“Tournament?” he turned to his mother eagerly. “Can we go watch the tournament, Mummy? Can we?”
“I do not think so,” she said. “It has already been a full day and we must get started back home.”
Dane’s face fell. “But I have never seen a tournament. Can we just stay a little longer?”
Remington glanced at Gaston. “My lord?”
He shrugged. “I suppose we can watch a few minutes of it. As it is already, we shall be riding for an hour in the dark.”
Leaving two soldiers to guard the goods in the wagon, Gaston took Dane and the rest of the group to the tournament field. Already, the knights were taking the field to the loud cheer of the crowd and Dane peppered Gaston with hundreds of questions, all before they even sat down. Dane sat between his mother and the knight, his eyes wide as saucers as he watched the gaily colored knights ride by on their massive chargers.
There was a good deal of pomp and ceremony to the beginning of the competition. Eight knights of local Yorkists houses paraded in fine armor and bright banners and the crowd in the lists roared with approval. Remington recognized a few of the houses, including Sir Derek, and she caught on to the excitement of the crowd.
“Have you ever competed in tournaments, my lord?” she asked.
“More than I can count,” Gaston replied, scrutinizing a particular knight as he blew by.
“Did you win?” Dane asked.
Gaston smiled at the boy. “More than I lost.”
One of the knights seemed particularly interested in Remington. He ran his charger by three or four times, finally reining the snorting animal in front of their group.
“Are you promised, my lady?” he pointed his gloved finger in Remington’s direction. “I am in need of a favor.”
She did not know he was speaking to her. She looked around, at her sisters, and they all shrugged at each other. But Gaston knew exactly who the knight was speaking to and rose to his feet.
“She is,” he boomed. “Be on your way.”
The knight continued to pause in front of them. “My lord de Russe?”
Gaston had enough encounters for one day. He crossed his arms threateningly. “Who asks?”
The knight drew up his visor. “Sir Hubert Doyle, my lord. I served with you.…”
“Under Edward,” Gaston finished for him; he recognized the knight.
“Aye,” the knight smiled. “’Tis good to see you again, my lord. I heard what happened at Bosworth and I would like you to know that my support is with you.”
Gaston eyed him coolly. “You did not serve Richard, did you?” It was more a statement.
The knight shook his head. “In good conscience, I could not, my lord. I pray that you are not offended by this.”
Gaston sat back down, waving the man off with a faint flick of his hand. “Good day to you, Doyle.”
Sir Hubert closed his visor. “I apologize for my rash statement to your lady wife. I did not recognize you; in truth, I was looking only at her.”
Gaston looked at Remington; her eyes widened slightly. Lying to the merchant was one thing, by fibbing in front of her sisters and Gaston’s knights was quite another.
“I fault you not, man,” Gaston said. “She is the only woman in the world worth looking at.”
The knight gave him a smart salute and charged off, leaving Remington flushed; she did not care to look at her sisters. Dane stood up, watching the knights congregate at the end of the field.
“Are they going to fight now?” he asked Gaston.
“In a moment,” Gaston replied, looking past Dane to his mother; her cheeks were still flushed.
The tournament got off to a fast start. The first three rounds ended quickly, with the losers being unseated in the joust quickly. Rory and Skye turned into rowdy saloon wenches, cheering and yelling their lungs out for the knights whose colors they liked best. Gaston tolerated their screaming, knowing how the cheers from the crowd always supported him, but Patrick was having jealous fits over Rory’s attentions. Behind them, Jasmine and Antonius sat conspicuously close and snickered.
