Chapter Twenty-One
The joust was first and the knights drew lots to see who would compete against each other in the first round.
After the opening bout, Dustin had already had enough.
One young knight nearly lost an arm, and her fear for Christopher returned full measure.
He was not scheduled to go on until almost the end of the round, and her anxiety was making her mouth dry and her hands tingle painfully.
Marcus, cool and calm, sat impassively as he watched, commenting on every right or every wrong move. By the third bout, she was ready to throttle him if he spewed forth one more gem of criticism.
David’s turn was up and he neatly disposed of his opponent on the first run. Dustin cheered wildly for him, yelling like a roughhouse wench until Marcus yanked her back into her seat. She shut up, but she continued to grin and wave at David until he waved back.
Edward was up two bouts later, taking on one of John’s mercenary knights.
Two passes and two hard hits later, Edward ended up on his arse and was automatically disqualified.
Shaken, he made his way from the field under his own power and the crowd acknowledged him politely.
Leeton came immediately after him, taking down the Earl of Warkworth’s captain with one powerful blow.
He was quite triumphant until he learned he had caved the man’s chest in and, an hour later, the man died.
Dud won his bout as well, up against the formidable Earl of Norwich. It took four passes to take the earl down, and even Marcus roared his approval when the earl clattered to the ground in a thump of armor.
As long as Christopher’s men were winning and unharmed, Dustin was ecstatic. She screamed and hollered, much to the disapproval of John and Ralph. Ralph even went so far as to admonish her to be neutral since she was awarding trophies, but a deadly look from Marcus shut him up.
John’s champion, Sir Dennis, broke the neck of the man he was jousting against by bringing his pole up at an angle in the very last seconds before they clashed and caught the man in the neck.
Everyone in the stands heard the snap and the knight was dead before he hit the ground. The entire crowd shot to their feet in horror and Dustin gasped aloud, her hand to her mouth in disbelief.
Sir Dennis pranced around the ring, gloating in complete disrespect of the dead knight even as his comrades hurried out to the field to take the body away.
Dustin was sickened, for all she could see was Christopher laying there, dead.
Marcus gently sat her down once again and she found herself turning to him for comfort. She was terrified.
“Well, well, accidents will happen,” John said carelessly.
Dustin looked at him with scorn, preparing a sharp reply, but Marcus whispered in her ear and she bit her tongue.
Christopher’s bout was next. Dustin’s attention was riveted to his imposing form as he rode out onto the field on his great white destrier. At the very moment the animal’s hooves hit the brown dirt of the arena, the crowd knew their champion had arrived and went absolutely mad.
Even though Marcus had forewarned her, Dustin was still startled when the roar went up. Beyond excitement or any other rational feeling, she could do naught but stare at him as he accepted his pole from his squire and moved it to a comfortable position.
“Oh, lord,” she moaned. “Marcus, I cannot watch this.”
He grinned at her; she was as white as a sheet. “Be brave, Dustin. There is none better at this than your husband.”
She stared at Christopher for a moment longer before turning away and shutting her eyes tightly. “I cannot look. Who is his opponent?”
“Sir Stephen Marion,” Marcus answered.
“Him?” She jerked her head around to look again and then just as quickly looked away. “Christopher said he was a pompous fool.”
“He is,” Marcus agreed. “But he is an excellent knight. This should be an exciting bout.”
“Cease,” she snapped, covering her eyes with her right hand.
Marcus laughed softly, enjoying her terror. “Here comes the marshal,” he commented.
“Do not tell me anymore,” she ordered, pressing her hand tighter against her eyes.
He leaned closer to her. “He’s holding up his flag and the knights are preparing their poles.”
“Marcus!” she yelled softly. “Shut up or I will kill you myself. I cannot watch this.”
“You are not,” he reminded her. “So I will be your eyes.”
“Nay, do not!” she shook her head, terror and excitement and apprehension filling her full to overflowing.
“There goes the flag,” Marcus announced.
Dustin was seized with dread. She could hear the destriers charging, their hooves thundering loudly as the two knights approached one another with their poles aloft. She began to whimper softly with mounting fear as the rumble grew louder and louder and she could hear Marcus laughing quietly.
There was a deafening crash and the crowd cheered uproariously.
Dustin’s hand flew from her eyes and she whipped her head around to see her husband, still mounted, reining his horse to a halt at the opposite end of the arena.
Sir Stephen, also still mounted, was fumbling with his pole as a young squire ran out onto the field to retrieve his shield.
Dustin sagged into her chair, her hand to her forehead. She was absolutely drained.
“You see? He’s fine,” Marcus said. “Watch the next pass.”
She eyed him, too weak with emotion to respond. The marshal was again on the field with his little yellow flag. Dustin watched the flag fall and in spite of her great apprehension, found herself unable to cover her eyes the second time.
Christopher spurred his steed forward, the horse digging deep holes with the power of his leap.
Man and beast became one as they charged forward, aiming for the opposition’s shield, waiting for the correct moment to lower the joust pole.
The seconds that passed were both elongated and shortened; it seemed to take forever to reach one another, yet suddenly, they were clashing with cataclysmic force.
Dustin jumped with shock when Sir Stephen went sailing to the ground in a crash of metal.
The crowd roared their approval and ladies’ favors filled the air like rain, falling softly to the dirt of the arena for Christopher as he swung his destrier around and made a pass in front of the stands in a rare display of acknowledgment.
Mayhap it was because he was sentimental for his first bout since returning home, yet for whatever the reason, he drew strength from the roar of the crowd.
Dustin’s heart surged with pride as he thundered past her, not realizing she had the most amazing smile on her lips. As he had promised, he was uninjured and her doubts were quelled for the moment.
He brought the horse around again and came to an unsteady halt directly in front of her. Dustin, oblivious to the cheering crowd, jumped to her feet and rushed forward.
Christopher didn’t say a word. Raising his visor, he reached out and took her hand, bringing it sweetly to his lips.
Dustin blushed mightily as he gave her a wicked grin and, slamming his visor shut, tore off across the arena.
Dustin simply stood there, watching him ride off as if he were God himself.
“Charming,” John said dryly.
The spell was broken. Dustin stiffened and turned back to her seat, choosing not to dignify John’s comment with a response. Marcus eyed her as she lowered herself to the chair.
“You see? There is nothing to worry over,” he said.
She tossed her hair over one smooth shoulder. “There are more bouts to come though, aren’t there? This was merely the first.”
Marcus shook his head. There was apparently no convincing Lady de Lohr that a tournament could be fun and exciting. He briefly wondered if she would show such concern for him if he were fighting.
The field was raked smooth in preparation for the second round and the combatants were paired against one another by the high marshal. Everyone in the stands were milling about or buying food from one of the numerous vendors, waiting for the next round to start.
“Marcus, I am hungry,” Dustin said. “Can we go and get something to eat?”
Marcus glanced at the field. “It looks as if it will be a few minutes yet before the games begin,” he said, and stood up and held out his arm. “What would you like?”
Dustin wanted everything. Marcus ended up buying her a fat tart with raspberries, chicken grilled on a stick, and a pie-like concoction filled with beef, onions and cheese.
She downed the chicken in no time, chowed down the pie, and then started in on the tart. Marcus watched her eat with enjoyment.
“Has Chris been starving you?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Why do you ask?” she asked, her mouth full of custard.
“Because I have never seen a lady eat so much,” he said. “Yet there’s not a bit of fat on you.”
She shrugged, taking another bite. “I like to eat.”
He grinned, glancing out over the field to where the different competitor’s camps were set up. He could barely make out Christopher’s quarters, isolated away from the others. He nudged Dustin.
“Would you like to go see Chris?” he asked.
Her face lit up. “Can we?”
He took her arm in response, leading her around the field and between various encampments.
He had an ulterior motive for bringing Dustin to see her husband, he wanted to confer with the baron regarding Sir Dennis.
In fact, if Chris would allow him, he would gladly fight in the melee.
He was highly uncomfortable with the Destroyer in the competition, especially when John had put a price on Christopher’s head.