Something pattered down on Gwen’s shoulder, then slid into her lap—it was a veil of some kind. She looked up and noticed an absolute rain of random objects—largely handkerchiefs, scarfs, veils, even a few full-on hats and headdresses—flying down onto the lists from the ladies comprising well over half the audience. Then a tangle of bodice lacings landed on Achilles’s saddle, and Gwen hastily sheathed her sword and moved forward far enough to look up into Isobelle’s box.
She found Isobelle’s face immediately, the blue eyes gleaming with relief and elation—beside her, Jane shrieked something incoherent and hurled her own favor, a heavily embroidered handkerchief. Isobelle shot her a look, and Jane giggled and said something that was inaudible over the roar of the crowd.
Gwen stole one last look at Isobelle before wheeling Achilles and galloping back off the lists again.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Meditations he learned on an ancient mountaintop
Gwen dismounted by her tent, her legs as shaky as they’d been after her first ride. Her thoughts were racing, as unsteady as her legs, and she stumbled through the tent flap with her mind awhirl. She yanked off her helmet, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air, and let out a quavering laugh of released tension and relief.
Only then did she register several distinct sets of footsteps squelching across the much-abused field toward her tent, and the boisterous male voices hailing Sir Gawain.
Reality reasserted itself like a torrent of icy water, and she scrambled for her helmet, trying to pull it back over her sweaty face and hair before the other knights entered.
Then a familiar voice called, “Hey, now, that’s far enough!” Orson’s tone was jovial but firm. “I told you, Sir Gawain sees no one before or after his jousts. He devotes his pregame and postgame rituals to meditations he learned on an ancient mountaintop.”
One of the other knights got out half a protest, but Orson cut him off.
“You’ll have to see him in the lists, like everyone else.”
The other footsteps sounded again, thudding away from the tent, and then Orson himself ducked inside.
Gwen had gotten halfway stuck inside her helmet. “Thanks, Awesome,” she murmured, abandoning her attempt to hide her face. “Er, Orson.”
Orson laughed and came over to take her helmet from her. “No worries. Isobelle would have my hide if I stood by and did nothing while you got found out. Need some help?” he added, gesturing to her armor. “I promise not to kiss you like your last squire did.”
Gwen gave an uneasy chuckle and nodded, turning so Orson could get to the straps keeping her chest piece in place. “Thanks. I’m used to doing it myself, but...”
“But it’s much harder when your muscles are screaming in agony?” Orson finished for her, working the buckle free and prying the pieces apart so Gwen could squeeze out of them. “Really, this armor is ingenious.” He squinted, inspecting the shoulder articulation more closely.
“Thanks.” Gwen pulled her hands out of her gauntlets and began unbuckling her vambraces one by one. “I meant what I said before. When all this is done, I can show you how I make it. Make some for you too, if you want.”
Orson cast a sideways glance at her, hesitating, his expression saying clearly,When all this is done, you’re probably not going to be in a position to do anything.But what he said was, “That’d be awesome, thanks.”
Once the rest of Gwen’s armor was on the stand, Orson turned his back so Gwen could change out of her padding and into her costume as Céline.
“Look, I appreciate you covering for me with the other knights,” Gwen said, reaching out tentatively to touch Orson on the shoulder and let him know she was fully clothed again. “But, uh, you mightnot want to make me sound so very mysterious.”
Orson turned and raised both blond eyebrows at her. “Seriously? A brand-new knight who comes out of nowhere, who no one’s seen at any of the feasts or salons, who absolutely demolishes the competition and vanishes again as soon as he’s done so?” Orson shook his head, rolling his eyes skyward. “Sir Gawainisa mystery, you can’t avoid it. All I’m doing is muddying the waters with more mysteries, in the hope that no one spots which mysteries are the important ones to focus on.”
Gwen had to admit it wasn’t the worst idea. “Just... maybe stop short of implying I’m half dragon or King of the Fae or that I turn into a bat and go flying around by night.”
“Oh man, those are great ideas. Hang on, let me find something to write those down...” Orson burst into laughter when he saw Gwen’s stricken face, and then held out his arm with perfect chivalry. “Come on, Lady Céline. Let’s go find Isobelle.”
But they didn’t find Isobelle. Her friends had already swept her off—Olivia told Gwen, when she reached Isobelle’s suite, that they’d gone on a mission to try to find where in the castle Sir Gawain was staying, and lie in wait for him.
That night, as Gwen soaked and resoaked a cloth to bring the swelling down in her shoulder, she could not help but visualize the moonlit living quarters stretching between her bedroom and Isobelle’s. Gwen closed her eyes and tried to focus on the wet cloth cooling her skin.
Instead, she could only think of her disappointment that Awesome was the one who came to celebrate with her afterward, and not Isobelle.
With a sigh, Gwen tossed the rag back into the water basin and sat up. She reached for the dressing gown slung across the foot of her bed and shrugged into it before easing silently out of her room.
She got two-thirds of the way across the sitting room before she stopped, heart pounding, ears straining for any telltale sound from beyond Isobelle’s door.
There was only silence.
Gwen drew a long, slow breath, trying to calm her nerves. Just because she couldn’t sleep knowing Isobelle was so near, didn’t mean she had the right to wake her.
