“Sir Humphrey, you will need protection,” Sir Wallace said.
The knight grumbled, but allowed himself to be strapped into a brigantine.
“When one man has had enough,” Sir Wallace continued, “he will raise his arm in signal that he is finished—unless he has passed out.”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“There will be no rest periods. Any questions?”
Gareth and Sir Humphrey just stared at each other with equal confidence. When Sir Wallace stepped back, both men brought up their swords and crouched, circling each other. Gareth had the advantage of height, but Sir Humphrey had the massive chest of a bear.
The sudden shouting of the crowd behind her almost made Margery flinch. She composed herself and studied the combatants. Both men held their swords with obvious experience. Sir Humphrey was the first to strike a blow, which Gareth parried aside easily.
They fought evenly for a while, trying to tire each other out. Margery grew so relaxed that she began to study Gareth instead of the battle. He had well-muscled arms, which seemed powerful enough to stop any blow of Sir Humphrey’s.
She began to feel rather warm, though the day was overcast. She shouldn’t stare at Gareth—although he did move with considerable grace for a man. But when she watched how skilled he was with his body, she couldn’t help but wonder?—
She bit down hard on her lip to stop her wicked thoughts. Her face felt hot; her palms were damp. She had promised herself that she would forget her experience with a man. Then why was it constantly on her mind when she looked at Gareth? And it wasn’t Peter she was thinking of.
Out of the corner of her eye, she checked to see if the twins noticed her odd behavior. Cicely was watching the contest with her eyes partially shielded by her hand, while Anne only stared, her face grim.
With a grunt of triumph, Sir Humphrey whirled aside, then brought the flat of his sword down hard on Gareth’s left arm, just above his shield. Margery winced as if the sting were her own. She could only imagine the raised welt he would have. She wrapped her hand around the purse hung from her belt, and clutched the crystal stone hidden inside as if it could protect him.
Gareth barely felt the blow. He ducked as Townsend’s sword whistled past his face, then whirled and hit Townsend’s back. Though the man gave a hiss of pain, he fought without slowing. Their swords met and caught at the hilt, bringing them close.
Townsend grinned. “Even this blunt sword can cut your pretty face, Beaumont.”
Gareth pushed him away, then began a flurry of blows that left the other knight faltering and gasping for breath. Their swords clashed and slid together, bringing them face to face again. When Gareth would have broken away, Townsend held him still.
“Poor Beaumont,” Townsend hissed in a soft voice. “Win or lose, I’ll soon be lifting Margery’s skirts.”
Gareth tried to tell himself that Townsend’s boast meant nothing, but it was as if his sanity fled at the thought of Margery with someone else. With a burst of power, he thrust Townsend away. Before the other man could recover, Gareth hit him across the head with his shield. Townsend fell hard and lay still.
The tiltyard was utterly silent—even the birds didn’t sing. Feeling powerful and alone, more like himself, Gareth raised his head and looked at the silent crowd. If he had to fight them all to prove he belonged here, so be it. He gripped his sword tightly and awaited their condemnation.
Margery rose to her feet. “Well done, Sir Gareth,” she said. “My dear guests, shall we break our fast?”
She and her ladies turned and walked away. The men gave him angry looks, but began to exchange coins at a furious pace so that they could keep up with Margery. Gareth let his sword dangle as he stared down at Townsend’s slumbering body.
Wallace came up beside him with a bucket of water, wearing a satisfied grin. “That was a good display of swordsmanship you put on.”
Gareth shrugged. “I try to educate where I can.”
“Was that an actual joke?” Wallace asked in feigned astonishment.
“Just the truth.”
“What did he say to you before the final blow?”
“Something crude about his intentions toward Margery.”
“Ahh.” Wallace nodded. “Maybe you’d better leave before I revive him.”
“Why?” Gareth asked. “If he wishes to continue fighting, I shall gladly oblige him. And we won’t use these childish weapons.”
“Mistress Margery doesn’t need you to kill each other. Go eat with her while I clean up your mess.”
Inside the great hall, Margery tried not to watch the door as she waited for Gareth to come in. Some of her suitors refused to speak to one another, others debated the battle heatedly. They all but ignored her, and she was grateful.
