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Chapter 11
Willow watched the competition with Hazel at her side. Each round was hand-to-hand sparring between two competitors. The winner of each round moved on to go up against another competitor until there was one winner in the end.
“My brother is doing quite well,” said Hazel. “I hope he wins.”
This was the last round. It was down to Conrad and Sir Bedivere. While Willow wanted to see Conrad lose, just to teach him a lesson, she didn’t want Sir Bedivere to win. Now that she was being offered as one of the three brides, she didn’t want Bedivere to choose her. Sure, she could always say she wouldn’t marry him, and the earl would have to honor her wish, but there were only going to be three winners. She didn’t want one of the spots to be wasted by the likes of him.
“I hope Conrad wins, too, Hazel,” said Willow, reaching out and squeezing the girl’s hand for luck.
“You want him to win?” Hazel sounded confused. “If he wins, he might choose to marry you.”
“I realize that.”
“Then, you want to marry my brother? I don’t understand.”
Neither did Willow. Before yesterday, she had thought she’d never marry someone like Conrad. But after their intimate time in Imanie’s hut, she started to think it wouldn’t be so bad. She was attracted to him, and he said he had feelings for her. Envisioning herself married to Conrad was a lot easier than thinking about being Sir Bedivere’s wife.
“I never said that.” She released Hazel’s hand. “I suppose I just don’t want Sir Bedivere to win.”
“Ah, I understand. He is quite a frightening man.”
“What do you mean?” asked Willow curiously.
“He is always staring at me. And yesterday, when I made a trip to the garderobe, he was watching my every move from the corridor outside the great hall.”
“What did you do?”
“On the way back to the solar, I took an alternate route so he wouldn’t see me. He frightens me, Willow.”
“He probably frightens every woman he meets. If he wins, I pity the girl who will be his wife.”
“Hello, Lady Willow.” Sir George came up and squeezed in between them on the wooden bench.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling at him, trying to be pleasant. Sir George was a baron who had land and money. He wasn’t ugly and would be a good catch for any girl to marry. “I’m sorry you didn’t win the competition,” she told him.
“It’s all right. There are still two events to go,” he told her. “And when I win, I am going to choose you for my bride.”
“You are?” she asked in surprise. Hadn’t Conrad told her none of the men would want her for anything but a tryst?
“Of course. Why do you even have to ask?”
“No reason.” She looked out, watching Conrad and Bedivere sparring. Bedivere seemed to be getting tired. Conrad had the upper hand. All he had to do was unarm his opponent, and Conrad would win the event. “It’s just that Sir Conrad doesn’t seem to think anyone will want to choose me as their bride.”
“What? You’ve got to be jesting,” said Sir George with a chuckle. “You are the most beautiful of the three.” Sir George looked out to the field, put his hands up to his mouth and shouted. “Lochwood, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What?”Conrad looked from the corner of his eye, having heard someone call his name. He’d been in such deep concentration that he hadn’t even noticed until now that Sir George was sitting in the lists, so close to Willow that she might as well be on his lap! “What do you mean?” he called back, trying to fight and pay attention to what was happening in the list at the same time. He was only one strike away from unarming Bedivere. But when he looked over his shoulder at Willow, his opponent moved forward, getting the upper hand.
“You said no one would want to marry Lady Willow,” Sir George called out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I assure you, I want her for my wife. I’m going to win and claim her as my bride.”
“No, you’re not. I am,” Bedivere shouted to Sir George, distracting Conrad even more. He didn’t like the sound of this. There was no way he was going to let either of the men marry Willow. He had to win this round.
“Look over here, Lochwood,” Sir George shouted.
When Conrad glanced back over his shoulder, Sir George had his arm around Willow. He winked at Conrad. That upset him so much that Conrad didn’t see the winning blow coming until Bedivere unarmed him.
“The winner is Sir Bedivere of Gaunt!” shouted the announcer. The crowd cheered, and Bedivere held his sword up over his head.
“Tough luck,” said the man. “Lady Willow is as good as mine.”
