Zander stormed from the solar. Now he had to figure out how to win, but still not kill his opponent in a fight to the death.
“You’ve an ugly scowl on your face,” Angus observed as soon as Zander entered his tent on the field.
“I’ve got an uglier one in my soul.” He wanted to kick something, like the useless Harold, who still lay asleep on his pallet. He resorted to a firm nudge instead. “Get up. Take the bladders and fill them with water. Then go to the paddock and groom my destrier.”
Harold ran out, watching as he passed for a blow that might be coming.
Zander crossed his arms, still furious.
“What happened?” Angus asked.
“That fool Sir Hugo asked for combatà l'outrance.”
“Is he looking to die? Some knights when they get older—"
“I think he believes he can win.”
“Unlikely.”
“Unlikely?Impossible.”
Angus tilted his head. “No need to tempt fate by saying impossible. Unlikely is good enough. Makes me sad for the woman who was here when you were wounded. His daughter, wasn’t it? What will become of her if he dies?”
“I will take care of her.” It came out too fast, too sure. Angus gave him a quizzical look. “Not that she will allow it if I kill her father. That is very unlikely.”
“Impossible.” Angus smiled as he threw the word back.
“Only heaven knows when Hugo last practiced at arms. When he was younger he was a fine warrior. Even when I became a squire. Now, besides his bad leg and vision, maybe even his sword arm is weak. I am going to tell the priest that and ask him to remind Hugo that taking one’s own life is a serious sin.”
“He’s not planning on doing that. He’s planning on killing you. You and I both know he will die, but that’s not the same as falling on his sword.”
No, it wasn’t. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
He strode over to where the Scot’s arms lay. He lifted the shoulder plate. “Can this engraving be removed by the forge?”
“Shouldn’t take long. Why would you want to do that? The decoration makes it much more valuable.”
He wanted to do that so it would not be recognizable.
Elinor folded the silk veil into a little pile. Almost weightless, it did not take up much space. Nor did it wrinkle, she had learned while she sewed it. Small wonder that silk was prized.
She had seen her father return from somewhere early in the morning, as soon as she had risen. Now he had gone to watch the combats again. She tidied up the tent and began planning how to pack everything for the journey back home. She would be glad to get him away from here, and from those men who had plans she dared not name.
She wondered if her father had already found a cart to take them. If not, she must do that soon, or there would be none left.
The flap opened. Zander entered. The flames in his eyes made her pause, but he came over and gave her a kiss, then called for Angus to join him. “Where are your father’s arms, Elinor?”
“Over here.” She showed them the chest.
Angus threw it open. Piece by piece, he removed it, eyeing each one. He made two stacks on the ground.
“This here is fine. This group here has some rusted links and others that are broken.”
Zander looked down at it. Then he crouched by the chest and poked through it. He stood.
“Bring it in, Angus.”
Angus left and returned with pieces of armor. Zander took them and laid them down next to the chest. “Tell him a knight left it. Tell him you don’t know the knight’s name.”
