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His brother looked much struck by this, and two pairs of brown eyes were suddenly trained on him in appeal. Why were they so anxious for him to join them at table, he wondered? One of the things he most enjoyed about the smaller tournaments was the usual lack of attendant ceremony.

“I, for one, would like very much to make Lady Howard’s acquaintance,” Aimee said as Jakeman helped her to dismount.

“Excellent,” Chaucey said relaxing. Clearly, he thought Konrad would adhere to his lady’s wishes. “In truth, you will be doing us something of a favor. Poor Mother has been thrown into a serious quandary by the seating arrangements, but with a baron and baroness here, you will clearly take precedence.”

“Take precedence over who?” Konrad demanded, feeling totally at sea by this point. He reached into his saddlebag for a flask to fortify himself.

The Howard brothers exchanged glances. “Oh, didn’t we say?” Darby asked, looking embarrassed. “You’ll have to excuse us, my lord. With so much going on, our wits have clearly gone a-begging.”

“You see,” Chaucey said, lowering his voice and casting an excited look about. “It’s not just you and de Crecy who have graced us with your presence this year. We have another knight of considerable fame. He won the cup at Areley Kings in June.”

Areley Kings? Orde’s words flashed back into his mind. But that would mean …

“De Bussell’s here,” Darby broke in a hushed voice. “And he’s brought her with him. You know.” He nudged Jakeman in the ribs. “The northern princess!”

The flask that Konrad had been raising to his lips slipped through his fingers and fell at his feet, spilling water into the grass.

23

Aimee sat perched atop the low wooden stool which had been set to one side for her to take her ease as they set up the pavilion. She felt far too uncomfortable to sit observing them with any contentment as frankly her backside was aching like the devil from five hours in a saddle.

Aimee shifted onto her other buttock and winced, clasping the edges of her seat. It felt like she would never get comfortable again! A bee buzzed loudly in her ear and she gasped, waving a hand about to dislodge it from wherever it had landed.

Really, it felt particularly disobliging that, in a positive sea of meadow flowers, this bee had decided she was the landing spot it most desired. She regarded the pretty summer’s view with a jaundiced eye. It was a very pretty spot, she acknowledged. The green grass was scattered liberally with harebells and daisies and even the odd poppy. The afternoon sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm, and she had long since abandoned her cloak and hat into the long grass.

Another loud buzz had her sharply turning her head as something winged skimmed past her nose. She wondered if a night sleeping outdoors would mean being crawled all over by insect life and shuddered.

Aimee had not much appreciated her only other previous stay in the countryside last year with the Wycliffes, then again, they had not spent much of it out of doors. She remembered the pastures surrounding their ancient home had smelt extremely strongly of dung at the time, as the land was being prepared for planting.

Of course, cities could smell pretty objectionable too, Aimee reflected fairly, but she was used to the smell of Caer Lyoness and knew whereabouts she needed to hold her breath or press a scarf to her nose and walk quickly. The countryside was unfamiliar to her and seemed to assail her senses with fresh outrages at every turn.

She shifted again on her seat in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The pavilion was taking shape now, and though the shape and size was impressive, she was a little disappointed by the drab brown color of the Kentigern tent. It ought to be blue and yellow by rights, she decided. Maybe if his tournament abode were decked out in his colors, then he would stop hankering for his wife to parade them on her person!

Biting her lip, Aimee wondered if he was going to be really put out when she was forced to confess she had not brought along a new heraldic gown. She would not feel guilty about it, she told herself. She was entirely justified in wanting to avoid repeating that whole debacle. No reasonable man would expect such a thing from his wife!

Then again, she was not entirely sure Lord Kentigern was a reasonable man. She sighed, plucking on the large silver brooch which she had pinned to the center of her bodice. Freda’s gift was barely recognizable these days, she thought glancing down at it and the double rope of pearls that swathed her upper body. She was decorated like a noble these days, if nothing else!

She would have to wear her grandest gown to dinner, she thought with determination. If she was expected to take precedence over a genuine princess of the blood! Aimee knew precious little about the last of the royal house of Blechmarsh, but she had seen the ill done renditions showing the popular image of Una wearing full armor astride a horse. What would it be like being sat down to supper with such a warlike creature, she wondered.

She had not missed her husband’s thunderstruck response to the fact that the northern princess was present at Beres Caple, and she had felt a nasty jolt of something she was worried might be jealousy. He had gone to war for the Blechmarsh cause, she thought with a cold feeling in her stomach. He had lost everything and nearly died for it. If he were to win the joust here, she already knew who he would award the crown to, and it would not be his wife.

“Aimee!” She looked up to find Lord Kentigern – Konrad, as she should think of him by now, regarding her critically as he stood at the entrance to the tent. “What ails you, woman?” he asked with a frown. “You look sour as curdled milk.”

She stood up bristling all over. “I assure you I am quite well,” Aimee answered huffily, sticking her nose in the air. “It is only that I am a little stiff and sore from the journey.”

He grunted and held out his hand to her. “Come and see if there is enough here for your comfort.”

She made her way gingerly through the long grass toward him. “Well, it all looks very nice,” she said uncertainly as she stepped into the interior. In truth, she was not sure what she had expected, but the low bed stacked up with blankets and furs and the pile of saddlebags and armor was not it. “Are there not any chairs to be had?” she asked.

Konrad turned to the two servants hovering to one side. “Two chairs,” he said succinctly before turning back to Aimee. “Anything else?”

His tone was rather dry, but she considered the matter seriously a moment before making her reply. “A small table,” she said resolutely.

“You heard my lady,” he said, turning back to the servants again. They bowed and hurried away, and Aimee wondered where she was supposed to put herself as Konrad moved to his pack and started untying the strings.

“Where is Jakeman?”

“He’s seeing to the horses. The Howards have offered us the use of their own stables.”