The crowd was ripe with anticipation. Alixandrea had to make a conscious effort to shut out the noise around her. Even John seemed nervous, which did not help her state. Audrey was tired and had a belly ache from too many sweets, so Caroline and Mena took her from the lists. Alixandrea was glad; with all of the tension surrounding this match, she did not want the little girl to see something that might upset her.
Lady de Russe and her son were still seated in front of her, now further off to the right and next to the royal box. Mari-Elle was even talking to the king. As the unrest of the crowd grew, Alixandrea caught movement from the corner of her eye andnoticed that Gaston was now standing just below the platform, almost directly in front of her. He turned to look at her and caught her attention. Then he extended a hand to her. Realizing that he wanted her to come to him, she rose from her seat and obediently went.
He did not say a word as he took her by the hand and lifted her off the platform to stand beside him. She had a closer, far better view of the field from this position. He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, all the while remaining stoic and silent. But Alixandrea was no idiot; she realized he had done it because he was concerned. He wanted to be with her if something should happen to Matthew and the knowledge that he was apprehensive scared her to death.
“You are worried, my lord,” she said to him softly.
He did not look at her. “I simply thought you might like a better view.”
“I could see fine from where I was sitting.”
“Would you rather go back?”
“Nay,” she studied his strong profile. “I would rather stand here with you.”
He did look at her, then. The smoky gray eyes were intense. “He shall be victorious, my lady.”
“Then why do your eyes tell me otherwise?”
The corners of his mouth twitched and he looked back on the field in time to see the flag drop. The knights gored their chargers and the beasts thundered towards one another, collectively thousands of pounds of flesh and bone and armor hurling through space. It was much louder where she was standing and far more frightening. Dennis broke a lance on Matthew’s hip and Matthew broke a lance on Dennis’ shoulder. Splinters went flying and the crowd went mad.
Matthew made his customary wide circle and made a thundering pass before the lists. Alixandrea could hear themchanting his name and it gave her courage, thousands of people giving encouragement to her husband. She started chanting his name, too. Matthew slowed his horse when he came to where she was standing with Gaston and flipped open his visor.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked.
“Gaston invited me,” she said. “You were wonderful.”
Matthew’s gaze moved from her to Gaston and back again. He knew exactly why Gaston had hold of her; should Matthew become injured or incapacitated, Gaston wanted Lady Wellesbourne close at hand to make sure she was safe. It was a gesture only a comrade of Gaston or Matthew’s magnitude would understand. It was what true friends would do for one another. Matthew nodded his thanks to Gaston, flipped down his visor, and continued back to his starting point.
The second glance was benign, though Matthew managed to get a piece of Dennis’ shoulder again. It put Matthew ahead in points and the crowd could smell blood. Alixandrea was actually fairly calm by this point, watching Dennis and her husband prepare for their last glance. When the lances were finally in place, the field marshal dropped his flag again.
The horses thundered. The crowd screamed. The lances went down and aimed for the opposing bodies. But at the last second, Dennis lowered his lance into the chest of Matthew’s charger and the beast impaled itself upon the wood.
The horse collapsed in a flying mass of flesh and armor, tearing into the guide and pitching Matthew off. Dennis was caught in the calamity of his own doing as the momentum carried both Matthew’s charger and the guide straight into him, throwing him and his horse towards the lists in a huge cloud of dust and wood.
It had all happened in a split second. The crowd screamed in terror. Alixandrea heard herself shriek and instead of covering her eyes, she began to run. She heard Gaston calling after her,too loaded down with armor to sprint after the very fast Lady Wellesbourne. The dust still hadn’t settled by the time she reached the center of the field, but her eyes nonetheless beheld the devastation.
Matthew’s horse was a dead, bloody mess, twisted in the wreckage of the guide. Dennis’ horse, having been struck by the violent tumbling of Matthew’s steed, lay several feet away with an obviously broken leg. Dennis was half buried under his charger and already men were trying to move him out from under the horse. The guide was in ruins and she leapt over it, spying Matthew on the ground about twenty feet in front of her. Men were running at him from all directions. She raced to him as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.
“Matthew!” she cried. “Matthew!”
Luke and Mark were the first to reach him. They fell to their knees beside him, as did Alixandrea a split second later. Matthew was moving; that much was certain, and Mark reached down to unlatch his battered helm. It was dented and stuck, and it took both Mark and Luke to pull it free. Matthew’s dazed, bloodied face greeted them.
“Matt,” Mark’s voice was full of concern. “Are you hurt, man? Where are you injured?”
Matthew lay there a moment, blinking unsteadily. Flat on his back, he looked upward and could see his wife’s distraught face looking down at him. She was a mess and he lifted a weak hand in her direction.
“I… I do not believe I have broken anything,” he rasped, trying to move all of his limbs. “Alix, do not cry. I am all right, love.”
She was trying desperately not to sob. One hand went over her mouth and the other reached out to grab the gloved hand that he was extending at her. Gaston loomed over her shoulder.
“That was one of the better spills I have seen on the tournament circuit,” he said it as if it were something to be impressed about. “Are you sure you are all right?”
Matthew took a deep breath and felt a stabbing pain in his torso. He grunted. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he groaned. “Get me on my feet.”
“Where do you hurt?” Gaston reached down to take one arm as Mark took the other.
“My ribs,” Matthew grunted. “I may have cracked one or two.”
