“Well, Brian,” Cristen said to the hazel-eyed boy of twelve who had leaped forward as soon as he saw her. “Are you going to escort us to the feast?”
“Aye, my lady,” he said. “Lord Nigel said that we were to make certain that we brought you to him.”
Cristen began to walk across the field, her ladies behind her, the pages on either side of her. The ground was dry under her feet; it had been unusually rainless for the last few weeks. Cristen hoped the weather would hold until the end of the tournament. One year it had poured, and the horses sliding in the mud had made for even more injuries than usual.
A man crossed in front of her and stopped, forcing her to come to a halt.
“Lady Cristen,” he said, and bowed elaborately. “What a joy to see you again.”
“Sir Richard,” Cristen said sedately.
Richard Evril was one of the chief knights of Earl Guy’s household. Cristen knew that Guy had wanted her to marry him and that her father had refused the match.
The man smiled, showing stained teeth. He was big, with broad shoulders and the beginnings of a paunch showing under his bright yellow tunic.
“Are you going to get some food?” he asked.
“Aye,” Cristen said. “We are meeting my father.”
He offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you to him.”
Behind the knight’s back, Cristen could see Brian scowling. She could not refuse Sir Richard’s arm without showing extreme discourtesy, however.
“Thank you,” she said, and gingerly laid her small hand on his brilliant blue sleeve.
“You are looking as lovely as ever,” he said jovially as they began to walk across the field.
“Thank you,” Cristen said again. “Tell me, Sir Richard, whom can we expect to see at the tournament this year? Have all the usual vassals come?”
“Indeed, aye,” he returned. And he proceeded to tell her in detail about everyone who was participating.
At last they were walking across the drawbridge that led from the field over a filled moat. The gate towers rose on either side of Cristen, and for a moment she felt panic tighten her stomach.
She could not rid herself of the feeling that she was walking into a trap.
“Sir Nigel is over there, my lady,” Brian said helpfully.
“Oh, good,” Cristen said. She forced herself to smile up at the knight beside her. “Thank you for your escort, Sir Richard, but my pages will take me to my father now.”
He scowled, obviously not pleased with his dismissal.
“I was hoping to sup with you, Lady Cristen.”
Cristen didn’t want him to see Hugh. It was a foolish feeling, she knew. Hugh hadn’t come here to hide, after all. But this knight was too close to Lord Guy. He would notice the resemblance.
“I believe my father was planning to sup with only his own household this evening, Sir Richard,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
The man’s scowl deepened.
Brian stepped to her side. “I will escort you now, Lady Cristen,” he said.
She smiled into the boy’s flashing hazel eyes. “Thank you, Brian. Good evening, Sir Richard.”
They crossed the flat bailey to the place where Nigel and his men were gathered around one of the five smoking firepits, where enough meat to feed almost a thousand people was being roasted. The inner walls and great stone keep of Chippenham loomed above them.
The meal on the first day of the tournament was always informal. Lord Guy’s pages, dressed in scarlet surcoats with gold trim, were circulating with heaping platters of oxen, boar, venison, lamb, rabbit, and all kinds of fowl. Other pages were going around with flagons of wine. There was fine white bread as well, and sweets.
“Cristen!” Sir Nigel roared, waving a hand in which he clutched a piece of meat on a bone.
Cristen came up beside him. “Hello, Father.”
“Was that Richard Evril I just saw you with?”
She sighed. “Aye, unfortunately.”
“He insisted on escorting the Lady Cristen, my lord, but I stayed right behind her,” Brian said.
“Good lad,” Nigel grunted. “I don’t like that man.”
“What man?”
It was Hugh, coming up behind her.
“Richard Evril,” Nigel said. “He is one of Guy’s chief knights; he’s been with him forever. Guy wanted to marry him to Cristen, as a matter of fact, but I refused.”
Hugh looked revolted. “That old man? How disgusting.”
“It is very common for older men to marry young girls,” Nigel said repressively. “You must know that, Hugh.”
Hugh was looking across the packed courtyard, trying to locate Sir Richard, but the knight had disappeared. He turned back to Cristen. “Was he the man who tried to kiss you last year?” he demanded.
“No,” Cristen said gloomily. “That was someone else.”
“You had better stay by me,” he ordered. “It seems you are in some danger in this place.”
“It’s because everyone drinks too much,” Cristen said. She eyed the flagon of wine in Hugh’s hand.
“It’s my first,” he said austerely.
He certainly looked sober, Cristen thought. He had taken off his mail like the rest of the men and was garbed in a dark green overtunic with an undertunic of dark blue. The air was warm from the heat of the fires, and he had opened the laces at his throat, revealing the cross and chain he always wore. His eyes were somber.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked her now. “I’ll get it for you.”
“Some of the fowl, I think,” she said. “And a little bread.”
Hugh stepped away from her and lifted a hand to a circulating page. The boy, who had been simultaneously signaled by two older men, came to Hugh’s side immediately.
“The lady wishes some fowl,” Hugh said.
The boy offered Cristen his platter of meat. She chose what she wanted, smiled, and thanked him. He ducked his head and rushed off to answer other summonses.
Nigel offered his daughter a cup of wine. She shook her head. “I’ll share Hugh’s.”
A smile dented the corner of Hugh’s mouth. “Don’t you trust me?”
“It is not that at all,” she said repressively. “It is that I cannot hold my meat and bread and a cup of wine at the same time.”
“Hmmm,” he said.
“What events will you enter tomorrow, Hugh?” Nigel asked.
“What is on the program?” Hugh replied.
“There is a horsemanship competition, and wrestling, archery, and tilting at the quintain. The last is more for the squires than for the knights, however.”
Hugh offered Cristen a sip of his wine.
“What is the horsemanship competition?”
Cristen took a dainty swallow and returned his cup to him.
“They set up an obstacle course with barrels, gates, a bridge, that sort of thing. Everything is hung with brightly colored flags, which makes it a bit scary for the horses. Last year Guy even had a few small jumps.”
“It doesn’t sound too difficult,” Hugh said.
“No, well, the difficult part is that you have to carry a sword in one hand and a shield in the other and tie your horse’s reins on his neck.”
Hugh’s straight black brows rose. “Ah. That does make it more interesting.”
“You and Rufus would probably do very well in that competition, Hugh,” Cristen said.
She liked the horsemanship competition. It was fun to watch, and no one got hurt.
“Aye,” Hugh said. “We might.”
She gave him a hopeful look. “It’s much cleaner than the wrestling.”
He looked amused. “Aye, I imagine that it must be.”
“Shall I enter you for the horsemanship, then?” Nigel asked.
“Why not?” Hugh said lightly, and Cristen breathed a sigh of relief.
“Can a knight enter more than one competition?” Hugh asked.
“Of course,” Nigel said. “They take place one after the other-except for the tilting at the quintain, which goes on all day.”
“Do you participate yourself, sir?” Hugh asked courteously.
“Aye,” Nigel said. “I like to compete in the archery.”
Nigel was a very fine bowman.