A loud screech drew her attention upward. A hawk circled above then dived sharply downward toward that which it had hunted. The distraction was just enough to steady her. The moment she entered the inner courtyard, all other thought vanished. Painted men walked on long sticks and blew fire in bright orange streams, another pretended to push against something invisible. Marion stared harder to see what could possibly hold him back. But there was nothing. The sight was mesmerizing.
“Keep up, lass,” her father said ahead of her.
The aroma of roasting meat was enough to tantalize the senses until she spied a table topped with all sorts of pastries and pies. Other tables were topped with every sort of trinket imaginable, and more colored fabric than any she had ever seen hung from wooden dowels. Marion wanted to explore each and every item and taste each delight, but her father still ushered her forward.
Through another doorway, they went to the back of the palace where a long seating area was built and covered with a canopy toprovide much needed shade. A light breeze which blew in across the small loch just on the other side of the tourney area was a comfort, but would not be enough respite from the hot sun.
She followed her parents to the stairs leading to their seats, and true to his word, the king had reserved three seats just behind and to the right of his own. Other guests had arrived, and for the first time since she’d donned the gown, Marion was less conscious considering the degree of over-the-top ornate headdresses worn by most of the other ladies present. Some wore the very old-fashioned butterfly hennin, while others opted for her mother’s new preference in the gable hood. Marion preferred her own floral wreath with her hair uncovered to any of those. As a single maiden, she did have a choice; once she married, she would be expected to cover her hair. Yet another reason to delay the act. Still, it was clear who amongst them wanted to appear as the most elite based on the lavishness of their appearance. Truth be told, they likely fit in more than she at this point.
As they were about to take their seats, the king and queen made their entrance and so everyone remained standing until offered the appropriate acknowledgement. The king turned and nodded at her father then flicked his gaze to her. His features were pleasing, and he held a kind countenance as he smiled.
“My gratitude for joining us this day,” the king said to Marion’s father. “’Tis a fine one for a tourney.”
“Aye, Your Majesty. ’Tis that indeed,” her father said.
In truth, her father had confessed to her he was in hopes of securing a position with the king. He’d been acting as Lord of Parliament, but that wasn’t official. This invitation may apparently secure that. Marion understood her part in the game. For that was all this was—she was a token to be gambled for a larger prize. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach.
She noted the queen had not turned to acknowledge them and wondered about this young woman and her thoughts on being in aneven worse state than Marion who was at least of marrying age.
Long silver horns sang their happy notes to gather everyone’s attention. The king stood and raised his arms wide, turning to the left then right. Marion could see the man’s smile as he turned their way. It had been widely rumored these tourneys were the most joy in which the king engaged. Looking around at the spectacle that was the palace grounds, she could believe it. For there was certainly no item without full attention. Banners flew depicting the various great families of the land, and even the chairs on which they sat had been decorated with a thistle and rose intertwined, the definitive symbol of the royal’s union.
“Welcome. Welcome to our summer tournament. We have much to celebrate! Let the games begin!”
The crowd erupted and Marion could not help but become caught up in the excitement as a dozen men all decked in their polished black, silver, or gold armor rode out before the crowd. They were quite the sight to behold as they rode proud, stopping before their king, visors up and eyes forward. She took in all of their presentation, noting how sturdy they sat atop their horses. Some had been decorated with a ribbon braided into the mane while others had been brushed to a fault, not a hair out of place. As her gaze traveled along the line of entrants, she stopped at the blackest, shiniest armor she had ever seen. The outline of a wild boar was hammered onto the breastplate. She didn’t know to which clan he belonged, but was certain the armor had cost a great deal of coin. There was no doubt he was someone of import.
Marion took in the rest of the man then, noticing the broad shoulders, and continued looking up until her gaze locked with striking eyes. His brows pinched as if he sorted some great puzzle. The fluttering she had in her belly earlier was back with a vengeance. The longer they held one another’s gaze, the more lightheaded she became. It was as though he saw into her very soul, able to see her discomfort.
Somewhere in the distance a man called out the names of theentrants, but she was too distracted to pay attention. A heartbeat later, he turned his attention toward the king and with sword in hand, placed it to his heart and bowed his head briefly.
Marion prayed no one had noticed the exchange, least of all her mother who would have them in the marriage bed before the afternoon meal was served. She smiled to herself at the thought as she cast her eyes downward to stare at her traitorous hands that would not stop shaking.
When she found the courage to look up again, the riders had disbursed, all but one who caught her gaze again before riding off to take his place among the other contestants of this, the first element of the games. There would be tests of skills including capturing rings while riding at top speeds, but it appeared the king wanted to kick this tourney off with the highest drama.
A joust.
She somehow had been pierced. Did she really need the visual representation to drive the point home?
The first riders took their places opposite one another and positioned their spears. The black rider was nowhere to be seen.
Hoofs pounded the earth, flicking dirt high into the air as the riders approached one another at top speed. Time seemed to slow as the distance between them closed, and Marion could not help but place her hands to her mouth and hold her breath.
A loud crack broke the moment as the rider approaching from the right directed his spear at the chest of his opponent and upon contact, unseated him instantly. He flew into the air and landed with a thud, his groans erupting from him as soon as he slammed onto the dirt.
Servants ran to him, gathered his horse, and helped him to his feet. The victor returned to the scene and held out his hand as a mark of honor in the interest and spirit of the games. The defeated accepted and the crowd went mad with approval.
Marion sat back in her chair, only just realizing she’d been sittingon the edge. The victor came around to present himself before the king who stood and clapped. The queen then moved for the first time and approached the rider. She took a scarf from her skirts and tied it around the rider’s arm. Marion was intrigued. There was much about this event and these practices she would need to learn. Did this mean she could show favor to a preferred rider as well? And why did her mother not tell her to bring extra scarves?
*
Alexander Campbell slidoff his horse and handed the reins to his steward, Alain.
“Christ, I despise being presented like that. I am certain the king enjoys my discomfort.”
“I am certain the king is acting in the interest of the spectators, m’lord,” Alain said with a smirk.
Though there was station and wealth between them, in another age, Alexander would consider them equals as men. But they did not live in another age, and propriety demanded Alain not be seen to take liberties with his employer.
In a low voice so that only Alain could hear, Alexander said, “I will expect you to hold your tongue in mixed company, Alain. Not everyone here is as progressive as we.”
