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Winnie thanked her for her time and help, asked Mrs. Wintour to say hello to Mr. Wintour, then faced the jousting area as the woman walked away.

That had been far more helpful than Winnie could have hoped for. She wrote down a few more things on her tablet, then checked the time.

11:06

The jousting was six minutes behind schedule. She looked around her, more people gathering toward the makeshift fence. How long would they all be waiting?

Five minutes later, a crackling sounded nearby, and Winnie looked around before finding an older man setting up an overhead canopy on the far side of the area. Soon, he stood behind a microphone, and the crackling sounded again just as his voice blared through a speaker next to him.

“Mornin’, ladies and gentlemen,” came his Yorkshire accent through the speakers. His thick, gray beard bounced as he spoke in the most monotonous tone Winnie had ever heard. “I’ve been told to inform you that the joustin’ will be a bit delayed as the horses and knights prepare for this dangerous sport. We ’ppreciate your patience at this time and will keep you updated. While you’re waitin’, feel free to browse the tents, get yourself a bite, and stay tuned. You’ll not want to miss this.”

The speaker crackled again, then the mic was turned off, and the man headed into the woods.

Winnie pulled in her lips. With his lack of excitement, she wasn’t sure he was the best choice to get the crowd riled up. Sure enough, a few people grumbled around her as they wandered off. How many more guests would they lose due to their tardiness?

Don’t keep people waiting

To bide her time, she opened her food box and eyed the green, orange, and brown slop that had been described above the booth as

Authentic Cabbage Chowder & Spit-Roasted Lamb

Authentic Cream Custard Tart & Rose Pudding

Authentic. There it was again. This had Matthew written all over it.

What the devil is cabbage chowder?

She had zero desire to put any of the food in her mouth, but she had to experience it all to be considered well-informed. So, with shudders and near-gags, she ate a bit of each serving, taking notes about how it was the worst meal she’d ever eaten before the knights came out forty-five minutes late.

The crackling of the microphone sounded again as they finally appeared. “As you can see, our knights are arrivin’,” the announcer drawled. “You’re in for a treat, ladies and gentlemen.”

Winnie was inclined to believe him, if only in this regard. The rain had picked up again as the men emerged from the trees astride their horses, armor glistening with moisture and clanking in the distance.

Which one was Matthew? She couldn’t tell with their faces covered by the visors.

As despondent as she had been with the state of the faire altogether, the image of the knights filing one-by-one into the list was enough to rid her mind of all else but the power and grandeur of these four armored individuals. They may as well have been walking in slow motion, so rousing was their approach.

Each man was covered from head-to-toe in armor, helmets ranging from square around the jaw to pointed around the nose. Atop each helmet plumed giant feathers in a variety of colors, matching the vibrant robes draped over their respective horses.

And heavens, those horses. Black, white, chestnut, brown. They were stunning, captivating. And the power they exuded from merely walking was enough to throw Winnie back into her past filled with riding, jumping, flying.

But she suppressed those memories at once, just like she always did.

A few claps sounded as the knights approached, bringing her back to the present, and she viewed the mere handful of people who remained around the roped-off area. It was a shame, really. More people ought to be witnessing such an arresting spectacle.

“Welcome, Knights of Foxwood,” the announcer said in that same monotonous voice, “and welcome to our guests. The name’s Albert Fogg. I’ll be your announcer this afternoon.”

The knights began to circle the area, riding their horses in a trot for all to admire.

Despite her entire, horrible experience with the event up to that point, Winnie felt a smile tugging at her lips. This was actually kind of enjoyable. Exciting, even. The colors, the performance, the immersion into the past. If they amped this up, there would be no reason for the event not to be packed every weekend.

“We have four knights ridin’ today,” Mr. Fogg continued, reading from a notebook with less enthusiasm than a golf announcer. “As you can see, each knight bears the color of his family, and each horse’s caparison matches his knight.”

Winnie observed the knights as they rode past her, her eyes settling on the black horse. He wore a deep blue cover spattered with golden lions, the animals roaring on their hindlegs.

This had to be Matthew’s horse. Which meant this knight was Matthew himself.

Her gaze shifted to his helmet, the rich blue feather fluttering from the top as he rode past her. Though his visor covered his features, she could almost feel him looking at her.