Page 38 of Hers To Command
Closer he came to his target, and closer still. He gripped his horse hard with his knees, keeping his spurred heels out. His mount was already going fast enough; more speed would be unnecessary, and indeed, would make it harder for him to get the ring.
Nearly there. He held his lance against his body, ready to think of it as an extension of his arm.
Suddenly, a crow flew up from a nearby tree, its harsh caw taking Henry’s attention from the target for one brief moment, and he turned his lance slightly in that direction. He realized what he’d done in an instant, but it was too late. They had passed the rope and he had missed the ring.
There were a few muted cheers, but more groans. After his initial disappointment, Henry took some comfort from the fact that some in the crowd had been hoping he would win, and reminded himself that this was intended not for his glory, but for his men’s reward.
All things considered, this loss was little to him. He could think of something he’d be far more loath to lose.
He wondered what she thought of his failure, then dismissed that question. His lance raised and resting on his booted foot, he nudged Apollo into a trot back to the other end of the field. He handed his lance to Toft and slipped from his saddle, then gave the reins of his horse to one of the grooms before he went to join the ladies and the still grinning Cerdic.
Since this was the final competition of the day, the other spectators began drifting toward the green, and the benches set up there and, of course, the ale. Some of the people of Ecclesford hadn’t left the benches at all, preferring to watch the various contests from afar—and keeping a closer eye on their brew.
None of these were Henry’s men. They’d been strictly warned that he would not be pleased if any of them imbibed too much, even if the ale was free and plentiful. Fortunately, it seemed his order was being obeyed, and his men afraid to risk a sharp reprimand from him tomorrow.
“Well done, Cerdic,” he said as he joined the others. “I thought you weren’t going to keep your seat during the last pass, though. You were leaning too far forward.”
Cerdic frowned, and so did Lady Giselle, but Mathilde smiled her rare and pretty smile. “Surely we can have one day without a lesson,” she chided, her eyes shining with laughter in a way that delighted him, for her laughter was rare. “Did you not say this ale was to celebrate all that the men have already accomplished?”
“You’re right,” Henry readily agreed. “If I don’t take care, I may wind up like Sir Leonard. He makes everything a lesson, even to eating.” He lowered his voice in gruff imitation. “Mind how you hold your knife, boy. You could take out your eye if you’re not careful.”
He was rewarded by another burble of laughter from Mathilde, the sound more lovely and welcome than a lavender-scented bed at the end of a long, hard day.
“I thought you admired your old teacher,” she noted as they all started toward the green.
“I do. He’s the best at what he does. However, riding herd on a bunch of youths who think they’re the equal of grown men, or better, is not a future I covet.”
Giselle turned to Cerdic. “They’ve started dancing on the green. Dance with me, Cerdic?”
Henry nearly burst out laughing when he saw how her request discomfited him.
“I don’t know how,” he muttered, sounding for all the world like an embarrassed little boy.
“Of course you do,” Giselle indignantly replied. “We taught you years ago.”
“I think you had best dance with her, Cerdic,” Mathilde said, apparently without sympathy for his plight. “Otherwise, she may pester you all night.”
“I’ve forgotten how,” Cerdic mumbled in protest.
“I’m sure you’ll remember,” Giselle persisted.
“I think you ought to surrender, my friend,” Henry said. “These ladies appear to possess a streak of stubbornness against which we men are powerless.”
“It’s Cerdic who’s being stubborn,” Giselle complained with a very pretty, and attractive, pout.
Cerdic gave in, but not without some remaining reluctance. “Very well, my lady,” he said glumly, “but should I step on the hem of thy gown or mash thy toes, thou art not to complain.”
Giselle merely laughed with happy triumph and took his arm to lead him to the green.
Henry turned to Mathilde. “Will you dance, my lady, or would you be ashamed to be seen with a man who did not win one competition today?”
Smiling, she slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, delighting him yet more, and warming him more than any dance on this chilly afternoon.
“I think you faired poorly on purpose, Sir Knight,” she said pertly.
“Alas, my lady, I did my best and failed,” he confessed with mock despair. “Sir Leonard would be most ashamed of me today. Later I shall go and mope by the river, contemplating my dismal failure.”
“No one would have won anything if you hadn’t suggested the contests,” Mathilde pointed out.
