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“Even you?”

Her reply seemed to flummox him. His eye skewed away from hers a moment. “Even me,” he rumbled reluctantly. “Damn him!”

Aimee felt a flicker of triumph at this admission. “I did not take any instant liking to Sir Garman Orde,” she ventured experimentally.

“No one likes Orde.”

“Not even his wife?”

Kentigern shifted in his seat. “How should I know that?” he prevaricated, looking slightly hunted.

“I think you do know,” she persisted.

“Very well, his wife is biased in his favor.”

“Biased? Some might say she was in love with him,” Aimee argued. “’Tis plain evident for anyone with eyes to see!”

Kentigern snorted. “Likely, she feels indebted to him.”

“What do you mean by that? Oh, you mean because he overlooked her scars?”

“Scars!” he muttered derisively. “They are naught but a few pox marks.”

Aimee regarded him a moment in silence. “It is different in a woman, as I am sure you know. I heard she was the most famous beauty in all the land before she was stricken down with the red pox.”

Her husband shifted in his seat. “Orde does not seem to mind her mottled skin.”

“No, and isn’t that strange when, as you say, he does not have a chivalrous bone in his body? I wonder why that could be, my lord,” she flung at him in challenge.

Someone down the other end of the table dropped a knife, and at the same time, both Aimee and Kentigern seemed to recall they were not dining alone. They glanced down the table where their hosts and the de Crecys were watching them with interest.

Aimee cleared her throat. She wasn’t sure why she had suddenly taken up her cudgels, but remembering the wonderful moments she had glimpsed at Kellingford between Sir Garman and Lady Lenora, she could not bear to hear anyone suggest their bond was anything other than loving. Just because most marriages were not so fortunate did not mean that none were.

Toward the end of the meal, the redheaded musician approached her with parchment and quill in hand to take down the verses of The Tree, The Moon, and The Lover’s Promise.

“I protest,” Lady Howard said raising her voice from the head of the table. “Lady Kentigern should be singing that sweet song for us and not simply reciting the words for your benefit, good Master Jacobs.”

The musician bowed. “I confess I did hope that Lady Kentigern might grace us once again with her voice.”

“Nay, Mother!” Sir Chaucey cried. “We have the awarding of today’s prizes first. I declare that Lady Kentigern should sing at the close of our festivities, not at the commencement.”

At that, his brother, Sir Darby, looked up quickly. “Aileen has been practicing all day after taking Lady Kentigern’s instruction,” he said. “Perhaps they could sing it together?”

“But of course!” Aimee said, interrupting Aileen’s stammered protestations. “I was always in the habit of singing that song with my sister, so I am more accustomed to singing it in company.” From their brief practice that morning, she knew the other woman’s voice was pleasant though not particularly strong. Aileen gave her a happy smile by way of thanks.

Sir Chaucey walked to the front of the dais and cleared his throat. “It gives me very great pleasure,” he announced, “to award these purses of monies to the fifteen members of the winning blue team.” He announced the names, and Aimee sent an encouraging smile toward Sir Fulke who seemed embarrassed about receiving prize money when his own performance had been nothing outstanding.

They all clapped as the knights came up the dais to receive their winnings. Sir Chaucey set aside the winner’s trophy for ‘The Last Man Standing’ and two purses for Sir Armand, which would have to be delivered to his tent. “And now for the awarding of the second cup,” Sir Chaucey said, reaching for a handsome copper bowl.

“This award is a new one which we will be awarding this year. It is for The People’s Champion, the knight who garners the most appreciation from those of us watching in the stands. It is gauged by both the cheers and groans of the audience. This year at Beres Caple, we are unanimous in our decision to award this prize to the one and only Lord Kentigern.”

Aimee caught her breath as all eyes in the hall turned to look at her husband who sat beside her with a thunderstruck expression on his face. After a moment, the shouts of encouragement started, and he swung his leg over the bench and made his way to join Sir Chaucey. If anything, she thought Konrad looked rather more awkward about going up to collect his reward than Sir Fulke had. She clapped along with everyone else and could not help but laugh when some of the knights started drumming their feet on the flagstones.

After thanking them all brusquely, Konrad made his way back to her side clutching the copper bowl as though it might bite him. She guessed he had never won what amounted to a popularity prize before. His ears looked rather red as he lowered himself back onto the bench.

“What a lovely thing,” Aimee beamed at him.

He lowered his voice. “I am sure it would have been de Bussell’s had he bothered to show this eve.”