Chapter One #2
Long silver horns sang their happy notes to gather everyone’s attention.
The king stood and raised his arms wide, turning to the left then right.
Marion could see the man’s smile as he turned their way.
It had been widely rumored these tourneys were the most joy in which the king engaged.
Looking around at the spectacle that was the palace grounds, she could believe it.
For there was certainly no item without full attention.
Banners flew depicting the various great families of the land, and even the chairs on which they sat had been decorated with a thistle and rose intertwined, the definitive symbol of the royal’s union.
“Welcome. Welcome to our summer tournament. We have much to celebrate! Let the games begin!”
The crowd erupted and Marion could not help but become caught up in the excitement as a dozen men all decked in their polished black, silver, or gold armor rode out before the crowd.
They were quite the sight to behold as they rode proud, stopping before their king, visors up and eyes forward.
She took in all of their presentation, noting how sturdy they sat atop their horses.
Some had been decorated with a ribbon braided into the mane while others had been brushed to a fault, not a hair out of place.
As her gaze traveled along the line of entrants, she stopped at the blackest, shiniest armor she had ever seen.
The outline of a wild boar was hammered onto the breastplate.
She didn’t know to which clan he belonged, but was certain the armor had cost a great deal of coin.
There was no doubt he was someone of import.
Marion took in the rest of the man then, noticing the broad shoulders, and continued looking up until her gaze locked with striking eyes.
His brows pinched as if he sorted some great puzzle.
The fluttering she had in her belly earlier was back with a vengeance.
The longer they held one another’s gaze, the more lightheaded she became.
It was as though he saw into her very soul, able to see her discomfort.
Somewhere in the distance a man called out the names of the entrants, but she was too distracted to pay attention. A heartbeat later, he turned his attention toward the king and with sword in hand, placed it to his heart and bowed his head briefly.
Marion prayed no one had noticed the exchange, least of all her mother who would have them in the marriage bed before the afternoon meal was served. She smiled to herself at the thought as she cast her eyes downward to stare at her traitorous hands that would not stop shaking.
When she found the courage to look up again, the riders had disbursed, all but one who caught her gaze again before riding off to take his place among the other contestants of this, the first element of the games.
There would be tests of skills including capturing rings while riding at top speeds, but it appeared the king wanted to kick this tourney off with the highest drama.
A joust.
She somehow had been pierced. Did she really need the visual representation to drive the point home?
The first riders took their places opposite one another and positioned their spears. The black rider was nowhere to be seen.
Hoofs pounded the earth, flicking dirt high into the air as the riders approached one another at top speed. Time seemed to slow as the distance between them closed, and Marion could not help but place her hands to her mouth and hold her breath.
A loud crack broke the moment as the rider approaching from the right directed his spear at the chest of his opponent and upon contact, unseated him instantly. He flew into the air and landed with a thud, his groans erupting from him as soon as he slammed onto the dirt.
Servants ran to him, gathered his horse, and helped him to his feet. The victor returned to the scene and held out his hand as a mark of honor in the interest and spirit of the games. The defeated accepted and the crowd went mad with approval.
Marion sat back in her chair, only just realizing she’d been sitting on the edge.
The victor came around to present himself before the king who stood and clapped.
The queen then moved for the first time and approached the rider.
She took a scarf from her skirts and tied it around the rider’s arm.
Marion was intrigued. There was much about this event and these practices she would need to learn.
Did this mean she could show favor to a preferred rider as well?
And why did her mother not tell her to bring extra scarves?
*
Alexander Campbell slid off his horse and handed the reins to his steward, Alain.
“Christ, I despise being presented like that. I am certain the king enjoys my discomfort.”
“I am certain the king is acting in the interest of the spectators, m’lord,” Alain said with a smirk.
Though there was station and wealth between them, in another age, Alexander would consider them equals as men. But they did not live in another age, and propriety demanded Alain not be seen to take liberties with his employer.
In a low voice so that only Alain could hear, Alexander said, “I will expect you to hold your tongue in mixed company, Alain. Not everyone here is as progressive as we.”
“My apologies, m’lord. I shall reserve my opinions for another time when they are appreciated and requested.”
Alexander was well aware the statement dripped with sarcasm and thankfully was not followed by the usual mock bow.
As if to break the tension, Alain asked, “Do you know why the king moved the tourney straight into the joust?”
“I confess I know not. There has been no mention of skills testing, unless he has something else in mind. He’s held so many of these now, perhaps he feels the skills tests are too predictable and boring for the crowd.”
Alexander preferred the skills tests to the joust. Too much could go wrong at the hands of an unskilled rider, and plenty had been maimed for the sake of entertainment.
But it was the other games played at these events that sickened him.
The young flaming haired lass had not even tried to hide her greed as she singled him out with her eyes and then drank him in like she was already counting the new gowns she would purchase to impress him.
Och, but it boiled his blood when parents paraded these young lasses around.
The two sitting with her had certainly left little to the imagination of their scheming as well.
The sooner he could return to Loch Fyne, the better. Three days of this. It would be a trying time, but he had been especially requested this time and there was no way to avoid King James when he set his mind to something.
“You’re up next, m’lord,” Alain said.
“Already? Is there no skill in this lot?”
“Aye, besides you, I think not. Maybe we will be sharing a tankard of ale sooner rather than later.”
A welcome thought, that.
Alexander mounted his horse and accepted his armor from Alain then waited as his spear was strapped to his arm and the leather belt pulled taut.
He drew a deep breath and sized up his opponent who struggled to maintain his balance as his armor was secured to his legs and chest. Most of the time, Alexander was aware of his opponents and of their skills, but this man was a stranger to him.
A young man for whom his father had aspirations.
Maybe. In any case, there would be little contest, and Alexander could move on to the next match.
If this was the only exercise he would get on this trip, he may as well make the best of it.
The riders moved into position, both with the long fence to their right.
When the flag dropped, Alexander kicked his heels hard just as a flash of flaming hair came into his view in the stands.
He focused hard on his task, lest he be bested, but the hair distracted him just enough that he could not unseat his opponent and so would require another pass.
Again, he moved into position and this time focused only on the chest of the man before him. He rode hard and closed the distance fast enough to spook his opponent’s horse, unseating the man and earning Alexander a point without having to touch him.
Alexander bowed to the defeated man on the ground who looked utterly bewildered and then urged his horse to move until they stood before the king who clapped and smiled broadly. No one came to place a scarf on his gauntlet, but the owner of the flaming hair now had cheeks to match.