“Sir Alexander!” The sweet young voice reached his ear as he passed the lord’s stand.
He looked to where Lord Marcus and his wife flanked their daughter Matilda. She waved to him her, soft face flushed and her blue eyes alight with excitement.
He had no choice except to go over to her.
“A championship,” Lord Marcus said approvingly. “You will leave far richer than you came.”
Between the champion’s purse and the many forfeits he had taken, that was true. And yet, at the moment, he found little joy in it. Still, he accepted the congratulations.
“I hear that you have one more challenge,” little Mathilda said.
“Yes, my lady. Very soon.”
She reached up, unpinned her veil, and offered it. “It would please me if you wore this.”
He looked at that veil. Blue, not crimson. “Do you intend to stay for that competition?”
“Of course. Everyone will be staying.”
He fingered the blue veil. “Perhaps you should not witness such things.”
Matilda appeared taken aback by the subtle scold. So did her mother.
Lord Marcus seemed unconcerned. “He is being chivalrous due to your feminine frailty,” he explained to her.
“I am not afraid,” Matilda said. “If a man dies, I am sure it will not be you, sir.”
He pressed the veil back into her hand. “I am honored, my lady. However, I fear that in the next challenge it is likely to get ruined, and that would grieve me.”
Her brow puckered. She looked to her mother, confused. Her mother shrugged.
“Well said, Sir Alexander,” Lord Marcus said, although his gaze suggested other thoughts. “He is right Matilda. It will be stained by blood for certain.”
Zander strode away, cursing himself for closing that particular door almost all the way. Then again, right now the idea of a life with Matilda struck him as long and tedious. He would never have old memories with her or share the confidences of his soul.
He found Angus and Harold. Angus began cladding his shoulders in the plate. “The crowd grows even as we do this.”
“Everyone likes blood sport.” Even girls not yet ten and six.
“I trust you will make quick work of this.”
“Not too quick.”
Angus looked at him. “A dead man doesn’t care if he has been humiliated first.”
“It is not a man whose pride I seek to save.”
“If her father is dead, she won’t care about that either.”
“Probably not. But I will.”
“Just so you don’t forget the goal is for you not to be killed. Would be a hell of a thing if you played a game of parrying only for that to happen.”
Zander had to smile at Angus’s deep frown. “I won’t forget.”
He moved his arms and tested how the plate sat on his shoulders while Harold attached his schynbalds. He unsheathed his sword and swung it a few times. He could hear the marshal’s voice above the noise of the crowd, explaining the stakes of the next two competitions.
He wondered if Elinor would be watching. He hoped not, but probably so.
He took his helmet from Angus. “Let us go.”
She did not want to watch, but she followed the stragglers aiming to the lists. She had removed the veil and silver before helping her father, but now both decorated her crown. It did not mean she wanted Zander to win. She just wanted neither of them to lose.
It seemed everyone was going to attend this competition. Not only because it was one of the last two, but also because it promised blood.
She buried herself among the bodies at the edge of the crowd that had formed. She could barely see through them. She heard the marshal’s announcements. Toward the end of his call, she felt a touch on her arm.
A boy stood right beside her, with his right arm extended in a gesture that pushed back the jostling bodies around him. “My lord invites you to sit on the stand with him, mistress.”
She looked across the field. Lord Yves had seen her and sent his page to bring her over.
“I don’t—that is, I—” She stammered out nonsense while she searched for a way to decline the invitation.
The boy smiled and urged her forward.
She hesitated, then walked with him. If she was going to be here at all, she might as well witness what happened, instead of craning her neck only to see nothing at all.
They mounted the stairs to the stand. Lord Yves stood and greeted her, and sat her beside him, making an important-looking lord move over to create a space. “You should not be alone, Lady Elinor. This trial is yours as well as theirs.”
He said that as if he knew just how similar it was and how no victory would please her. She collected what poise she could and ignored the eyes aiming her way from the other honored guests.
Movement below distracted all of them. Her father rode a horse onto the field that would be his battle ground. With his helmet and armor, no one could know his age, and on a horse his bad leg was not evident. The plate that Zander had brought gave him a presence, she had to admit, and hopefully some protection. He looked to be the knight he once was.
She wondered who had given him that horse to use and whether it would make any difference.
The crowd hushed on seeing him. Then a rumble started, and grew, like a wave from the south. It washed over the whole field as everyone reacted to Zander riding forward. He wore his own colors, not the green of his lord. He did not wear his helmet yet, so his face could be clearly seen. Hard. Pale beneath his dark locks. Fire burned in his eyes. This was not her childhood friend and recent lover. It was The Devil’s Blade.
Her breath caught. She looked desperately at her father again. Panic broke in her. She began to rise, to run to her father and beg him to step down and forfeit.
A firm hand on her arm stopped her. She
