Chapter Four
The day of the gala festivities had become a glorious example of pleasant winter weather.
The sun was shining on the cold, dead earth in a vain attempt to deceive life from the frozen turf.
As the guests finished arriving and the peasants began to wander into the fortress from the neighboring village bearing the same name, the gay mood saturated man and beast alike.
Penelope, Daniel, Emma and Regine had joined Richmond and Arissa as they perused the happening of events.
As one experiences at a faire, there were a myriad of games and entertainment going on to enthrall and captivate the guests arrived in Arissa’s honor.
And none more enthralled than Arissa herself.
Jugglers from the village were entertaining children by tossing apples about in a crazy manner.
One man held a huge arch over his head laced with bells, shaking out a beat as he walked amongst the crowd.
A few of the peasant women, with permission from Lady Maude, had set up make-shift tables upon which they sold beautifully sewn handkerchiefs and other sundry items.
A group of young peasant boys brought cages full of cocks and had set up a passable arena in which to pit one rooster against the other.
Richmond passed a glance at the group of enterprising young lads as they took bets for their cockfights.
Regine wanted to watch but he grabbed her by the shoulders, steering the errant young girl back to her sister.
He fought off a grin when she cast him a baleful, sneering glance.
The wrestling matches for the men had commenced a half-hour before.
The finer nobles and knights did not actually participate in the sport, but left the brutal competition to the men-at-arms and peasants who spent long hours training for the event.
It was an exacting sport, pitting the largest and strongest of men against each other in a battle to the finish.
It was also the loudest game by far as Richmond and his group passed within range.
Richmond recognized some of his own men yelling encouragement to their favorite contender, vaguely wishing he could be a part of it.
He greatly enjoyed a good sport, as William had been eager to point out.
But he enjoyed Arissa far more than a male-dominated game; he glanced down at her, smiling at her saucer-round eyes as she observed the excitement.
Ever-protective of his charge, especially in light of the rowdy spectacle, he proceeded to direct Arissa and an enthusiastic Regine clear of the wrestling.
Even as he diverted the senses of his fair young wards, Daniel had no qualms about taking Penelope to view the event.
Emma, tantalized with the thrill of seeing naked, sweaty men, casually trailed after Penelope and Daniel.
“Emma’s going!” Regine raged. “Why can’t I watch?”
Richmond lifted an eyebrow. “Emma is a lady of sixteen. You, my dear lass, are still too young to view such displays of flesh.”
Regine kicked at the dirt, pouting and angry. “I am not too young, Richmond le Bec. I have seen more…. well, I have seen more than Arissa. And she’s eighteen!”
Richmond put his hands on his hips. “I know what you have seen, you naughty little wench, and I shall hear no more about it. Behave yourself.”
Regine crossed her arms defiantly, turning up her nose at him and glancing to her sister. She knew how to ease Richmond’s unbending stance. It had never been a secret.
“Riss,” she said softly, moving toward her sister. A slip of a feigned sob escaped her lips. “He’s being ever so cruel. Tell him that I only wish to observe, that I won’t stand too close. Please?”
Arissa’s gaze went from her baby sister to Richmond. He closed his eyes against her beseeching gaze and turned away.
“Richmond…,” she ventured quietly.
God’s Teeth, he’d do anything for her when she used that tone. “Nay, my lady, your sister is far too young to view such brutality.”
“Penelope and Emma are watching,” she said softly.
He gritted his teeth against the caressing tone of her voice, unwilling to look at her because he knew the moment he beheld the pale green eyes, all would be lost. Regine knew it, too.
“Still, I must refuse.”
Arissa did not say anything for a moment. “I would like to watch.”
Damnation! She knew exactly how to manipulate him. If Arissa went to observe the match, he would be forced to accompany her. And he couldn’t very well leave Regine alone, standing by herself.
He turned to look at her. “Do you think that to be entirely wise? After all, you are pledged to God, my lady, and I doubt He would approve of an impressionable young virgin viewing men’s games of strength.”
She smiled at him, a display of beauty so dazzling he was nearly blinded by the sight. He watched, awed, as she approached him, curling her delicate fingers about his massive forearm. Gazing down at her, he could scarcely breathe.
“’Tis only a game, Richmond. It’s not as if I shall be jumping in to the arena to challenge the victor.”
Unconsciously, his free mailed hand covered her soft warm appendages.
He did not even realize he was gently caressing her.
Certainly, he couldn’t deny her; he’d never been able to.
He felt himself caving in to her demand like a spineless dog when, over Arissa’s shoulder, he caught sight of Regine’s smirking face.
Like a slap, reality whacked him brutally in the face. Come to your senses, you fool!
“I must still refuse, my lady,” he said, but his voice was strangely hoarse. “Your father would not approve.”
Arissa was not overly upset. Sighing with resignation, she simply turned to her sister and shrugged. Richmond almost laughed at the look of disbelief on Regine’s face.
Feeling as if he had somehow managed to win a small victory, he moved away from the wrestling. “Come, ladies,” he said firmly. “More delights await us.”
Like a spoiled child, Regine danced about in disappointment before thinking better of her embarrassing display. Kicking at the ground one last time, she moved off in pursuit of her sister and the massive knight.
Richmond continued to grasp Arissa’s hand as they made their way towards the servant’s exit to the rear of the keep.
Both iron gates were wide open, allowing peasants and guests alike to pass to the open area beyond.
A margin of clearing separated the fortifying wall from the forest beyond, a vast manicured field that was used for anything from sword practice to grazing horses.
Today, however, it was being prepared for the glorious main event: the archery competition.
“Look, Regine, the archery targets have already been raised,” Arissa shielded her eyes from the bright sun. She turned to Richmond. “Are you competing?”
He shrugged, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I hadn’t thought on it, truthfully.”
“But you are the best archer in England,” Arissa insisted. “Sweet St. Jude, you taught Bart and I to wield a bow and arrow when we were children. Why aren’t you going to compete?”
“As I said, I have not thought on it. I have not used a long-bow in some time, and crossbows are forbidden in competition.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “I am awarding the ribbon. I would certainly like to award it to you, where it belongs.”
“And you can carry my favor for luck,” Regine said eagerly, her fury from a moment before inexplicably vanished.
Arissa’s face fell when Regine offered her favor to the powerful knight and Richmond could read her disappointment. Touched, not to mention encouraged in an odd way, he took hold of Arissa’s hand and clutched it against his mighty chest.
“Lady Regine, as honored as I would be to carry your favor, I must refuse in favor of the birthday girl,” when Arissa’s head came up in open astonishment, his eyes twinkled at her. “That is, if my lady would allow me to champion her on this most auspicious day.”
Arissa couldn’t help but smile as he gazed warmly upon her.
How could he have possibly known exactly what she was leading up to before Regine stole her thunder?
To have Richmond champion her in front of her neighbors, allies and friends alike was better than she could hope for.
Her father’s friend, for as many years as she had known him, had declined all invitations to champion young, unmarried ladies.
In fact, she remembered clearly at a tournament in Glastonbury when Richmond refused to champion a local earl’s daughter.
The earl had been so outraged that he had nearly demanded Richmond’s head until a very calm Duke of Hereford pacified the man.
She had been eleven years old at the time; it was the one and only time she had ever seen the duke, the man now known as Henry IV.
Even then, the duke had treated Richmond as if he were a god.
She barely remembered the would-be king; her attention, as always, had been focused on Richmond.
It was still focused on him, as he was on her. Not wanting to seem quite so flattered or eager, she cocked a saucy eyebrow.
“I shall think on it, Sir Richmond. I was rather thinking on having Tad de Rydal champion me but, alas, I suppose I could make do with you.”
His eyebrows rose. “You cheeky little devil. How dare you consider that arrogant whelp over me. Why, I withdraw my offer immediately.”
She extracted her hand from his heated grasp, although the mood was light. “Very well. And I rescind my request that you compete in this tournament. Why, with your hands shaking with age as they do, there is no telling what you shall hit. Pray, can you even see the target from this distance?”
He drew in a long contemplative breath, resting his massive fists on his hips. Puckering his lips, he turned toward the castle with narrowed eyes. “Quite easily. How clever of the marshals to disguise the mark to look like a battle turret.”