Chapter Eight
The men turned in the direction of the delighted utterance to see Cathlina standing in the doorway. Clad in a pale blue surcoat with a sheer white scarf around her head and shoulders, she looked like an angel. At her abrupt appearance, however, silent shock filled the air.
Mathias, in fact, was frozen. He had never seen anything so beautiful, but in the same breath, he had no idea what to do.
Her appearance was unexpected and, at the moment, unwelcome.
He was terrified for what was to come now, terrified that Tate would tell her everything about him and then all would be lost. Already, he felt a huge sense of loss.
“Cathlina?” Tate was the first to speak, his voice a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and disapproval. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Cathlina extended her hand to Tate, which he caught in his massive glove. She beamed up at him as he held her hand tightly. “Father brought us to see the tournament,” she said. “We have only just left your lady wife. She says you are to compete today.”
Tate nodded. “Indeed,” he replied. “I am competing, as is Sir Kenneth. Surely you remember him?”
Cathlina turned to the big blond knight standing behind her.
She hadn’t really noticed him when she entered the stall because he was back in the shadow of the wall.
He was smiling at her, his ice-blue eyes rather soft.
So the great St. Héver was here. She wondered how her sister was going to react to his presence and she further wondered if St. Héver had gotten over his infatuation with her.
As he bowed his head towards her in greeting, she was rather hoping so.
“Sir Kenneth,” she said, forcing a smile. “It is agreeable to see you again.”
Kenneth bobbed his head at her again. “It is agreeable to see you as well, my lady,” he said. “You are looking very well.”
It was as close to a compliment as the serious knight could come and somehow, Cathlina sensed that his infatuation for her had not burned itself out. There was something in the depths of the ice-blue eyes that told her so. Quickly, she turned her attention back to her cousin.
“We are very excited to see you both compete,” she said. “Abechail is so excited that she cannot eat. This is her first tournament, you know.”
Tate was still holding on to her, now shaking his head. “I did not know,” he replied. “How is she feeling?”
Cathlina’s smile faded. “She is the same,” she replied.
“The physics say her disease is worsening. Sometimes she spends weeks in bed, coughing that awful stuff out of her lungs. The physics tell my parents that it is only a matter of time before… well, before she is no longer with us. Mother cannot abide their word. She believes God will heal Abbie. I pray that he does.”
“As do I,” Tate said softly.
Cathlina nodded sadly, trying not to think of her sister’s sorrowful state. But thoughts of Abechail reminded her of what had happened two days before, the very reason why she was in the smithy stall, and her attention shifted from Tate to Mathias, standing a few feet away.
“Two days ago, in fact, Abechail would have suffered a terrible fate had it not been for this smithy,” she said, pointing to the man.
“He saved our lives and I am sure he is a very good smithy, so if you have come to solicit work from him, I would ask that you do so. We owe him our gratitude at the very least.”
Tate and Kenneth looked at Mathias and he could read the surprise on their faces. But with Tate, there was more than surprise; there was amusement and perhaps approval. It was difficult to say. Tate let go of Cathlina’s hand as he focused on Mathias.
“Is this so?” he asked, more to Cathlina than to Mathias. “What did he do?”
Cathlina was back to smiling broadly, her gaze nothing short of adoring on Mathias.
“When we were in town with Father a few days ago, a man tried to abduct Abechail,” she told Tate.
“He just lifted her right out of the wagon and tried to make off with her. I tried to stop him but he was too big for me to fight. I cried for help but no one would come. Just as I thought all was lost, Mathias stepped in and saved us. He was wonderful.”
By this time, Tate was listening seriously. “What did you do?” he asked Mathias.
Mathias tried to downplay his heroism. “A fool half out of his mind tried to take the little one,” he said, rather quietly. “It was not as great a feat to stop him as she implies. Sebastian took the fool out back and put him in the stocks.”
“Is he still there?”
“He is.”
Tate cocked an eyebrow. “Then see he is properly punished.”
“He has been in the stocks for two days, naked to the elements. I have left his punishment to Sebastian who seems to take fiendish glee in torturing the man.”
Tate cracked a smile. “I would believe that,” he said. “Still, you shall be properly rewarded for assisting my cousins. What would you have?”
Mathias could see Cathlina standing a few feet away, her lovely face upturned to him, her eyes alight with admiration.
The first thing that came to mind was a serious request. Cathlina was here and his mind was on the tournament and his very reason for wanting to compete.
She was looking at him with such respect.
He wanted to see that in her face when she looked at him, always.
What was taken away from him, perhaps he could gain back just a little.
Tate could do that for him. He could also deny him. There was only one way to find out.
“What would you be willing to give?” he asked deliberately.
But Tate wasn’t catching on, at least not to the seriousness of the question. He shrugged his shoulders. “Money?” he asked, then looked around the stall. “You do not seem to be in any need of money. What else is there?”
“The tournament.”
Tate looked at him as if confused by the statement. “What about it?”
“Let me compete.”
Tate continued to look at him as if the words had no impact on him, as if it was the most common question in the world.
But when the statement finally did sink in, he lifted his eyebrows.
Then, he turned to St. Héver, who gazed back at him with his usual stony countenance.
Tate looked at Kenneth, pondering Mathias’ request, before cocking his head curiously.
“What do you think, Ken?” he asked. “Shall we permit it?”
Kenneth seemed to be fighting off a grin. “I am not sure,” he said. “I am not entirely sure I want to be pummeled today.”
“Nor am I,” Tate said. “But it would make it a good deal more fun.”
“It would, indeed. It would make the pummeling worth every moment.”
Tate’s eyes lingered on Kenneth a moment longer before returning his attention to Mathias. It was evident he was weighing the request and the serious implications of it. Finally, he simply shook his head.
“As much as I would like to permit it, I do not believe it would be a good idea,” he said quietly.
“You are Mathias de Reyne. Everyone knows who you are and what you represented, once. Hearing your name would drive those loyal to the king mad with want to kill you, or worse – it would drive those who had been loyal to Mortimer into thinking perhaps his cause was rising from the ashes. It is too soon for your name to be known again, Mat. I am truly sorry.”
Mathias wasn’t surprised at the response but he was disappointed. Still, he struggled not to react.
“As you say, my lord,” he said, holding up a good front that it didn’t matter. “Mayhap you are correct in your reasoning. One can never know.”
Kenneth came out of the shadows, approaching Tate.
“I do not agree with your assessment,” he said, sounding very much as if he were pleading on Mathias’ behalf.
“Everyone knows that Edward is soundly in control of England. Mathias is just one of the many knights who fought against the king. The country is united now and so is the kingdom. It is time to forgive and Mathias’ presence in the tournament today will reinforce that we are all united now for Edward. ”
Tate looked at Kenneth, fully aware that the man was siding with one of his dearest friends. The words were coming from the heart, not the head.
“Mayhap that is true,” he said, “but there is a greater possibility that knights who fought for Edward are competing today and they will make every effort to kill Mathias. Like it or not, he still represents Mortimer.”
Kenneth wasn’t usually so verbal. He was normally the strong, silent type, but the subject matter had him running off at the mouth.
“I fought for Edward and I do not want to kill him,” he reminded Tate quietly. “I think you are giving too much credence to the hatred bred by men. Above all, Mathias is one of the greatest knights this country has ever seen regardless of who he sided with.”
“Ken,” Mathias put a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder, pulling the man away from Tate before the friendly discussion grew heated. “He is correct. Mayhap it is still too soon for me. He is trying to keep me out of danger as he always has.”
“You can take care of yourself,” Kenneth said frankly.
“If I, Tate or Stephen had been in your position, I can say without a doubt that we would not have submitted with the grace and honor you have displayed throughout this ordeal. Mat, your greatness cannot be contained forever. At some point, you are going to have to emerge into the light again. Why not start now?”
“Because of what Tate said,” Mathias said, pointing to de Lara. “What if it is too soon for men to forgive? Mortimer and Isabella not only usurped the rightful king but they also murdered the king’s father. People have not yet forgotten about that.”
Kenneth, who was more consummately cool than any man alive, threw up his hands in a fit of emotion. “If you truly believe that, then why did you side with the bastard?”