Her father straightened enough to look less pained. “About that. I retract it. That day isn’t so clear in my mind, what with being wounded and barely conscious. I’ve had some memories come back to me that say I was not abandoned as I thought. So, I forfeit for certain, and stand down as he said.” He looked over at Zander. “No need for you to as well.”
“I am not blameless regarding your accusations. I was not a coward, but I should have done more to stop you. Tied you up or hit you over the head.”
“Well now, I don’t know about hitting me over—”
“Enough.” Lord Yves gazed out at the crowd, who waited for him to speak. He speared her father with a glare. “Be more careful before you ask for combat à l'outrance. It creates expectations. Now I am the one who has to explain this to them.”
“If you do so quickly, the next challenge can start, and maybe someone will get killed in that one,” Elinor suggested.
Lord Yves seemed to agree. While her father and Zander walked down the field together, Lord Yves announced that both men had stood down and Sir Hugo had admitted a mistake in his accusation. Then he signaled for the marshal to move on to the next challenge.
Elinor waited until Lord Yves stopped talking before she excused herself from his company and ran from the stand.
She caught up with her father easily on his way through the camps, now empty due to their inhabitants watching the last challenge. He led the horse by its reins but appeared relieved to see her. He leaned on her hard while he hobbled along with the war horse breathing on their necks. She guessed that bruises were rising beneath his hauberk and leg mail.
She enjoyed every step even if he didn’t. Lightness entered her spirit and she could not stop smiling. What had promised to be a horrible day had instead become beautiful.
“I’ve succeeded in one thing at this tourney, at least, even if I have no spoils,” her father said. “I’ve found you a husband.”
“Sir Gerwant?”
“I’m very pleased with myself on that.”
They walked a few more paces. “Father, I do not want to disobey you, but you need to know that I will kill myself before I marry that man.”
He stopped and looked at her. She met his gaze squarely.
He shook his head. “You really are turning shrewish, daughter. I suppose I could beat you into agreement, but somehow I don’t think you would stand down even then.”
She noticed his leg had become very weak. She put her arm around him to help more. “There is another thing I must be shrewish about.”
“More? Saints preserve me.”
“Whatever Sir Gerwant and Sir Lionel have been trying to lure you into doing—”
“Nobody’s been luring me. I can’t be lured.”
“Whatever it is, you must swear to me now you will not do it. Today’s combat was enough risk for this year and next, I think.”
He made a face. He began to object. Then he shook his head again. “I suppose I can miss the adventure if you insist on it.”
“I do.”
“Means going back to that cottage and eating more soup.”
“Right now that sounds wonderful to me.”
Before going to their tent he brought the horse to a tent in the nearby encampments. She helped him remove the saddle, and they left it there for a squire or groom to tend.
Elinor sat him down in their tent and began unbuckling the plate on his shoulder. While she did so, a shadow fell on them. The squire Harold stood at the tent’s opening, carrying a sack.
“I was sent to serve you.” He set down the sack, opened it, and removed a small bladder. “Some wine, to clear your head.” He walked over, handed it to her father, and took over with the armor. “I’ve got a salve for your shoulder and leg, and I was told to warm water for you to wash.” He looked at Elinor. “You will not be needed now, my lady.”
“But I always—”
“Not needed,” her father echoed. “Been a long time since a squire has served me.” He took a long draw of the wine. “Be sure to clean and oil that plate, boy. And there’s sand for the mail in those sacks outside.”
“His name is Harold, and he is one of Zander’s squires,” she said.
Her father looked surprised. He glanced in the direction of the nearby camps. “Not one of—”
“He was not sent by one of your new friends, but by one of our oldest.” She gestured to his thigh. “I see that blow to your leg did not affect your mail.”
“He caught me wrong, with the flat of his sword, not the edge. A fortunate mistake.”
“Most fortunate.” She bent and kissed his head. “Enjoy being served, while I enjoy not having to bury you.”
She hurried through the camps until she reached Zander’s pavilion. Heart full and beating hard, she paused only to make sure the veil and circlet had not fallen askew. Then she burst into the pavilion.
And saw at once that Zander was not alone.
Lord Marcus was saying something that made Zander laugh. His wife watched approvingly. And right in front of Zander, the girl with red hair looked up with adoration in her eyes.
She halted at once, wishing she could disappear. Silence fell and everyone turned to the intruder.
“Lady Elinor,” Zander said.
She looked at him, then at the girl. “I came to thank you for today,” she said. “For everything.” She lowered her gaze, made a small curtsy, and turned on her heel.
She walked back to her father, thinking about that family with Zander, remembering how young and pretty the daughter was. Lord Marcus and his wife appeared to have made a decision about their daughter’s future. Such a marriage would be worth far more than what Zander won as champion.
What had she expected? For the champion of the tournament to be alone
