Tournament Prize Read online

  "Better party on the victor's side. Also, my wife wanted to see Ralph in his glory." The baron lowered his voice. "I heard a rumour about some disagreement between you and de Rous. Thought I'd set him straight. We go back a long way, you know -- too long for me to stomach such nonsense. His father would have been ashamed, and so I told him. You may regard the matter as entirely laid to rest."

  "Thank you," Alan said, surprised and touched. "It is rare for a magnate of your standing to concern himself with the troubles of a mere lordless knight. I'm deeply in your debt, sir."

  "I knew your father also, once upon a time. And I see from the company you keep that you know how to choose good friends. They're a credit to your judgement, as your fighting is to your skill. You are on the right path for equalling your father, lad. Perhaps you don't know it, but you are."

  Alan hesitated. He'd always been determined to make his own way, from the moment he declined service in his mentor's household. Not from a quarrel of any kind: Robert, Matilda's brother, had raised and trained him well, taught him all a knight needed to know. But Alan's father had once been a force to reckon with on the tourney field, so much so that he'd built his own independent retinue from knights who left their own lords to join him. Alan was determined to continue that reputation.

  He only wished it were possible within the constraints of his preferred sphere. Jousting had always been his favoured pursuit, but tourneys held the higher honour and the better hope of profit. He must prove himself there, if he were ever to rival his father's name for skill.

  Learning from the best was no disgrace. Alan had swallowed a great deal of injured pride to approach Guillaume and sue for a place alongside him.

  Beyond that, Alan expected no help and asked for none. It occurred to him, now, that his attitude held more of arrogance than he liked.

  "I am most fortunate," Alan admitted.

  "You've earned it." The baron shook his head. "That tilt of yours... Your father would have been proud. So is Robert, I wager, if he ever chanced to see it. He's missed out on the field, you know. Tell him that, if you write to him. We could all do with seeing him in action once again."

  Alan smiled. "I think he's fully occupied with his family."

  "That's no fit work for a man," the baron scoffed. "Besides, he can bring them. I always did with mine. Still do, for that matter."

  "Yes." Alan glanced around, at all the ladies and young men and old, thought of the children chasing each other around the tents with squeals of delight. A place to grow up, good as any, the tourney scene.

  He glanced at Caroline, who stood a little apart from her chosen companion. She looked shining and lovely to his eyes, warmed by the glowing lights. He longed to go to her, take her in his arms and kiss her, and ask her to belong to him alone.

  She saw him then, looked straight into his heart, or so it felt. The smile on her face faltered, and her eyes held his, steady and certain.

  He'd been a damn fool.

  "Excuse me," Alan said. The baron laughed and slapped him on the back, and turned to someone else.

  Alan made his way across, sleek and smooth, with nothing standing in his way. No obstacles at all, he'd merely imagined them, the crowd parted with ease to let him pass. And he was there, right by her, so close he could take her hand.

  "She's mine," the champion said. "Take your eyes off my lady for the night, cocky."

  Alan swung to face him, expected the sear of rage -- and found only laughter in his heart, instead.

  "I'll let you carry her favour for now," Alan said. "But she's not yours. Remember that."

  "Since you ask so courteously, take a moment or two." The champion dropped Caroline's hand into Alan's, and turned aside to field congratulations and good-natured threats.

  Alan raised Caroline's hand to his lips. Her skin lay soft against his own. She held his gaze steadily, and did not stiffen or pull away.

  "Thank you for the favour," he said. "It gladdened me. I wish I could have won, for you."

  "There was a slight difficulty." Caroline's fingers wrapped around his own. "I'm sorry for it. You were my choice, if that counts for something."

  "Indeed it does." Far beyond anything else. He didn't care about wealth or honour, if he could only stand here with her.

  "You mentioned horseriding," Caroline said. "I should very much like to improve."

  So he had. "I'd be delighted to assist. You have a horse, I assume?"

  "We share a couple of palfreys between us."

  "It's better to keep your own if you can. Horse and rider get used to each other. Of course, one should be able to mount any horse at need. But they are not carts: they are living creatures, each of them unique. Like people."

  "Really?"

  "Absolutely. You'll find a friendship with some horses that is entirely its own. They get to understand you, perhaps even better than you understand yourself. And if you listen to them, stay close and let them show you what they feel, you come to understand them also."

  Alan shook himself. His voice had taken on a wistful tone, mournful almost, and he knew all too well where that came from. Curse Guillaume. Though it had been Alan's own choice, at the beginning of their friendship. His own horse back, or else a place within the brotherhood. One or the other, not both. And he'd known what he wanted most, then.

  Now, he wasn't sure.

  He kissed Caroline's hand again, faintly scented with thyme. Breathed in deep and caught the scent of her body, warm under linen and wool. Fought against arousal that spiralled through him and made him uncomfortably aware of his own body, a mere step away from her. He could take that step, and they'd be close enough to touch hip to hip, chest to chest --

  "Can you visit tomorrow?" Caroline whispered. "Before you have to -- leave?"

  Perhaps he'd imagined it, the way her voice caught on that last word. His own heart snagged on it, too. He didn't want to leave.

  "If I have your father's permission." Alan forced himself to look away from her, to seek out Charles de Louvain among the press of men. Only to find him returning the stare with a doubtful frown. "Does he hold anything against me?"

  "Not any more. There was a nasty rumour for a while, but your friend spoke strongly for you." She flashed a smile at Guillaume, who shot that dark glitter back at her and made Alan's chest cramp.

  "I'm obliged to him." And he was, it was truth, though he'd be more obliged if the handsome bastard took off to another hall. In another country, for preference.

  "What really happened?" Caroline asked, and fixed her brilliant eyes on Alan.

  With her attention so fully on himself, Alan flushed and sought for self-deprecation. Which didn't come, to his mystified embarrassment. He'd never boasted as other men did, it sat badly with him, irksome as a crease under armour. He'd got into the habit of making light of his own accomplishments, dismissing them almost. Not least because he knew he still had much to learn.

  But now, even as he groped for a casual remark, he found he could not lie.

  "I brought down an opponent of considerable wealth and standing," Alan admitted. "Another lord -- one meant to be my ally for today -- tried to take the credit. I objected, and brought him down. Took him captive for ransom, and his entire retinue with him. It was a foolish measure, and brought me hostility. I could have handled things better."

  "I bet you were wonderful," Caroline said. "I saw you on the field, and you fought the best of any man there."

  Alan shifted, hot in his tunic and cloak. "You flatter me. But there was a great deal of skill on display." He would have said more, regained his composure, but the day's champion took that moment to butt in.

  "Greatest of all from me." Ralph shot Alan a friendly grin, then seized Caroline's hand and led her away. She glanced back just once, with a small regretful smile. Alan raised his fingers in acknowledgement, gave her a rueful smile in return. Nothing he could do here, nor she either. He'd had his chance on the tourney field, and fumbled it.

  "Come on." Guill
aume punched his shoulder, so hard Alan winced. "Let's get to the food. Only thing worth coming here for."

  Alan punched back. "Say that again and I'll have to take you down."

  Guillaume snickered. Not too many months ago he'd have flown into a rage, but since marrying Matilda he'd positively mellowed. Which in the past might have put Alan in a bad mood, but now just seemed amusing.

  Alan made his way towards the place indicated by the nearest herald. Once settled, he glanced towards the high table and found to his immense irritation that his nemesis de Rous was there, correctly if annoyingly seated within a couple of steps from Caroline.

  The heat of the answering glare told Alan nothing was forgiven or forgotten on de Rous' part. They'd collected a very handsome chest of fine linen and some plate, by way of ransom. By the expression on de Rous' face, he was already planning the raid to steal it back.

  "Should probably send that stuff off soon as possible," Alan muttered to Geoffrey, who sat a little higher than himself.

  "Already taken care of."

  He should have known, Alan thought. Geoffrey handled the group's finances with aplomb. "Want to tell me when and where?"

  "No."

  Which made good sense, also. Though Alan felt the familiar shiver at being so entirely in another man's hands. He didn't like it -- he'd gone onto the circuit alone, to begin with, and was used to relying on himself. Comradeship had changed that, he wouldn't swap his life now for the one he'd first known at the beginning of his tourney career, but early habits were hard to kill.

  He could do with having some wealth under his hands, too, if he were courting Caroline.

  If. Ridiculous word. He waited only for the formalities of this event to be over, so he could begin his own campaign in earnest.

  "I might need some," he told Geoffrey.

  "That's taken care of, too."

  Of course it was. "Damn your efficiency."

  Geoffrey laughed.

  Up at the high table, the toasts and speeches began. Alan listened with unaccustomed pleasure, made the most of the opportunity to watch Caroline. She really was beautiful, poised and elegant, with the quick flash of intelligent understanding whenever a clever allusion surfaced. Occasionally she ventured a glance at him, a brief but warm smile that heartened him. He answered them all, dreamed of hours soon to come when he would be near her, speak with her, touch her hand.

  And after that... though he'd be best off not dwelling on future pleasures. Not yet. And not here, surrounded by people who next to fighting loved nothing better than to gossip. He'd wait, and be patient, and win her by quiet conversation on topics agreeable to them both.

  Though the idea surfaced again, insistently, and he was hard put to it to shake it off.

  Not least when time came to honour the day's champion. Alan struggled to watch with equanimity as Caroline endured a far lengthier kiss than he considered appropriate. His was the minority view, as evidenced by the hoots and cheers from the lower tables.

  It didn't help that Caroline emerged flushed and smiling. Alan glared as she presented a bulging purse and a handsome falcon to the smirking Ralph de Niege, whose features Alan longed to rearrange.

  He swore he'd do it, too. But that would have to wait. Another tourney would do just as well. Here, a show of temper from Alan could only cause impertinent speculation. For his own part he didn't much care, but he didn't want Caroline troubled.

  More toasts and speeches, and the worst was over. Alan settled to idle conversation for the rest of the meal, did his best to appear unaffected. Not long now, he reminded himself, twelve hours perhaps, or fifteen at most.

  He wanted sleep: his body ached from blows and exertion, and he yearned to be fresh for the morning. As soon as he decently could he excused himself, waited only for the ladies of the family to retire and men's voices to grow loud again, then wandered off to his own tent.

  Where he slept like a just man, and dreamed that Caroline led him into her private chamber, and kept him there throughout the night.

  ***

  CHAPTER 7

  Caroline leaned to peek out of the narrow window. For the first time in her life, books and conversation held no appeal for her. She wanted only to be outside, to watch the bustle of the camp, to see if Alan's party were yet on their way towards her.

  A steady stream of visitors forced her to display such composure as she was capable of. They came for a chat with her mother, for the most part: her father was already out in the fields, had been since morning, taking leave of all their guests. A few wanted a word or two with her, though she managed to turn them aside neatly with the odd quotation and theological reflection. They frowned a little, for the most part, then refitted a polite if uninterested smile, offered further platitudes to her mother, and mercifully disappeared.

  Except for this one, De Rous, who had already stayed far longer than anyone else, merely gave her a supercilious look and continued to list the virtues a good wife must possess.

  Caroline's skin crawled. He barely knew her -- he couldn't truthfully mean to offer marriage. This must be a small campaign to make her uncomfortable, a petty revenge for the insults to his vanity these past few days. But her mother shone with gratified delight, appeared not in the least disgusted by the way he leaned a little too close. Caroline had shifted as far back as she could, but when that proved insufficient to prevent his sleeve brushing hers, she made some excuse about watching one of father's friends and fled to the relative safety of the window seat. Where her book lay, carefully marked at the place she'd left off reading it three days ago.

  Three days. So much had happened since then. An entire new world had opened up before her, rich with opportunities for new learning and experiences. A world with Alan in it, a man unlike any she'd known or even imagined before -- who spoke with her as an equal, who loved the things she did and wished only to show her yet more things of interest, who touched her with light warmth that lingered on the skin long after and made her yearn for more, who...

  Caroline swallowed. Heat rose and spread all through her body. This was not a state in which she wished to entertain guests, least of all such vermin as -- she shot a glance of pure hatred at de Rous.

  "Do come and sit with us, Caroline," Madeline said, then simpered at de Rous in a manner terrible to behold. "Please forgive my daughter. She is not accustomed to company."

  "Very proper," de Rous said. "A wife should be busy about her own domain."

  "Happily, I need not concern myself about what that might be," Caroline shot back. She would have expounded on the topic, but at that moment a group strolled in who made her completely forget all her arguments against marriage.

  "Lady Madeline, you are even more ravishing by day than in lamplight." Guillaume slid into a seat close by Caroline's mother, and shouldered de Rous aside in the process. Caroline choked back a laugh as de Rous scowled, half rose as if to issue challenge, then visibly reconsidered at sight of Guillaume's sheer bulk.

  "Quite a retinue you have out there." Geoffrey took command of de Rous' other side. "Expensive to house, I would imagine. If you're travelling east, it so happens I've sent a party ahead with the plate you so generously parted with. A message will convert it to payment for lodgings, if you have coin on you now."

  "I favour the larger meet." Roland took up position between Caroline and the little group clustered in the seats, and instantly continued an established conversation with Matilda -- just loud enough that it would be rude for either Madeline or de Rous to attempt to interrupt. "More chance for coin and honour, and a greater challenge too."

  "There is that," Matilda admitted, "but the terrain will be more interesting at the smaller meet. I think we should consider -- " She went on with a fearsomely detailed account of ridges and valleys and woods.

  Caroline turned with amazement to Alan, who had quietly taken up position beside her. "Do they always work together like this?"

  "Oh yes." Alan grinned at her. "It's pretty impressive, I mus
t admit."

  Dazed, Caroline studied the field before her. Both de Rous and her mother had been decisively blocked, with such smooth efficiency that neither could reasonably take offence.

  "You are fortunate in having such friends." She hadn't meant to sound envious, but she did.

  Alan took her hand gently in his. "I should very much like them to be your friends also. If you are at all amenable to considering me as a suitor."

  She was. The heat and excitement that blossomed through her body told her so. But her head cavilled, and insisted she had yet to be convinced. "It is a little soon to speak of marriage."

  "No harm in speaking." Alan's fingers twined strong and warm around hers -- and yet he held her so lightly, she knew a mere twitch from her would send him away. Almost it made her nervous. She was not used to having such power to command a man.

  "Well." Caroline groped for words. She, of all people, ought to have a ready quip for the occasion, but now that it came to it she could think of none. "You should know that I like to read, and talk, and that I have strong opinions and maintain the right to express them."

  "Meet my cousin Matilda," Alan replied. "She's like a sister to me. Believe that while the nature of your opinions may startle me, the strength of their expression will not."

  Caroline laughed. "Very well. I shall wish to remain close to my family. This wandering life you lead is no doubt fascinating, and I would not object to sharing it, but I love my parents and my sisters very much, and my home also -- " Tears welled up unexpectedly, and threatened to choke her.

  "I would not ask you to leave them entirely." Alan drew her closer, his face serious. "Of course they are dear to you. But I have had some thoughts of buying a manor or two, and the countryside around here seems pleasant. If you know of a little place that would suit you, this is certainly a matter I would be happy to discuss."

  "Oh." Caroline hesitated. It was all so logical, so rational, so right. She sought for a flaw, a false premiss or unjustified inference.

  "The real question," Alan said, "is whether you desire a life with me."