Now he waited to learn if there would be a brief reprieve. He wore his hauberk, and Angus and Harold waited just off the lists with his plate, weapons and destrier, prepared for either eventuality.
The lances clashed. Sir Walter’s balance on his horse looked precarious, but he righted himself. They turned and charged again.
When a lance connected with a breast plate, it made an unmistakable sound. The crowd gasped when they heard it. As if motion slowed, Sir Walter’s body tilted back, then sideways while he fought to regain his seat. Instead, he slid out of the saddle.
Standing quickly, he withdrew his sword, inviting Sir Charles to combat. Sir Charles could have refused, and taken the win then and there, but he dismounted.
They engaged a long time, but to Zander it seemed mere moments. Finally, Sir Walter signaled his forfeit.
The crowd grew raucous with cheering and shouting. Zander realized much of the noise was aimed at him. He had been noticed standing alongside the lists, and he was now the champion. He tried to accept the accolades courteously, but his mind was on other things as he made his way to where Angus waited.
“Sir Alexander!” The sweet young voice reached his ear as he passed the lord’s stand.
He looked to where Lord Marcus and his wife flanked their daughter Matilda. She waved to him her, soft face flushed and her blue eyes alight with excitement.
He had no choice except to go over to her.
“A championship,” Lord Marcus said approvingly. “You will leave far richer than you came.”
Between the champion’s purse and the many forfeits he had taken, that was true. And yet, at the moment, he found little joy in it. Still, he accepted the congratulations.
“I hear that you have one more challenge,” little Mathilda said.
“Yes, my lady. Very soon.”
She reached up, unpinned her veil, and offered it. “It would please me if you wore this.”
He looked at that veil. Blue, not crimson. “Do you intend to stay for that competition?”
“Of course. Everyone will be staying.”
He fingered the blue veil. “Perhaps you should not witness such things.”
Matilda appeared taken aback by the subtle scold. So did her mother.
Lord Marcus seemed unconcerned. “He is being chivalrous due to your feminine frailty,” he explained to her.
“I am not afraid,” Matilda said. “If a man dies, I am sure it will not be you, sir.”
He pressed the veil back into her hand. “I am honored, my lady. However, I fear that in the next challenge it is likely to get ruined, and that would grieve me.”
Her brow puckered. She looked to her mother, confused. Her mother shrugged.
“Well said, Sir Alexander,” Lord Marcus said, although his gaze suggested other thoughts. “He is right Matilda. It will be stained by blood for certain.”
Zander strode away, cursing himself for closing that particular door almost all the way. Then again, right now the idea of a life with Matilda struck him as long and tedious. He would never have old memories with her or share the confidences of his soul.
He found Angus and Harold. Angus began cladding his shoulders in the plate. “The crowd grows even as we do this.”
“Everyone likes blood sport.” Even girls not yet ten and six.
“I trust you will make quick work of this.”
“Not too quick.”
Angus looked at him. “A dead man doesn’t care if he has been humiliated first.”
“It is not a man whose pride I seek to save.”
