Page 56 of The Captive Knight
He sifted a curl of her golden hair between his fingers, tempted to kiss the lingering sadness from her lips.
He was halfway there when the door to the courtyard burst open.
“My lord!” Esquival raced in. “Armed men are marching on the castle.”
Jehan barked, “How many?”
“Two dozen, at least. Riding fast.”
“I’m coming.”
Jehan followed his squire into the courtyard with Aliénor at his heels, his uneasiness rising. He hadn’t told her about the parchment he’d received, the direct order to come to the prince’s side. It would be just like the prince to send a dozen men to demand obedience, to escort him to his liege lord to take punishment for insubordination, and he didn’t relish that happening within her sight.
On the ramparts, the guards congregated, staring off to the east. Cloudy skies cast a pale gray glow over the greening hills of Gascony, but no fog concealed the approach of the group of armed men. One look at the hard-riding group and Jehan breathed a sigh of relief. Only a few wore armor bright enough to gleam in the dim light. The others rode without helmets; their horses bare of war trappings. Several followed on foot, carrying pikes.
Not the prince’s men, of that he was sure.
“Esquival,” he commanded, knowing that his young squire had the sharpest vision. “Can you make out the symbols on the pennant?”
Esquival leaned between the crenellations to get a better look at the approaching men. Aliénor clutched Jehan’s arm and he could all but feel hope and expectation bubbling through her.
“I see it, my lord,” Esquival said. “I see the colors.”
“My God,” she said breathlessly, leaning dangerously against the ramparts while the wind tossed her hair, “I see him!”
Then Jehan noticed, too, the twisted foot of the forward rider who carried high the pennant of Tournan.
