Captive Rose (39 page)

As he circled closer to the pavilion, her pulse raced
in anticipation of his fury at her appearance. Then he was in front of her, and
his deep blue eyes were fixed on her as he rode by. To her acute
disappointment, she saw no anger, only a flicker of amusement.

At another loud blare of trumpets, the knights ceased
the grand procession and turned to face the pavilion. Leila dragged her gaze
from Guy's distant form in time to see King Edward rise from his chair, a
radiant Eleanor at his side. An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

"I, Edward, your newly crowned king, and my
beautiful Queen Eleanor bid you welcome!"

A huge clamor of huzzahs, swords battering upon shields,
and applause filled the air, which after a few moments was silenced as Edward
raised his hand.

"One of these valiant knights before you will
prove the champion three days from now during the final round of jousting. So
without further delay, I say, let the tournament begin. Those
knights
who have drawn the first match, come forward."

"Oh, look! Raymond is in this match,"
Margaret exclaimed.

The young woman watched with obvious pride as her
husband rode toward the pavilion along with eleven other men while the rest of
the participants left the field. But her face fell when Raymond reined in his
steed beside a knight dressed all in black, from the thick plume gracing his
flat-topped helm to the midnight
destrier
pawing
restlessly beneath him. Upon the man's black shield was a gold dragon with
seven writhing heads.

"Lord
Gervais
,"
Margaret murmured, suddenly subdued.

Leila felt a chill as she studied her brother, thinking
he looked menacing indeed. But why would this pairing so upset Margaret? Surely
her husband appeared strong enough to hold his own against Roger.

"If you've a lady in the stands," Edward
spoke out again, addressing the assembled knights, "go to her now and let
her bestow upon you a token of good fortune."

"What's this?" Leila asked as Raymond veered
his
destrier
toward where they were sitting. "A
token?"

"
'Tis
the custom,"
Blanche replied. "The lady bestows upon her knight some charm to guard his
person during the joust."

"What a silly notion," she declared. "No
charm can protect a man from his kismet."

From the color spotting Blanche's cheeks, Leila
realized she had clearly taken offense. "And what is kismet?" Blanche
asked.

"Fate." Leila watched as Margaret stood and
tossed to her husband a delicate white lace veil she had pulled from her
sleeve. Raymond caught it, brought it gallantly to his breast,
then
tucked it into his dark green
surcoat
.

"God grant you victory, my husband," Margaret
said quietly, her eyes fixed upon him as he rode back toward the king.

Leila's gaze flew to the opposite side of the pavilion
where she spied Maude tying a gold veil around Roger's lowered lance. Then he,
too, veered his snorting stallion back to where the other knights were waiting.

"My lords, take your places at the lists!"
came a voice other than Edward's, who had retaken his seat next to Eleanor.

"That man is the master of the joust,"
Blanche explained stiffly, indicating the portly gentleman standing below the
royal box. "He will officiate for the remainder of the tournament."

Leila's eyes followed Roger and Raymond as they rode to
the second closest of the six boarded enclosures. They entered and separated,
her brother galloping to one end and lowering his lance while Margaret's
husband went to the opposite side. Another hush descended over the spectators
as the last knights took their places. The only sounds were the nervous
nickering of horses and the flapping of pennants in the light autumn breeze.

All that changed when the master of the joust suddenly
dropped the gold banner he had been holding high over his head. A great cry
went up from a thousand throats as the twelve knights kicked their
destriers
into a hard canter and rode full tilt at their
opponents, shields raised and lances taking aim.

Leila winced at the loud, sickening thwacks that filled
the air. Four knights hit the ground with bone-shattering force. Only the
victors and two pairs of opponents remained in the saddle, Raymond and Roger
and the knights in the sixth list. It seemed she had no more drawn a breath
than they were riding hard at each other again.

This time Raymond fell, but he did not stumble to his
feet as had the other unseated knights. He lay crumpled upon the ground until
four de
Warenne
squires came running and carried him
from the field, his limbs dangling limply between them.

"I must go to him," Margaret said
distractedly, her face ashen as she rose from the bench. "I must go to
him."

"Come, my lady, I'll escort you," the earl of
Surrey offered tersely, glancing at his wife as he stood and took Margaret's
arm. "I want to see if there has been some impropriety . . ." He did
not finish, but led away the shaken young woman.

"Impropriety?" Leila asked
,
jarred herself by what she had just witnessed. What a brutal sport!

Matilda's expression was serious. "My husband
needs to know if Lord Gray merely suffered a hard fall or if Lord
Gervais
failed to blunt his lance and thus injured him. We shall
pray that that is not the case, especially for Margaret's and her children's
sakes."

Leila clasped her hands tightly as Blanche added, "Men
have been known to use the jousts to settle personal scores, though at the king's
own tournament I cannot imagine how anyone would dare. I only hope my Hubert
does not select your brother's name on the morrow if he wins his match today.
Lord
Gervais's
skill with the lance is renowned. He
has never been beaten."

No wonder Margaret had become so distressed when she
had discovered her husband's opponent, Leila thought uneasily. And Blanche's
statement about settling scores would certainly explain why Roger had wanted to
be paired with Guy.

If any men carried grudge upon grudge against each
other, it was those two, and from what she had seen in the abbey yesterday, her
marriage to Guy had only made things worse between them. It made perfect sense
that Roger would want revenge against Guy for ruining all his plans. Had he
decided to vent his wrath on Raymond, a de
Warenne
knight, since he was not paired with the opponent he truly wanted? She hoped
not.

"There is only one man who shares Lord
Gervais's
record," Blanche continued, raising her
voice to be heard above the blast of trumpets that signaled another match. "Your
husband. Whenever they have met in the lists, it has always been a draw."

Pondering this news, Leila reluctantly watched the next
four matches. She was relieved to see that the unseated knights usually
staggered to their feet with little assistance. During the fifth match, the
earl of Surrey returned to the pavilion, but without Lady Margaret.

"How is Raymond?" Matilda gripped her husband's
arm when he sat down heavily. "He's not . . ."

"No, he lives, though he'll carry quite a knot on
his head for several days," John replied. "
Gervais's
lance struck him in the helmet, knocking him unconscious. Margaret has gone
with him back to the palace. He needs rest."

"And was the lance blunted?"

"Aye."
  

Grateful her brother had not done anything
foolish,
Leila focused her attention on the field as another
set of twelve knights rode toward the pavilion. Her heart skipped a beat when
she spied Guy among them, but what startled her even more was that Roger was in
this group.

Matilda had also noticed. "What is this? Lord
Gervais
is jousting again? How can this be, my lord? Each
man was to joust in only one match today."

John shook his head in disgust. "
Gervais
somehow managed to persuade Guy's opponent to give
up his place. Probably by threat of life and limb, I'd wager."

"But can he do this? What of the rules?"

"The rules allow a replacement if consent is given
by all, and Guy has consented, I think out of anger for what happened to
Raymond. When Margaret and I arrived at the de
Warenne
tent, we found him incensed. He claims Roger did not wait for the signal the
second time around, but gained a lead on Raymond which gave him an unfair
advantage. I did not see this, but who can say?"

"Oh dear," Matilda said as the knights began
to form into pairs in front of the royal box. "Just listen to the crowd.
'
Tis
the favored match they've
been awaiting, and two days earlier than expected."

Matilda was right, Leila thought, her head whirling
from the clamor. The throng of spectators was going wild. Some people were even
jumping over the fence to get closer to the lists, but the king's men-at-arms
were catching them and throwing them back. Was this melee erupting simply
because Guy and Roger were both champions at the joust, or was it due to the
mutual enmity they made no effort to hide? Perhaps the crowd expected more than
a joust from these men. Perhaps they expected a duel to the death.

Cold fear gripped her throat at this grim realization,
her thoughts running away with her.

Dear God, what if Roger's skill with the lance proved
superior and Guy
was
killed in this match?

The next moments passed in a haze as the master of the
joust confirmed the change in opponents. It was only when the knights fanned
out to receive their
tokens,
Guy halting his
destrier
right in front of her, that Leila felt a more
poignant emotion.

Was this the last time she would ever look into his
eyes? Would she ever again feel his powerful arms around her, the warmth of his
kiss?

"Leila, you're holding up the match," Blanche
hissed in her ear. "Everybody is waiting. Give him your face veil."

Leila started, Blanche's words reminding her of her
defiant plan. "I cannot," she murmured shakily, but loud enough for
Guy to hear. "I would have nothing else with which to cover my face. I
will not compromise my beliefs for this barbaric sport."

A shocked gasp went up from Blanche and the spectators
surrounding her, but everyone grew still when Guy pressed his hand over his
heart. His voice was muffled behind the helmet, but it clearly held humor.

"By all means, my love, save your beauty for my
eyes alone. Your devotion pleases me."

That was hardly the angry response she had expected to
draw for her slight, Leila thought with vexation as he dug his heels into his
war-horse and thundered to the nearest list where Roger was already waiting for
him.

This time the crowd did not fall silent. The cheering
rose to a fever pitch as the master of the joust raised the golden banner,
then
dropped it.

Leila's irritation
fled,
her
heart hammering. She had the strangest sensation that events were happening in
slow motion. Paying no heed to the other jousting knights, she watched numbly
as Guy and Roger bore down upon each other, lances lowered, drawing closer and
closer, then the familiar thwacks rang out followed by the sound of splitting
wood.

"God's bones, they've both broken their lances!"
John blustered loudly.

Leila felt a tightness in her chest as Guy rode
unharmed to the opposite end of the list. He sharply wheeled his war-horse and
took up the new lance handed to him by his squire. How long would this madness
continue?
she
wondered, her throat so dry she could
barely swallow.

She sat on the edge of the bench as the banner was lifted
and held high for what seemed an interminable moment, the master of the joust
waiting for the victors and unseated knights to leave the field. Now there were
only two opponents left in the lists—Roger
Gervais
and Guy de
Warenne
. All eyes were focused on them as
the banner fell again.

The lances broke twice more. A fierce tension seemed to
hold everyone in its grip. Leila did not think she could bear to watch anymore,
and she stared blindly at her lap, listening to the master of the joust bellow
above the din.

"This is the final run! If there is no clear
victor, the match will be declared a draw."

"Leila, you're going to miss it," Blanche
said. "Look, they're charging!"

With great reluctance, Leila lifted her head in time to
wish she hadn't. Her eyes grew wide with horror as Guy was knocked violently
from the saddle and landed flat on his stomach.

Several moments passed. When he did not make the
slightest motion to rise, a rumbling of disbelief rose from the crowd. The
favored champion was down. Maybe injured. Maybe worse. Some bystanders began to
leap the fence and race toward the first list, as did mounted de
Warenne
knights who had been watching from the sidelines.

"No," Leila murmured, her heartbeat pounding
like thunder in her ears. "No!" Guy couldn't be . . .

She
rose,
almost unaware she
was doing so, dodging Blanche who tried to grab her arm, and hurried past
stunned lords and ladies to the stairs leading to the field.

She had to reach Guy.

Nearly tripping down the steps in her haste, Leila
lifted her skirts and began to run. She could hear John and Matilda calling out
for her to stop, saying there were too many people and horses now on the field
and she might be trampled, but their shouts were soon lost in the commotion.
She did not slow her pace until she reached the congested list.

"Let me pass!" she demanded hoarsely,
wrenching aside her face veil and fighting for breath as she pushed her way
through the crush of knights and spectators surrounding the spot where Guy had
fallen. "I'm his wife. Please, let me pass!"