Chapter 17 #2
Such men usually ended up dead, he had found, and he could not say that he would be sorry to see that probability played out in such a way now.
“Put away your blades, gentlemen, lest you risk all, for We have forbid any further combat between you.”
This time the king’s voice rang out in royal ire, and a few of the ladies in the lists nearest the silk-draped scaffolding reacted to the thought that many were likely harboring at the moment, that one or both of the combatants might not comply and might therefore end this day with naught for his troubles but his head upon a pike at the city gates.
Hugh glared again at Damien before sheathing his sword, and though his arm itched to do otherwise, Damien also forced himself to release his grip on his hilt. When they both faced the royal box once more, the king addressed them together.
“These are serious charges you have leveled. What proofs have either of you to offer in support of your claims?”
Hugh said nothing, having no evidence except that of his word, but Damien glanced to Thomas, who stood at the end of the lists.
Well-trained squire that he was, Thomas had run onto the field after his master had been unhorsed to retrieve the steed and any lances that might have been dropped or broken in the combat.
Clearly, he had been quicker than Hugh’s man, for he now held up the sharpened lance that Hugh had used against Damien and grinned as he nodded affirmation of the booty.
“Your Majesty,” Damien said, bowing his head to show his respect before meeting his sovereign’s gaze again. “I have the sharpened lance Lord Harwick used against me to show as proof of my claim.”
A ripple of gasps and murmuring erupted amongst the spectators as he finished by nodding to the end of the lists and saying, “My squire holds it, having retrieved it from the field during the combat. He awaits but your command to bring it forward in evidence.”
As the rumble of gossip swelled anew, Damien’s gaze caught on a movement in the scaffolding—a woman dressed in a flutter of deep blue trimmed in gold, her glossy, dark tresses swept up in waves intertwined with ribbon and flowers.
Alissende.
She was making her way closer to him, moving past other courtiers and excusing herself as she stepped by several earls and their wives, approaching the edge of the arena nearest to him. Her beautiful face was filled with worry, and he met her gaze for an instant, trying to offer her encouragement.
“What you claim proves nothing except the lengths to which you will go to play your trickeries on this court,” Hugh grated, drawing Damien’s gaze again even as Hugh gestured toward Thomas. “It is Ashby’s own lance the boy holds, and none of mine.”
“I am beginning to think that every word that comes from your mouth is a falsehood, my lord,” Damien said in a voice that was quiet, yet deep enough to carry to the king and those around him.
“I would not deem it a falsehood were I you, Ashby, to hear me say that your hours are numbered. You dare much to insult me as you have, from the day I learned of your presence in England, a corrupt Templar Knight tainted by heresy, impudent enough to take my promised bride as your own, against all the precepts of the Brotherhood to which you professed to belong…against our king’s command, and against God Himself! ”
Damien heard the crowd react with a renewed surge of exclamations, but it faded to a blur of sound as he spun sideways and in one, blinding movement gripped Hugh by the throat for just long enough to mutter into his face, “But that my king has forbidden me use of a weapon against you right now, you would feel the cold steel of my blade between your ribs. Yet you will answer later, rest assured.”
And then he thrust Hugh away with such force that Hugh stumbled backward, kept from launching at Damien again only by the grip of the guards the king had ordered dispatched to the arena.
Another two guards took hold of Damien’s arms, though unlike Hugh, he did not struggle against them and make a spectacle of himself.
“Not another word will be spoken by either one of you unless We command it, nor will you come within ten paces of each other until you are given leave to do so!” King Edward glared at them both, clearly pushed beyond his limits this day.
“Though it is Our duty to see this quarrel honorably resolved, We admit to being sorely tempted to see you both clapped in irons and cast into the dungeons here at Odiham until you have regained some sense.”
His regal glower passed from Hugh, to Damien, and then back to Hugh again.
“Provided that neither of you breaks Our command in the next few moments, We are prepared to offer a solution to this dilemma.” He directed the full force of the cold, Plantagenet stare upon them, asking in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Have We your leave to continue?”
“Aye, sire,” Damien said, bowing his head, the response and action echoed in turn by Hugh.
“Good.” Directing his gaze around the assembled courtiers and combatants, the king called out loudly enough for one and all to hear, “Our proclamation, then, is this: You, Hugh de Valles, Earl of Harwick, and you, Sir Damien de Ashby, will meet on the lists at Guildford Castle in Surrey one fortnight from today, to duel under the watchful eyes of Our royal judges. The combat will be for the purpose of honor and the right to claim the gold and gemmy sparrow-hawk that was to be the prize for this, the first tournament of the season. The joust will be with sword, axe, and dagger, and will conclude in two rounds of each. Do you accept the terms?”
The ice in his gaze as he stared at them both made clear that their answer had better come swiftly and be in the affirmative. It did, and it was.
“We are relieved,” he drawled. “Should either of you fail to appear at the appointed time, you will be deemed to have forfeited the combat and with it, all honor and prizes.” He pursed his lips, saying more quietly, for them alone, “If you believe you can maintain control of yourselves, you may attend the closing feast We are hosting this eve. If not, then We suggest you take your meal elsewhere, to avoid spending the next fourteen days manacled and tucked away somewhere suitably dark, unpleasant, and away from Our sight.”
After letting that bit of advice sink in for a moment, the king raised his hands and addressed the crowd again. “This combat is finished until a fortnight hence. You may all depart to prepare for the eve’s festivities.”
With the sounding of trumpets, a flurry of servants, and the flick of his royal robes, the king reached out his hand to the queen and escorted her from the silk pavilion and the tournament area altogether.
And then it fell quiet.
The guards still held onto Hugh and Damien, and the crowd seemed reluctant to disperse when some excitement might still be had.
But Damien had had enough. He had proven his point with Hugh and made clear to all, noble or common, that he was not a man to be trifled with.
Alissende would not need to fear that any knight or lord would mistake the kind of protection she would know with him as her husband.
But Hugh’s scheming had deprived Damien of one aspect of this day’s combat that he had hoped to gain…
one last moment that he had intended to take to dispel some of the nightmares that troubled him and Alissende still.
There was naught in the king’s command to stop him from enjoying it now.
After a few murmured words to the guards, who promptly released him, Damien strode back toward the end of the lists, where Reginald, Bernard, and Thomas waited, taking from Bernard the lance he had used for the entrance ceremony—the one with Alissende’s violet-blue ribbon attached.
Carefully plucking the strip of silk free, he held it clasped in his palm and turned back toward the field.
As if in benediction of his plan, the sun broke through the clouds once more at that instant, bathing him in golden light as he faced the scaffolding full of spectators.
Then Damien lifted his face to meet Alissende’s gaze among all those who stood there, and giving her a slow, sensual smile, he began to cross the distance between them with determined strides.
Alissende watched Damien’s approach, her entire body going hot and cold at the same time, tingles spreading from the top of her head down to her toes. What was this about?…
Heaven help her, but he looked exactly as he had on that day long ago, when he had won the tournament and come striding forth to claim her favor as his prize.
And astoundingly, the people around her right now were reacting just as they had then; the men initiated the applause of stamping on the scaffold, while the women murmured at the magnificent sight of him striding across the field toward her.
But as before, he had eyes only for her. He was coming to exchange the token she had given him for a kiss, by his action showing everyone that he favored her above all other women. The import of that insight startled her, but on the heels of it came another equally staggering realization.
There was no reason for him to be doing this right now.
Even for the sake of appearances in their feigned union, it made no sense.
In the eyes of those who had judged the tournament, he had not actually won, and there was no expectation that he—or Hugh, for that matter—would make claim to any lady in attendance, as the declared champion traditionally would.
Unless he was approaching her like this simply because he wanted to.
By all the saints…
“My lady.”
Alissende almost jumped. Damien’s voice echoed close to her, both affectionate and persistent, and she realized that he had attained her position on the raised scaffolding. He stood just below her on the ground of the lists, reaching up to her, her ribbon fluttering in his grip.
“This is yours, lady, returned in all honor.” The hint of a shadow flickered through his eyes just before he added, “For the price of a kiss, and your acceptance of my devotion this day.”
Her heart seemed to beat harder in her chest, and her throat tightened.
Oh, God, this was the very moment when she had turned away from him five years ago.
The moment that had haunted her for every day, every breath, it seemed, ever since.
Her gaze locked with Damien’s, and she felt the enormity of it all washing over her.
He was offering her another chance, placing his pride in her hands once more, to do with as she would.
This time, she vowed, she would not fail him.
Her lips trembled as she tried to return his gentle smile. Leaning forward, she reached to take the silk ribbon from him with fingers that seemed to have gone numb, though she felt a jolt of delicious sensation in the instant that his hand brushed against hers.
But before she could straighten up again, he caught her chin, and her own eyes widened to realize that the ice blue of his had deepened to sapphire.
“Not so quickly, lady. You have forgotten something.”
“What?” she murmured.
“My kiss.”
He drew her closer to him with the gentle pressure of his touch, taking her lips with such tender passion that she thought her knees might buckle beneath her.
In blind panic, she reached out to clutch his shoulders, and the unexpected approval of the crowd grew louder as he lifted her at the waist, clearing the scaffolding with her to set her down beside him.
When she looked up at him after righting herself, another shock coursed through her at the intensity she saw in his gaze.
“Now we’ve one last bit to cover,” he said quietly. “Do you accept my devotion, Alissende?”
His eyes were fixed upon her, loving her with a look, if such was possible, and a very pleasurable shiver coursed through her. But she needed to keep her head; Damien had performed convincingly for audiences in the past with public kisses and shows of affection.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, reaching up to brush the hair back from his temple with her fingers. “I suppose it depends.”
“On what?” he demanded.
“On whether or not you truly mean it.”
An enigmatic look swept over his face before it was replaced by a smile. “The answer to that is better shown, I think, than spoken.”
Before she could say anything further, he took her hand and led her from the field, releasing her only long enough to approach his squire near the end of the lists and murmur something to him.
Returning to her, he lifted her to sit upon another horse Bernard was holding in wait for them there.
Then he swung astride behind her, wrapped his arm around her middle, and set their mount to a lively gallop…
Riding with her off the lists, away from the knowing stares of the stamping, cheering multitude that filled the scaffolding around the field.