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CHAPTER SIX
It was only an hour after their encounter with the unfortunate travelers that Heath and Percival rode through the gates of Bryford.
Once the brothers had assisted the travelers to connect with a larger group heading for the capital—one which had a carriage for the injured travelers to ride in—there had been no reason for them to linger. With promises to take word of the accident to Bryford and send back a physician if possible, they had parted ways with the group.
They had ridden away to profuse thanks from the woman whose son they had saved, and Percival was still whistling cheerfully when the walls of the city towered up above them.
Heath had always liked the city of Bryford, and despite his lingering unease, he felt his heart lift as they entered through the wide wooden gates. The sun was shining brightly, and the pennants fluttering above the thick stone battlements added spots of vibrant color against the already vivid sky.
“Lord Percival!” shouted the guard at the gate cheerfully. “About time for you to show up!”
Percival grinned, acknowledging the greeting with a wave of his hand.
The guard seemed to suddenly notice Percival’s companion, adding, “Lord Heath, welcome,” in a friendly afterthought.
Heath smiled in a detached way, unable to remember the guard’s name. Percival probably knew it, he thought. He smiled to himself as he watched his brother pull up only a couple of streets into the city to talk to a patrol of royal guards.
Heath had reflected before now that Percival would have done well as a guard, or better yet a knight, if he hadn’t been the future Duke of Bexley. But as his father’s heir, he had quite a different role laid out before him. Heath could have trained as a knight, if he wished. It wasn’t uncommon for younger sons of noblemen to do so. But the idea had never interested him in the slightest.
“You’re late,” one of the royal guards, clearly a friend of Percival’s, was saying. “I was starting to think you were going to miss the tournament! You do know it starts tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” said Percival airily. “Couldn’t get away from the estate until now.” He jerked his head south east, in the general direction of Bexley Manor. “Our parents won’t be here until this evening, but we rode on ahead.”
The guard’s eyes flicked toward Heath, giving a friendly if vague smile, before his gaze returned to Percival.
“Well, you’d better hurry if you don’t want to miss the cut off for signing up. I didn’t see your shield on the competitors’ board.”
Percival shifted uncomfortably on his horse, and his airy tone sounded distinctly forced.
“Oh, I’m not competing this year. Just here to observe.”
“Not competing?” The other guard looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“That’s right,” said Percival, with an unsuccessful attempt at a chuckle. “Thought I’d better be gracious and give the rest of you lot a fighting chance to win something.”
“More like the crown thought they’d better tie your hands,” muttered one of the other guards, clearly better informed than his companion.
Heath’s discomfort returned in full force, and a cloud descended on Percival’s face.
“Oi, Percival!” A shout made them all turn, to see another guard jogging up. “I’ve just come from the gate,” he said, after exchanging friendly greetings. “What’s this I hear about you rescuing some child from a crushed carriage?”
Percival shrugged. “It was no big deal,” he said, a little too nonchalant. He glanced at Heath. “And Heath helped, of course. We were happy to be of assistance.”
“Assistance is an understatement, from what I heard,” the guard said, disregarding the mention of Heath completely. “The woman is telling everyone how you saved her boy’s life. Says you lifted a boulder the size of a cottage clean off the carriage.”
Heath rolled his eyes at this exaggeration. Not that he was surprised, remembering the way the woman had looked at Percival.
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Percival laughed.
He may as well have saved his breath. A small crowd had gathered, and a couple dozen people were gazing at Percival with an admiration that reminded Heath uncomfortably of hunger. He felt concerned to see his brother at the center of such attention, but in all honesty, he felt even more relieved it wasn’t him.
“You’re a hero, My Lord,” piped up one of the onlookers, and Percival waved a good-natured hand in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“Too bad the crown repays its heroes by shutting them out of the tournament,” muttered the guard who had complained before about Percival’s hands being tied.
Heath glared at the man. He’d been annoyed enough about the guard riling Percival up, but saying it in front of a crowd was a hundred times worse. Didn’t he realize how dangerous such talk was? Judging by his disgruntled expression, Heath suspected he had prematurely placed a wager on some detail of Percival’s inevitable victory.
Percival’s sunny smile had descended again into a scowl. “Yes, it is too bad,” he agreed sourly. Heath shot him a sharp look, and he shrugged. “We should celebrate power,” he said lightly. “After all, it’s only an accident of fate that prevented power being present in the direct royal line, isn’t it?”
