?”

“What? No,” he answered distractedly, covering her hand with his own and holding it there. “I have never disliked de Bussell,” he admitted. In truth, it was hard to dislike the merry Sir Armand.

“He’s having the devil’s own luck today,” Symes said, leaning forward on his bench. “At least Fulke will likely make it to the final battle if naught else. De Bussell looks well-nigh unbeatable!”

Konrad turned to look at where Princess Una stood watching from the crowd, her hands clasped together and a smile playing about her mouth. Could it be that she had wrought this change in her husband? The idea was a ludicrous one, yet he found himself contemplating it all the same.

Farleigh groaned. “You spoke too soon, for Fulke’s luck has turned,” he commented, for circumstances had now driven Lowell directly into a skirmish with three red knights cornering him like a rat. They watched their friend’s defeat with a gloomy inevitability.

“There will be no consoling him this afternoon,” Symes warned as they saw Lowell stoop to retrieve the sword that had been knocked from his hand. “He will be wholly lost to melancholy.”

Farleigh made a noise of agreement in his throat. “He’s not entered in the lists either, so this is his only event.”

A dispirited Lowell dragged himself to the sideline and lowered himself to sit on the grass beside his fallen teammates with blue armbands. He looked crushed.

Belatedly, Konrad realized both Symes and Farleigh were looking toward him expectantly.

“It just was not his day,” Konrad shrugged. “It happens.”

They murmured agreement. “He might take that better from you, Kentigern,” Farleigh suggested.

“After all, he will still make it to the final battle,” Konrad pointed out. He was not so sure why they all thought Lowell would be so devastated by crashing out of this round.

“He wanted to impress you,” Symes imparted, momentarily robbing him of speech. Aimee squeezed his arm. He turned toward her, lowering his head.

“Perhaps,” she whispered in his ear. “You could call him by his given name when you extend your sympathies.” When Aimee sat back, she gave him an encouraging smile.

Konrad blinked. What was Lowell’s name again? He found it hard to concentrate when he could still feel where Aimee’s breath had tickled his neck. Noticing Symes and Farleigh’s eyes were upon them, he cleared his throat again, giving his wife a brief nod to say he would consider it.

The rest of the battle held little by way of upset expectations. Sir Armand dominated, and the rest scrambled to keep up. It was no surprise when the blue team emerged the eventual winners. Farleigh sat up rubbing his hands. “The final battle will be orange versus blue,” he pronounced.

“And you will have to sit on the sidelines to watch it,” Symes pointed out with a malicious grin. Farleigh punched him on the shoulder.

“You will have to keep my wife company,” Konrad pointed out and Farleigh brightened.

“I would be honored,” he answered with a bow in Aimee’s direction.

“But first there will be a break to allow the blue team to regain their strength, is that not so?” Aimee asked.

“It is,” Konrad agreed.

Farleigh went off in search of pastries and ale, and Lowell joined them presently, his nose encrusted with dried blood.

“Well fought, Fulke,” Konrad growled. “There’s few could stand against de Bussell today. His sword is guided by a spirit of battle.” The saying was a northern one, and he had no idea if Lowell was even familiar with the term.

Lowell flushed. “Thanks, though I hope to put in a better showing this afternoon.” He gave a faint smile.

Konrad shrugged and glanced at Aimee who sent him a glowing look. It seemed he was back in her good graces again, though the gods alone knew how long that would last before he messed things up again.

Farleigh duly returned with ale and a maid carrying a platter of pastries. The next hour passed swiftly before he, Symes, and Lowell were required to go and don their armor once more for the afternoon’s final deciding battle.