Epilogue
Tournament at Warstone Castle
Seat of the Earl of Wolverhampton, Robert de Wolfe
Ten months later
“He’s not dropping his left shoulder,” David muttered to his brother. “He’s keeping it in position, asking for you to hit it. Again and again.”
In full armor, astride a horse that was only put to work at tournaments, Christopher was tightening up the strap on the steel protection on his right forearm.
He’d just made two passes against William de Wolfe in front of a crowd of tournament fanatics that were standing twenty deep in some places.
The lists weren’t big enough to hold everyone who wanted to witness the legendary Christopher de Lohr, winner of multiple jousts, and William de Wolfe, the most cunning knight to walk the earth since King Arthur and his Round Table of warriors.
It was a battle of the titans at Warstone Castle, seat of the Earl of Wolverhampton, Robert de Wolfe, and most of the Welsh marches had turned up for it.
Truly, a bout to behold.
“He’s doing it out of arrogance,” Christopher muttered. “I’ve already shattered two lances on him. He wants me to shatter a third, and the match will go into another round if our points are even.”
“I think they are.”
“I do, too,” Christopher said, finishing with the strap. “David… I do not think I can go another bout with de Wolfe. I’m exhausted as it is.”
“Jesus,” David hissed. “Whatever you do, do not tell Dustin. She’ll drag you off this horse and you’ll have to forfeit the match. She’s not stopped yelling at you since you told her that you were going to compete.”
Christopher eyed his wife, sitting in the lists next to Robert and his lovely wife, Gisele. “I know,” he said. “Christ, what was I thinking when I said I’d do this? De Wolfe goaded me into it.”
“He surely did,” David said, grinning. “He played on your monumental pride and you took the bait. And here you are, you old idiot.”
He said it a little too angrily and Christopher rolled his eyes. “Then let me see if I can knock that whelp off his horse,” he said. “I swear to you that if I do, I will dance on him while he’s still on the ground as I steal his horse. I will celebrate this victory until the end of my life.”
“Which may come sooner than you think if you do not pay attention to this match,” David said. “Look—there goes Sherry, over to the enemy side. What in the hell is he doing?”
Christopher lowered his visor. “I do not want to know,” he said. “By the way—have we heard anything from Rhys? He was supposed to be here this morning. He sent word yesterday that he would be arriving.”
David helped him adjust the helm. “He will be here any moment,” he said. “But do not worry about him. You must focus on keeping your head on your shoulders because there is a wolf on the attack.”
Christopher finished with the helm. “Come along, then,” he said. “Lead me to the start so we can get this over with.”
As David took hold of the charger’s reins and began to lead the horse back to the starting position along the guides, Alexander was indeed heading into the enemy camp.
On the west side of the guides, William was lined up and ready for his next run.
Paris and Kieran were with him, as were a few other knights who had come all the way down from Northwood Castle, where they all served.
They, too, wanted to see William subdue perhaps the greatest living knight.
When Alexander approached, Paris went to chase him off but Kieran stopped him, shaking his head.
“What?” Paris demanded. “Why did you stop me?”
Kieran’s dark eyes were intense. “Because that is Alexander de Sherrington,” he said in a low voice.
“Mayhap you do not remember that he is one of England’s greatest assassins.
He would kill you with his thumb and forefinger, and you would never see it coming, so if he wants to speak with William, we will let him.
Sherry can have whatever Sherry wishes.”
Paris knew he was speaking the truth, but he still made a face and postured like he didn’t care. He was arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid. He and Kieran and the others watched as Alexander stood at William’s left flank.
“My lord?” William said when he saw Alexander standing there. “Is something amiss?”
Alexander shook his head. “Nay,” he said.
“I’ve come to tell you that Chris will be aiming for your lance and your arm next, so be on your guard.
But if you aim for anything other than his left shoulder, or hurt that man in any fashion, there is nowhere in this world you can run that I will not find you.
If I find you, I will do unspeakable things to you and you will not survive. Am I making myself clear?”
William’s gaze was steady. “Did he send you here to tell me that?”
“Nay,” Alexander said. “He does not know what I am saying, and if you live through this, and he asks, you will tell him that I simply wished you well against a legend. And that is all I am going to do—wish you well. But remember who you are competing against. You have done a splendid job, William, but you have the rest of your life to continue to make your mark. Chris has already made his. Let him keep it.”
With that, he walked away, leaving William mulling over his words. After a moment, he smiled and lowered his visor.
The stage was set.
As the roar of the crowd rose to deafening proportions, every knight who was competing at the tournament, and every squire, every page, was lined up on the south side of the tournament arena, watching the match from a distance.
That included Addax and Essien, who had come all the way down from Cumbria for this.
They’d even traveled with William’s group from Northwood part of the way, and by the end of it, they were ready to throttle de Norville and bury the body.
But even so, they were quite interested in this match, just like everyone else.
History was being made this day.
“There will never be another match like this one,” Addax said, watching Christopher adjust the strap on his lance. “De Wolfe has taken the north by storm, you know. They say there is no man finer in battle. And Hereford… Well, his legend needs no introduction. We already know his greatness.”
Essien nodded, watching the marshals take their places. “This pass will determine if Hereford passes the torch of greatness on to William or if he keeps it a little while longer.”
“True,” Addax said. “Speaking of greatness, how was your wife feeling this morning?”
Essien looked at him. “Well,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
Addax shrugged. “Because Emmeline said the woman ate nonstop yesterday,” he said. “Anything she could get her hands on. And it did not upset her stomach?”
Essien grinned. “It did not,” he said. “She was eating again this morning when she awoke, and is probably eating now. My son demands a good deal of food because he is going to be big and strong like his father.”
Addax chuckled. “Let us pray,” he said. “Emmy’s pregnancies were not so easy. It was difficult to convince her to eat at times.”
Essien was still smiling, spying his wife across the arena because she was wearing a gorgeous blue garment. She stood out. At six months pregnant, she was showing nicely and Essien could not have been prouder.
Or more in love.
“Not my beloved Cat,” he said. “God has been good that she has been so well.”
Addax had to grin at his lovesick brother.
As the bout was about to get underway, he glanced down the line of knights standing at the railing.
Jonathan was standing next to Essien and he was cheering for Christopher because his own brother had knocked him out of the semifinal rounds.
Beside him stood Ashton, who had made it down from Pelinom Castle, where he usually served, and Peter, who was calling reassurances to his father on the field.
Cassian, of course, was present, but Brielle was pregnant again and hadn’t made the trip.
It was the familiar crew of men, all of them joined together once again to watch this historic event.
One that happened in a heartbeat when the marshal finally dropped the flag.
As an entire arena of rabid fans watched with anticipation, William de Wolfe and Christopher de Lohr charged one another with lances leveled.
The horses they were riding were big, heavily muscled, and made for the sport.
For each inch of ground the horses covered, time seemed to drag out.
It was going more slowly. It was going in reverse until they came within range of each other.
There was a cataclysmic crash and wood went flying into the air as lances shattered, but William also lost his grip on his lance and the thing went flipping into the guide, destroying it.
Losing a lance, or being unseated, meant the bout was over and the points went to the competitor who had retained his lance and his seat.
There was a winner.
The legend had retained his title.
People went mad with excitement. They began to throw flowers and coins and anything else they could get their hands on down to the field.
It was positively raining all sorts of things.
The knights watching the event on the south railing began to flood onto the field, heading for the champion as he drew his horse to a halt.
Christopher de Lohr was that champion.
Still.
“Well done, my lord!” Addax called to him as he drew near. “A worthy match!”
Christopher handed his lance down to Peter and Alexander, who reached up to help him. But once the lance was handed down, Christopher flipped up his visor and sought out William, on the other side of the arena.
“Stay here,” he told those around him. “I will return shortly.”
With that, he cantered across the dirt, reining his horse over to William, who was in the process of handing his helm down to Paris. He hadn’t dismounted yet. Kieran had hold of the horse, checking the animal for any damage. Christopher pulled his horse alongside William.