Page 95

“Aye, that’s him,” Konrad agreed.

“Let us see if today is a fair day or a foul one for Sir Armand,” Farleigh suggested with a wink. “I do not know if you are aware of his reputation, my lady,” he said turning to Aimee and then proceeded to give her an account of Sir Armand’s wild discrepancy in the field.

He might not have troubled himself, for from the moment the flag was waved, it was obvious Sir Armand was a man driven with resolve this day. As the knight of most repute in the field, opponents swarmed around him as much as they had Konrad or de Crecy. However, de Bussell seemed to welcome the opportunity it afforded him to pile up his foes.

Watching him from an impartial distance, Konrad was suddenly struck by how cunning de Bussell was in battle. He feinted, he shammed, he wrong-footed his opponents and seemed to derive almost an unholy glee from the effectiveness of his sly approach.

Konrad frowned, for such a thought had never crossed his mind before and that struck him as odd. He had always thought Sir Armand an impulsive and frivolous sort, controlled by his impulses which led to either a good day or a bad when it came to combat. Now he realized that was not the case. De Bussell had been playing them for fools. But why?

A small hand pressed on his forearm. “Why do you glare so?” Aimee whispered. “Do you dislike Sir Armand so very much?”

“What? No,” he answered distractedly, covering her hand with his own and holding it there. “I have never disliked de Bussell,” he admitted. In truth, it was hard to dislike the merry Sir Armand.

“He’s having the devil’s own luck today,” Symes said, leaning forward on his bench. “At least Fulke will likely make it to the final battle if naught else. De Bussell looks well-nigh unbeatable!”

Konrad turned to look at where Princess Una stood watching from the crowd, her hands clasped together and a smile playing about her mouth. Could it be that she had wrought this change in her husband? The idea was a ludicrous one, yet he found himself contemplating it all the same.

Farleigh groaned. “You spoke too soon, for Fulke’s luck has turned,” he commented, for circumstances had now driven Lowell directly into a skirmish with three red knights cornering him like a rat. They watched their friend’s defeat with a gloomy inevitability.

“There will be no consoling him this afternoon,” Symes warned as they saw Lowell stoop to retrieve the sword that had been knocked from his hand. “He will be wholly lost to melancholy.”

Farleigh made a noise of agreement in his throat. “He’s not entered in the lists either, so this is his only event.”

A dispirited Lowell dragged himself to the sideline and lowered himself to sit on the grass beside his fallen teammates with blue armbands. He looked crushed.

Belatedly, Konrad realized both Symes and Farleigh were looking toward him expectantly.

“It just was not his day,” Konrad shrugged. “It happens.”

They murmured agreement. “He might take that better from you, Kentigern,” Farleigh suggested.

“After all, he will still make it to the final battle,” Konrad pointed out. He was not so sure why they all thought Lowell would be so devastated by crashing out of this round.

“He wanted to impress you,” Symes imparted, momentarily robbing him of speech. Aimee squeezed his arm. He turned toward her, lowering his head.

“Perhaps,” she whispered in his ear. “You could call him by his given name when you extend your sympathies.” When Aimee sat back, she gave him an encouraging smile.

Konrad blinked. What was Lowell’s name again? He found it hard to concentrate when he could still feel where Aimee’s breath had tickled his neck. Noticing Symes and Farleigh’s eyes were upon them, he cleared his throat again, giving his wife a brief nod to say he would consider it.

The rest of the battle held little by way of upset expectations. Sir Armand dominated, and the rest scrambled to keep up. It was no surprise when the blue team emerged the eventual winners. Farleigh sat up rubbing his hands. “The final battle will be orange versus blue,” he pronounced.

“And you will have to sit on the sidelines to watch it,” Symes pointed out with a malicious grin. Farleigh punched him on the shoulder.

“You will have to keep my wife company,” Konrad pointed out and Farleigh brightened.

“I would be honored,” he answered with a bow in Aimee’s direction.

“But first there will be a break to allow the blue team to regain their strength, is that not so?” Aimee asked.

“It is,” Konrad agreed.

Farleigh went off in search of pastries and ale, and Lowell joined them presently, his nose encrusted with dried blood.

“Well fought, Fulke,” Konrad growled. “There’s few could stand against de Bussell today. His sword is guided by a spirit of battle.” The saying was a northern one, and he had no idea if Lowell was even familiar with the term.

Lowell flushed. “Thanks, though I hope to put in a better showing this afternoon.” He gave a faint smile.

Konrad shrugged and glanced at Aimee who sent him a glowing look. It seemed he was back in her good graces again, though the gods alone knew how long that would last before he messed things up again.