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He lifted both arms and shouted, “Go find your champion!”
The roar of approval was instantaneous. Trumpets blared and the rules were read, then the trumpets sounded again and a far gate swung open. The knights began to enter the jousting arena.
Resplendent in their armor and brightly colored tunics, each preceded by a herald bearing a pennant, they rode on mighty destriers before the assembled crowd.
This time, the cheers were deafening. Men shouted and whistled, ladies clapped and waved ribbons to their favorites as the knights made their circuit around the arena.
Cassia rested her elbows on the railing and leaned forward. Her father, beside her, snapped his hand around her elbow.
“You look like a wanton, draped over the railing,” he said in a low, furious hiss.
Her face flushed as the other ladies in nearby boxes turned to look at them. “I—” she whispered.
Her father's eyes grew hard and, for the first time in years, centered in on her with an intense focus that made it feel as if he finally, truly, saw her.
It was not pleasant.
“Sit, Cassia, ere I make you.”
Shock overtook all other emotions. She sat on the cushioned bench, staring sightlessly, her cheeks flaming, her eyes smarting. The other ladies averted their eyes.
Knights were still streaming into the arena, entering through the far gate. She turned to watch.
Through the opening, she saw the usual array of squires and milling festival goers. What drew her eye, though, was a single figure not moving or milling or evidencing any excitement at all.
A man.
Just beyond the gate, watching through the opening. He wore a simple tunic and hose and boots, and stood in a lazy stance, arms crossed, observing the festivities with something approaching boredom. People bustled and shouted all around him, but he was like the calm in the eye of a storm. He did nothing but watch—watch her.
Or rather, her part of the stands. It made sense: this is where many of the fairest, most noble maidens were seated, and it was the most laughter-strewn part of the entire stadium.
Somehow she did not think it was the laughter that drew his attention.
But his stillness drew hers.
Even from a distance, she could tell his build was capable of wielding knightly armor and lance and sword. So why wasn’t he? There was much coin to be had here. Horses, armor, renown.
What reason would a man so clearly capable of fighting come to a tourney meant for fighting, and not fight?
He must not be a knight.
A late-arriving combatant trotted in front of him. She tipped to the side to keep him in sight.
She could almost have sworn he was looking at her.
Her father's voice came from behind. She jerked slightly, moving away from the hand that always reached for her, correcting, maneuvering, making her be precisely what he required her to be to get what he most desired: coin.
It was a shame he was such a gambler, and it all slipped through his fingers.
“Here is Sir Bennett now, Cassia.” Her father's voice was rich with satisfaction. “Make yourself agreeable for once.”
A blond-haired knight on a huge horse paused before their box.
“My lord. Lady Cassia,” he said in a rich, mellifluous voice. The man of every woman’s dreams. A skilled warrior, wealthy, courteous... Passionate.
Surely it was passion that had made him back her into a dark corner when he visited her father earlier this spring and plant a kiss on her mouth.
Surely it was gallantry that made him promise more such pleasures once they were wed.
