Catalina nodded. “I am, my lord.”
“I am Alexander de Sherrington,” he said. “And you are Essien’s betrothed.”
“I am, my lord.”
He smiled. “I was glad to hear the news,” he said. “Essien and I have known each other for a very long time. He’s a good man. May I wish you every happiness.”
Before Catalina could reply, Harald piped up.
“Essien will do well for himself by marrying her,” he said, interjecting himself into the conversation. “He will become the Earl of Mercia upon my death. No man can turn down such a title, even if he does have to marry a widow with children. A title like that will make men overlook much.”
It was a callous thing to say. Brielle, Christin, and Alexander were all looking at Harald in various stages of disgust as Catalina lowered her head in shame. Her father was putting a monetary value on her worth as a woman, as a person, and that was obvious. She’d always known that, but he’d never spoken of it to others with her present. It was embarrassing.
“I am not entirely sure the title even matters,” Alexander said steadily. “A man does not marry for a title alone. Or wealth. He looks for a woman of good character. At least, I did. But I married Christin instead.”
He meant it as a jest. Christin gasped in outrage, turning to him and pinching him on the arm where he couldn’t fight back because he had the toddler sleeping on him. But he laughed, low in his throat, grabbing her hand and kissing it before she yanked it away indignantly.
“What my husband is trying to say is that the worth of the woman is as great as her character,” she said. “It is in her moral standing, her poise, her graciousness. I’ve only just met Lady de Barenton, but I would say that Essien is quite fortunate she has consented to marry him.”
Catalina looked at Christin, her expression full of gratitude. Christin smiled and winked at her before the roar of the crowd overwhelmed them and their focus shifted to the field. The finalists began to take their positions, horses jittery, knights ascool as ice. There was a good deal riding on this match and the very excitement of it was in the air.
“Look,” Christin said, pointing to the field. “It will be Essien against his brother. This should be a fine match because they are both tournament champions.”
Catalina could see Essien on the east side of the field now with his falcon-headed standard, while his brother was on the west side, closer to the staging area, bearing his dark green standard with the black dragon on it.
“The finals already?” she said. “I suppose I missed the other bouts while Adabella and I were finding food and dancing dogs.”
Christin nodded, her eyes on the field. “Addax unseated Jonathan,” she said. “Then it was Cassian and Deinhold, and Cassian won that easily, but the bout between Addax and Cassian was something to behold. Cassian is a champion too, you know. It was a battle of titans.”
“Not today, it wasn’t,” Cassian said as he came into the lists and his daughters began to scream for him. He grinned, picking up the littlest one as he sat behind his wife, next to Catalina. “Today was simply not a good day for me. My shoulder still hurts from yesterday and Addax just made it worse. I kept trying to drop my shoulder to keep it away from him, but he hit it every time. The marshals noticed and that is why I lost the points. And the match.”
He was unhappy with the loss while trying to protect a sore body part, and Brielle turned around, looking at her husband.
“You dislocated it yesterday,” she said. “No wonder it hurts. The physic had to pop it back into place.”
She reached up, rubbing his left shoulder, but he shook his head. “That hurts,” he told her, removing her hand. “I need rest if I am going to be any good in the mass competition. Sherry and I are going to take the prize, eh, Sherry?”
Alexander had his eyes on the field, sighing heavily to Cassian’s statement. “I’m too old for the mass competition,” he grumbled. “That is a younger man’s game.”
Cassian grinned, putting his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Come on, lad,” he said. “You’re not too old. You’re just right.”
“I agree,” Christin said. “He’s just right. But I also hate the mass competition because it’s brutal and lawless. If he does not wish to compete, he’ll hear no complaint from me.”
Cassian wouldn’t accept Alexander’s withdrawal. “Sherry, the younger de Lohr sons are going to compete and they will need your guidance,” he said. “You’ll have me, Curtis, Roi, Douglas, probably Rhys and Maddoc, and a few more. We’ll need a leader.”
“Do not do it, Sherry,” Brielle said. “Cass will push you into the thick of things to save himself if the going gets rough.”
Cassian snarled at her. “My loving wife said that,” he said sarcastically, but quickly returned his attention to Alexander. “Please, Sherry. Say you’ll participate.”
“Hush,” Christin said. “The match is ready to start.”
All attention turned to the arena floor just as the marshal dropped the flag. Both horses began to charge, kicking up dirt, and the crowd leapt to their feet, screaming. Somewhere, someone even had a drum and was banging it furiously. Catalina didn’t even have time to be anxious or excited, it all happened so fast. The horses were running at one another, the lances came into contact with the knights, and both of them shattered. In a big explosion, wood flew into the air, straight for the lists.
Catalina heard Alexander shout first. She noticed the parents covering up the children, so she moved to do the same. Ines was still at Brielle’s feet, but Adabella was next to her, so she put her arms around the child to shield her from flying wood, but no one was shielding her. A substantial piece of wood flew into her face, slashing her jawline.
Other people had been hit, too. Catalina knew she’d been struck, but she was checking to see that her daughter was uninjured when she heard Brielle say something about the blood on her face. Suddenly, Brielle and Christin were at her side, using the sleeve of Brielle’s broadcloth dress to stem the blood flow coming from the left side of Catalina’s jaw. Alexander and Cassian were crowding around, all four of them inspecting the gash.
“That must be tended to,” Alexander said. “She caught a good piece of it.”
