“For their sakes, I hope it is their family,” David said softly. “I cannot imagine going through life without mine, as they have. Mayhap God will be merciful.”
It was a sentiment well supported by Christopher and Rhys.
The marshals picked that moment to drop the flag, and the roar of the crowd exploded.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Somehow, watching thetournament was far different than competing in it.
It was an incredibly depressing day.
Lance had spent the night in the great hall, as Essien had suggested, and he’d been up before dawn at the tournament field watching the preparations at hand. He still couldn’t believe he had lost his position with Lord Eckington, but in hindsight, he didn’t much like the man anyway, so he supposed it wasn’t any great loss.
He’d simply join the tournament circuit again.
He’d been good at it, good enough to win prizes and pay his debts. He didn’t live like a king, but he was able to eat and feed his horse and pay for the young man who took care of his possessions. It had been a farmer’s son, and when he had taken the position with Lord Eckington, he’d sent the lad home.
It looked like he was going to have to bring him back.
The only thing that gave him pause about not serving Lord Eckington now was the fact that he would not be seeing Catalina any longer, but that created a whole new issue. Somehow, under his nose, she had been betrothed to Essien al-Kort and he hadn’t heard anything about it until everything was said and done.Did he truly feel cheated? The truth was that he didn’t because he really didn’t have a claim on her. He’d only expressed his interest to Lord Eckington. The old man had never really led him to believe that there was a possibility he would accept his suit, so the reality was that Lance was simply disappointed that he hadn’t been chosen.
So, he spent the night brooding and drinking, and, after a couple of hours of sleep, he found himself back at the tournament field, watching none other than Essien prepare for the first bout of the day. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to hate the man, because Essien had been decent to him in the heat of the situation. He hadn’t threatened him or postured angrily. He’d actually been kind. That was something Lance appreciated, since he’d spent his entire life with people who had not shown him anything beyond polite regard.
Therefore, kindness made an impact on him, no matter how small.
On this morning, Lance positioned himself in the staging area just outside the arena where he could see all of the action. He could see the lists and he saw, clearly, when Catalina and her father arrived. He could keep an eye on her from where he stood, but he made sure to stay out of Essien’s way. He didn’t want the man to see him and regret being polite to him if he thought Lance was making a nuisance of himself.
He didn’t want to be on Essien’s bad side.
The reality was that Lance didn’t have many friends still in the tournament circuit that he could turn to in his time of need. He’d had a couple of friends, but both of those men had returned to their families and now served fathers or uncles or grandfathers. Lance had been a good competitor, but he hadn’t been at the top of the food chain like the al-Kort brothers, or Cassian de Velt, or the de Wolfe brothers. They were eliteknights with a massive network of family and friends, people they could depend on. Lance didn’t have that.
But he wanted it.
And that was really why he was here.
He had heard last night in the great hall that David de Lohr, the Earl of Canterbury, had arrived, so he tucked himself into a quiet corner of the hall and waited for David to appear. There were dozens of senior soldiers and visiting knights and, at some point, he spied Christopher entering the hall in the company of a couple of men, one of whom was a shorter man who looked a good deal like him. Lance had never actually seen David de Lohr, so he wasn’t sure if he was at Christopher’s side. There were other young knights around, young men with blond hair who bore the de Lohr name, but Lance really didn’t know who they were, either. Riding the tournament circuit had kept him away from fine homes and feasts like the one at Lioncross that evening, and that meant he wasn’t too familiar with who the people were.
But he knew who Christopher was, and he was going to introduce himself to the de Lohr brothers if it was the last thing he ever did.
Even now, as the sun rose and Lance planted himself in an inconspicuous place in the staging area, he was watching a group of knights at the rail beneath the lists. Christopher was there along with a couple of older knights, the shorter blond man included, and once William de Wolfe went down and Essien won the bout, Christopher remained at the edge of the field in conversation with those men.
Whatever it was, the subject was intense.
But Lance’s interest in them soon waned as his focus shifted to Catalina. She had her daughters with her, with the little one bundled up on her lap, and Lance watched her from afar. The more he watched her, the more regretful he was that he wouldnot be marrying her. True, it was for the inheritance. It was for the companionship. It was because he wanted someone who belonged to him, but what he wished simply wasn’t going to materialize.
He was going to have to get over his disappointment, but that was never going to happen if he stared at Catalina and mourned what would never be, so he tore his gaze away from her, returning his focus to the staging area where Addax al-Kort was fully dressed and ready to compete. Two other competitors were preparing for their bouts, too, and Lance recognized Cassian de Velt and Jonathan de Wolfe.
But he wasn’t the only one watching them from the shadows.
There was another.
Across the staging area, near the gate that led out into the lists and the street of vendors, stood a figure swathed from head to toe in dirty cloaks and tattered scarves. His entire head was wrapped up so that only his eyes were evident, eyes that were watching the competitors intently. Lance could see the man from where he stood, and as he watched, the figure turned toward the lists, evidently studying the crowd as well. It occurred to Lance that the man might be looking for someone to rob. He was certainly dressed in a way that would prevent identification from witnesses.
That thought had Lance’s focus shifting. If he couldn’t be of service to Lady de Barenton any longer, then perhaps he could be of service to the men in the staging area and protect them from a thief.
It gave him something to do, anyway.
As the morning proceeded, Lance settled down to watch the stranger in the tattered cloaks.
