Had Foudre moved by coincidence? Or had Ramsay anticipated the assault?
Evangeline sat down, finding herself reassured by that thought.
The two horses spun away from each other, circling back around for a second match. Squires bustled around their knights and both had the point of impact checked. Though marks were evident on their armor, it seemed that both were hale.
They finally took up their positions again, and Lady Haynesdale once again rose to her feet. The tension was greater than the previous time and Evangeline’s nails dug into her fists as she watched. Again, the scarf was lowered and the call made. Again, the horses galloped toward each other and the lances nearer their targets.
Rufus’ destrier lost his pace, faltering in the last moment, and Rufus’ attention must have been diverted by the horse. Ramsay’s lance landed squarely in the middle of Rufus’ breastplate. That knight was hurled backward from his saddle and landed hard in the meadow. His horse cantered to the end of the barrier, reins trailing, even as Ramsay pushed open his helm and circled around.
Rufus bounded to his feet in fury. “My horse!” he roared. “Check his hooves!”
“There is a stone lodged there, sir,” said Rufus’ squire, holding it up for all to see.
That knight turned upon Ramsay. “You cheat, sir! You would see my horse injured and thus me.”
A murmur passed through the assembly but Ramsay sat tall in his saddle. “And when would I have had that opportunity?” he asked. “I have never been within Dunhaven’s walls, much less its stable, and you have been upon your steed all this day. My squire remains near me and my horse. I have done naught, and have had no opportunity to do as you accuse.”
Rufus turned coolly to consider Evangeline and she felt a chill slide down her spine. “You might have had an accomplice, sir,” he said, surveying her all the while. “We have seen, after all, that she favors you in this contest.”
“I would never injure a horse by choice,” Evangeline protested hotly.
“Yet you lingered in the stable while I collected my sword,” Rufus said, his words launching a whisper of speculation through the crowd.
Evangeline was outraged by the implication, which was unjust.
Rufus turned to Ramsay again. “Nonetheless, I shall continue.” He mounted his horse again, the squire fastidiously checking the creature’s hooves, then returned to his end of the lists.
The incident had been planned, Evangeline was certain of it. The moment Rufus had left her alone in the stable with his horse had been no accident. She sat, fearing the worst, as the pair faced each other again.
At least the dagger was in her boot and readily accessible.
* * *
’Twas a ruse.Rufus would see Evangeline discredited so that he could abuse her in Ramsay’s absence. No doubt he also sought to enrage Ramsay with the slight against the lady’s nature.
But the other man assumed Ramsay would be defeated, and that was not his intention.
He would neither be insulted nor outraged. Indeed, as he faced Rufus, he smiled before closing his visor, solely to grant Rufus a measure of concern.
What was the rest of his plan? The fall had been taken deliberately, Ramsay was certain, so the next blow would be a ferocious one. The lances were sharpened, which meant Rufus would aim for Ramsay’s face in the hope of damaging the helm. He might aim for the groin or the gap between the breast plate and the shoulder armor, intending to pierce the chain mail and create a wound that might lead to a lingering demise.
Ramsay had no doubt that Rufus would make the third run count. The groin was a challenging target, given the angle. The face would be most likely to be bruised, and while spectacular, such a wound might not be fatal.
Nay, the gap at Ramsay’s underarm would be the goal, on the left side nearest the heart. ’Twas a small target, but one of import.
Lady Haynesdale stood, that silken scarf fluttering from her fingertips. “Begin!” she cried and dropped it, the horses needing no urging to race toward another encounter. Ramsay aimed the lance, knowing that he was fighting for his own life.
And as so often the case when much was in the balance, all proceeded with uncommon slowness. It seemed Foudre progressed more slowly than Ramsay knew the case to be. Each footfall echoed loudly, the dirt flying on either side from the horse’s hooves. Foudre bent his head, leaning down for greater speed, his powerful legs carrying Ramsay toward his destiny. Ramsay tasted sweat and salt. He felt taut and was aware of that rising bruise. He heard his own breath rasp inside the helm and his heart pound as Rufus came ever closer.
In the last moment, Ramsay shifted his weight slightly, moved an increment away from the barrier while yet in the saddle. His lance struck Rufus in the front of the helm, making that man’s head snap backward. Rufus yelled even as his lance struck Ramsay’s left shoulder with such vigor that it dented the armor. The lances clattered to the ground, the horses neighed and the company cheered. Ramsay would have a bruise, but if he had not moved, he would have had a hole in his chest instead.
Rufus removed his helm with a rough gesture, revealing that his nose had been bloodied by the impact. He glared at Ramsay, no good portent for their next match.
The horses circled around, returning to halt before those seated in the chairs. “Do either of you yield?” Lord Haynesdale asked.
“Nay!” both knights declared in unison.
“The next choice is yours, Sir Ramsay.”
