She had called him the Welsh word for lion. Christopher had been known throughout his adult lifetime as the Lion’s Claw, the right hand of Richard the Lionheart. A lion was even on hisstandard, so she knew well the man’s nickname in that pleading question.
He did not take offense.
“I have seen more than forty years of battle,” he told her. “How many years have you seen?”
That gave her some pause. “Not as many,” she said reluctantly.
Her answer caused Curtis to turn his head away lest she see him smirk as Christopher remained patient with her. “And do you think it would be fair to say that, within that time, I have lost a battle or two?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Possibly,” she said. “But I would wager not many.”
“You would be correct,” Christopher said. “But I will tell you something that I have learned in defeat, my lady. How you accept a loss is as important as you accept victory. A man—or woman—of humility in victory is a thing to be admired. The same could be said for a man or woman of defeat. I accept this victory with humility because I am grateful for it. I am grateful I accomplished my task, and I am grateful my losses were minimal. You can show humility with your grace and understanding and cooperation. No one is trying to shame you, Lady Elle. Please remember that, even if we are tactless from time to time.”
There was a rebuke in that, but it was perhaps the politest rebuke Elle had ever heard. She didn’t argue with him. She simply nodded her head. He’d been trying to tell her for two days that this was no longer her game. She was only a player in a board that someone else controlled.
It was time for her to learn that for good.
But it was still difficult for her to swallow.
“Can you tell me the worst battle you have ever lost?” she asked. “I would like to know.”
It wasn’t a flippant question. In fact, it was a very earnest one. Christopher could see that this young woman, who had fought so bravely, was trying to relate to him the only way she knew how. That was a lesson for him, in fact, to communicate with her in a way she understood. She understood hardship and battle.
Perhaps this was his opportunity to learn something about his son’s future wife.
“It was many years ago,” he said. “Curtis was not yet born. There was a battle at a castle called Tickhill. My enemy was Prince John, who had taken over Tickhill, and it was my task—and the task of the army of King Richard—to get him out. It was a very big castle with enormous walls and a tall motte. It was partially surrounded by a millpond, but on the day I remember, it had been raining horribly. The mud was so thick and deep that the chargers were in danger of breaking legs in the stuff. I remember sheets of rain and dodging the bolts that the archers were shooting from the castle walls. One, unfortunately, hit me.”
Elle was listening with interest. “You were wounded, then?”
He nodded. “I was,” he said. “It was very bad. I found my way to the edge of the field with what I thought was a mortal wound. A fellow knight found me, and because the battle was still ongoing at that point, he could not be spared to tend me. His horse had been injured, so he took mine, but he was nearing the castle, and the horse took a bolt. It fell over on him, and he drowned in the mud as my horse smothered him. I am not entirely sure what happened to me at that point because I lost consciousness and some people took me away to save my life, but days after the battle, my men found my dead horse and what they thought was my body buried beneath it. My wife, and the whole of England, was told that I was dead. She even married another man because I was not strong enough to return to her for quite some time.”
Elle was invested in the story. “That is a terrible thing,” she said. “And this was the worst battle you ever lost?”
He shook his head. “It was the battle where I lost everything,” he said. “I lost my identity, my wife, the life I knew… everything.”
“What happened to Tickhill Castle?”
“The castle surrendered at some point,” he said. “It was given back over to Richard, and John went elsewhere to wreak havoc.”
“And you were fighting for Richard the entire time?”
“The entire time.”
“I have heard that was a terrible time in English history.”
“It was.”
Their conversation was interrupted when Westley appeared in his father’s tent, dragging Melusine with him. He had her tightly by the arm. The subject at hand was quickly forgotten as Curtis, Elle, and Christopher faced the pair as they entered, but it was Curtis who spoke first.
“You have been brought back to your cousin by my good graces, my lady,” he said to Melusine. “You may stay if you can behave yourself. That means you are not to antagonize your cousin. Am I making myself clear?”
Melusine looked a little unnerved. In fact, she had a rather wild look in her eye, not at all like the woman Curtis and Elle had seen earlier.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “I understand.”
With that, she pulled from Westley’s embrace and raced to Elle, throwing her arms around the woman. It was clear she was terrified. That certainly was a change in demeanor, and Curtis suspected he knew why. He turned to Westley.
“What happened?” he asked. “What did Amaro do?”
