“These lands are far from London and the regions where there will be fighting. Lord Jean’s are too. Marcus, however, may have to choose.”
“He will choose John.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I have reason to think so.”
“You are a better spy than even I thought. What reason might this be?”
“I may be a good spy, but I am notyourspy.”
“Pity. Is this reason strong enough to refuse that dowry? You will curse yourself until the day you die if you do.”
Zander knew that.
Lord Yves sighed as if the conversation had lost his interest. “By this evening you will know what to do. Lady Elinor will never have you if you are victorious and her father is killed. And if you are killed instead, well—” He shrugged.
Zander pushed away from the wall so he did not put his fist into his host’s face.
CHAPTER NINE
Elinor filled her day with duties, but they never distracted her from what was coming. She made sure her father’s crimson surcoat looked fitting for his combat and laid out his repaired mail. She placed the new armor for his shoulders and arms beside it, and cooked some fowl so he might have a decent meal to help his strength.
Then she walked through the camps, hearing whispers as she passed, knowing people already pitied her because soon she would be without her father’s protection. Combats to the death were uncommon at tourneys, and no carpenters had followed the knights here to make coffins. Discouraged, she turned toward the castle and town, to see what could be found there, and to discover if a fallen knight from the tournament could be buried in the churchyard.
She trusted Zander would not require forfeit of her father’s arms, not that there was much to gain from them. Still, she could sell them and perhaps pay the fee that was named for a burial. Sick at heart by how the sun moved so relentlessly through the sky, she made her way back to her camp.
She ducked inside to find her father on his pallet, with his arm slung over his forehead and his boots off. He looked to be sleeping, but he moved his arm and gazed down his body at where she stood.
“Come sit with me, Elinor, so I can see you.”
She sat on the edge of his pallet, near his hip. The wound that had caused his leg pain had happened right here, a deep gash from a Saracen’s sword that broke through the mail to cut him deeply. It had healed while he was in France, but not well, and it pulled forever now.
“We’ll be in the money by tonight,” he said. “Once I take his armor and horses.”
She closed her eyes to hold in the tears.
“Where did that other plate come from?” he asked.
“A man brought it. A knight. He said he did not want you fighting without good protection. He said you should have better if you met Zander on the field.”
His gaze found her again. “Zander. You speak of him with familiarity.”
“We were children together. I will always think of him by that name.”
“You are not children now. I’ll not have you weep for him when this is over, Elinor. He has dishonored me and must pay.”
“I will not weep for him.”
He seemed to accept her answer as obedience to his will.
“Father, can you not stop this? Or at least tell the lord you do not require it be to the death?”
“To turn back now would be cowardly. I’ll not have men say that of me.”
Something in his voice said he might have chosen differently if the decision came to him at this time.
“Perhaps Z—Sir Alexander would be willing to find a way that would not make either of you appear a coward.”
