“I was not cruel.”
“Will you not lift your visor when you are speaking to me? I feel as if I am speaking to a statue.”
His response was to flip his visor up, his blue eyes twinkling at her and a smile playing on his lips. “Better?”
She nodded. “Verily. Now, tell me; after the Street of the Jewelers, where are we going?”
“To the Tower.”
“And then what?”
He sighed, lifting an eyebrow. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“I do. Please do me the courtesy of answering.”
He scratched his cheek with a great mailed glove, glancing about as if he was thinking of a reply. “Well,” he began, “I suppose you could say that I have a surprise for you.”
Her eyes lit up. “A surprise? What is it?”
“De Russe has informed me that the king has arranged a tourney in celebration of the summer season. It seems that it is becoming an annual event, for he has done the same thing for the past two years. In any case, the tourney will be the day after tomorrow; a vast, vulgar spectacle of knights and pageantry. You have never seen anything like it.”
She clapped her hands in delight. “And we are going!”
“I am competing.”
Her eyes widened and her hands froze in mid-clap. “You are competing?”
He nodded. “This is an enormous tourney and any knight worth his weight in salt pledges to compete.”
Her excitement, so strong at first, suddenly banked into something dark and brooding. She simply nodded her head, trying not to show her true feelings.
“I am sure you will do fine,” she said quietly. “I… I am looking forward to the spectacle.”
He was far more astute than she gave him credit for. “Nay, you are not,” he growled. “What is the matter?”
She shook her head and sat back in the cab. “Nothing, truly.”
The next thing she realized, the cab door was flying open and Matthew’s bulk was in the door. Reaching out, he grasped her bythe arm and pulled her out. Somehow, he managed to remount his charger with her in front of him. It could not have been very easy if she hadn’t been somewhat cooperative, and she suspected that she had. In fact, she had gone quite willingly.
Seated in front of him with his massive arm around her, she settled back contentedly. She had grown so accustomed to him by her side day and night, almost since they had met, that she was coming to crave it.
“Now,” he rumbled in her ear. “Why did you look as you did when I told you that I was competing in the tourney?”
She thought about being evasive but was coming to realize that did not work with him. “It is foolish, really.”
“Let me be the judge of that. Why do you not want me to compete?”
She sighed heavily, realizing she would have to tell him. “’Tis silly.”
“Tell me.”
She settled back against him, pressing herself more closely into his armor. Even though it was cold and hard, still, Matthew was on the other side of the protective metal lining. She swore she could feel him.
“When I fostered at Pickering, the earl held a tournament,” she began quietly. “I was perhaps twelve years old at the time. We had a knight in service at the time, a man sworn to the earl and, by all accounts, a very fine man. In any case, he competed in the tournament and made it to the final round. We were all so proud of him. But as we sat and watched, this fine, strong knight was brought down by a lance that split and ran great shards into his face and neck. He lingered for four days before finally passing on. It was a horrible death.”
He understood, somewhat. “So you do not want me to compete.”
She turned to look at him, his sweaty face underneath the raised visor. “Matthew, I cannot bear the thought of a mistake or an accident and losing you to an injury that simply did not have to happen. I would just… die.”
