your troop and stay with me, sir? Sir Jeremy can sate his
penchant for haste, and we’d follow at a more reasonable
pace.”
Edward’s eyes glinted, and Alicen thought for a
moment he would leap for joy. Mayhap he would have
had he been able to rely on his knee to support his
landing. She had offered a compromise that satisfied both
parties. Now, she only hoped she’d baited her hook well
enough to snare him.
With regal chivalry, Edward brought her hand to his
lips. Raising his head from the kiss, he clasped her curled
fingers to his breast and held them there. “I would be
honored to escort you. That is, if Sir Jeremy agrees I
should.”
Jeremy rose, stony expression hiding relief and
masking his appreciation. The clever minx had
manipulated the earl and solved their problem. And
Edward would never know.
“My lord, let us speak of this more thoroughly. I’ll not
follow a healer’s half-witted whims until I’ve examined
the advantages of her strategy.” He clapped Edward firmly
on the back as he steered the earl toward the latter’s
large tent.
As he and Edward left, Jeremy turned and gave Alicen
such a look of gratitude that it warmed her the rest of the
afternoon.
Sixteen
The smell of rich black dirt cloyed in Jeremy’s nostrils
as he lay on a forested ridge directly above Kenrick’s
encampment. Dropping off sharply to the plain below,
the site gave him an excellent view of his quarry’s
activities. Kenrick’s sentry lay bound and gagged five rods
back from this vantage point, unable to alert anyone to
the presence of the Earl of Cumbria’s soldiers.
With his hand, Jeremy signaled those hidden troops.
He’d deployed the twenty-five men in a semicircle north
of the mercenary encampment. Normally, he would have
chafed at being outnumbered, but his Cumbrians carried
deadly long bows, a distinct advantage over mail-clad men
wielding swords and pikes. And their purpose was to
prevent Kenrick’s escape from the Edward of Cumbria’s
advancing force, not engage in battle. If luck was with
them, Kenrick would give himself up without bloodshed.
Yet Jeremy felt Dame Fortune did not smile on him
this day. Kenrick would fight—letting men bleed and die—
rather than surrender. And he was the man Kenrick most
wished dead.
He, in turn, had sworn to kill Kenrick for raping
Estelle. His heart ached. Once friends, they now sought
each other’s demise. ’Twas certain one would spill his life
onto the ground before day’s end. Jeremy was grimly
determined it would not be he who did so.
He shifted. The dew seeped through his arming
doublet into his shirt, bringing damp discomfort. The earl
and his force should have arrived, but it wasn’t surprising
they hadn’t, given Edward’s infirmities. Jeremy as yet
had little reason for concern, however, since he could
hold Kenrick as well as cut off his retreat. If the cur ran,
his only route would take him straight into Edward’s
troop. He fervently hoped their number didn’t include
Alicen. Pray God she had sense enough to stay well away
from the battlefield.
Sunlight glinting off steel caught his attention at the
same time a commotion stirred below. Looking south, he
saw Edward’s force break from the forest. They aligned
in battle formation—stirrup to stirrup across the road—
and with lowered lances and closed helms, advanced
slowly toward the encampment. In his quick perusal of
the troop, he didn’t see Alicen.
Jeremy watched the mercenaries scramble to retrieve
weapons and gear. Edward’s approach had caught them
unprepared. Their doom was imminent should the
approaching host wish it.
It was time.
Standing, Jeremy cupped his hands to his mouth and
shouted to the camp, “Kenrick, you’re surrounded.
Surrender, and spare your lives. Flee, and you’ll all be
cut down.”
Kenrick emerged from his tent and glared up at
Jeremy.
“Come down and fight, Blaine,” he roared, drawing
his sword to brandish in the air. “Die like a dog. Or have
you grown cowardly upon your return from France?”
“Naught will be proven when I take your life except
that I could do so. And in the course of battle, men will
needlessly perish. Surrender instead. Live to fight another
day.”
Kenrick’s laugh rang bitterly. “You think I trust you?
Even you aren’t fool enough to spare me. We’ve too much
between us. I’ll fight you until one of us dies.”
That settled the matter. There would be bloodshed.
But perhaps the destruction could be minimized.
“I challenge you to a trial at arms,” Jeremy offered.
“If I win, you surrender. If you win, you go free.”
“Ever the idealistic dolt, Blaine,” Kenrick sneered.
“You seek to spare lives, when a soldier’s only duty is to
spend others’ as well as his own. What manner of warrior
are you?”
“One who is weary of death,” Jeremy murmured to
himself before calling down, “The warrior who will end
this conflict.”
He mounted Charon and rode south along the ridge
toward the earl’s men, rejoining Edward just long enough
to summon the squire tending his borrowed armor and
weapons. The young man leaped to do his bidding as
Jeremy quickly listed his needs.
“I left a man trussed on the ridge, my lord earl,” he
stated tersely. “Send someone to fetch him.”
Edward nodded. “Dawkins, see to it.” The earl turned
back to Jeremy, his look grave. “Is this your wish? You’re
not at full strength.”
“Wounds have never stopped me before,” Jeremy
responded flatly. “Kenrick owes me a debt of honor. It
must be paid.”
Edward saluted. “May God watch over you, Sir
Jeremy.”
While Jeremy prepared, two squires equipped Charon
with his own armor. Soon, a peytral and crupper covered
the horse’s chest and rump, and a steel shaffron guarded
his head. His field saddle was replaced by a larger war
saddle. Sensing the fight about to ensue, he tossed his
head and pawed the ground with steel-shod hooves, ready
to engage.
Jeremy regretted Charon’s lack of proper armor. All
his battle gear was at Tynan. He’d never guessed he’d
have need of it for what had begun weeks before as a
diplomatic mission. He smothered a sigh. What Edward
provided would have to do.
Over his own hose Jeremy pulled chain mail chausses.
Attached steel greaves shielded his shins, and cuisses
protected his thighs. Keeping his arming doublet, he
donned a mail hauberk and a steel cuirass atop it, then
stood patiently as the squire buckled the chest and back
pieces together. Jere
my himself pulled at his coif until
the mail hood covered his entire head except his face. Ill-
fitting, hourglass-shaped gauntlets would suffice for his
hands. Pride kept him from borrowing any better
equipage.
“Your helmet, sir?” The squire offered a serviceable
barbut.
“Thank you, lad.” Jeremy tucked it under his arm as
he chose several long lances and the sturdiest battle shield
he saw.
The squire strapped these to the pack horse and
mounted his own animal to await the next command. It
was not long in coming, as Jeremy promptly donned his
helmet and mounted Charon. He turned his elegant
destrier’s head toward the field.
Then his gaze fell upon Alicen’s pale face, and he
paused. How had he missed seeing her before? She sat
astride Hercules, perfectly erect and still. But her tight
mouth indicated this calm visage came at a price. When
she met his look, he saw terror in her eyes. He touched
his gauntlet-clad hand to his helm in salute. Then he
kicked Charon into a canter that quickly closed the
distance between him and his mortal enemy.
He reined to a stop a few rods from his hated foe.
“This will be our last meeting, Kenrick.”
“Nay, we’ll meet in hell, Blaine. But you’ll arrive ‘ere
I.” Kenrick slammed his visor down with a clang.
“I think not,” Jeremy replied calmly. “Thanks to you,
I’ve walked those streets for quite some time.” Ever since
I forgot how to love. Forgot how to trust my heart to a
woman. “Yet, I’ve left hell behind. You’ll walk there alone
after today.”
Wheeling Charon, he trotted him back several rods,
accepted the shield from his squire, then grasped a lance.
Adjusting his helmet so the t-shaped face opening was
exactly centered, he waved the boy aside.
“Ready my second lance, lad. I’ve a feeling I’ll need
it.”
The onlookers tensed while the moments before the
joust seemed to slow to hours. The wind died, as if the
Earth, too, held her breath.
Jeremy steadied his breathing with a concentration
of will as he regarded his foe. Kenrick was far better with
lance than sword. Jeremy sought to unhorse him and
fight on the ground. A difficult task, that. But not
impossible. He’d never lost a joust and did not think to
lose this one. This time he fought for more than prizes
and honor—he fought for his duke, and his own past
and future.
He uttered a quick prayer to St. Sebastian, then
charged.
***
Alicen’s grip on Hercules’ reins tightened until the
leather bit into her palms. Her heart pounded in exact
rhythm with the hooves of the two horses now racing
headlong toward each other.
Please God, come to Jeremy’s aid, she prayed silently.
He’s injured, exhausted. Give him strength to persevere.
In dawning horror she realized that by praying for
Jeremy’s victory she had prayed for Kenrick’s death.
Everyone there knew only one man would leave the field
this day. She wanted that man to be Jeremy Blaine.
Nausea swept her as the riders closed, and she
squeezed her eyes shut. The impact of lances on shields
drowned out the sound of hoofbeats. Eyes still tightly
closed, Alicen flinched as if she’d taken the blow herself.
Her nausea increased tenfold.
A collective groan from Edward’s men snapped her
eyes open.
“What happened?” She frantically searched for
Jeremy. Was he down? Injured? She saw him turning
Charon.
“Both lances splintered,” Edward explained calmly.
“Neither man was unhorsed, so they’ll make a second
pass.”
The riders had reversed positions. Jeremy now faced
Edward’s troop, and Kenrick his own. The squires raced
to bring new lances and, when both were again armed,
the knights charged.
Alicen’s breath caught as she watched the second
pass.
At impact, Jeremy’s lance broke off three feet from
the hand grip. Kenrick’s lance held, and Jeremy took the
blow directly on his shield. The force nearly toppled him
backward from his seat, but Charon veered away from
the other war horse, his high-cantled saddle keeping
Jeremy mounted.
Cheers resounded from the mercenaries as Jeremy
struggled to right himself. Though difficult to do with no
breath in him, necessity proved a strong motivator. If
Kenrick chose not to follow the knightly code, he’d attack
while Jeremy was helpless.
The mercenary leader merely returned to his end of
the field, and Jeremy said a quick prayer of thanks that
some scrap of decency remained in the man.
“Are you injured, Sir Jeremy?” The squire was pale
as death when he voiced his concern. “That was quite a
blow.”
“Aye, lad, mayhap his best.” Jeremy assessed his
injuries. “My ribs ache, but no further damage was done.”
He added, “Let that be a lesson to you. Buy the best shield
you can find. It could save your life, like mine just did.”
The squire’s mouth dropped open. “I’ll remember that,
sir.”
“Good. Now give me another lance.”
Although Alicen could not hear this exchange, clearly
Jeremy had sustained no serious injury. She saw him
clap the squire on the shoulder before selecting another
lance for a third pass.
Keep him safe, Lord. I beg you.
With horrified fascination, Alicen found she now could
not take her eyes from the scene playing out in deadly
earnest before her. She wanted to escape from the
inevitable end, but was rooted to her place beside the
Earl of Cumbria.
Take Kenrick. He is evil. He killed Orrick, slaughtered
his own men. Raped Estelle Blaine. Spare Jeremy’s life.
Alicen’s heart twisted. She’d prayed for a man’s death!
Set herself up as judge and sentenced him to die.
Forsaken a deathbed oath to a gentle woman. Alicen
hoped Kenrick ended his life on Jeremy’s lance.
What manner of creature had she become?
The final charge began.
At the last possible moment, Jeremy guided Charon
to pass on Kenrick’s right, opposite the normal passage
on the left.
“By God, he’s trying Marshall’s maneuver,” Edward
gasped, watching intently.
Raising his lance high enough to clear Charon’s head,
Jeremy switched it to his left side and urged a burst of
speed. The destrier responded, giving Kenrick no chance
to counter or avoid Blaine’s lance, which sailed neatly
over his own and through his breastplate, burying itself
deep in his chest.
As the mercenary tumbled screaming from his saddle,
the lance broke, half of it projecting from his body. He
landed on his back, the fall knocking his helmet from his
head.
Reining in hard, Jeremy threw what remained of his
lance to the ground and dismounted. He approached,
sword drawn. Kenrick had taken a fatal blow, but
experience dictated caution.
“You were ever the better soldier,” the mercenary
whispered through frothy bubbles of blood when his
enemy stood over him. “And the better man.” He glanced
down at the wood impaling him, then looked up at his
conqueror. “Remove it. Please.”
Jeremy blanched. Kenrick’s pain would be twice as
great. “You’re certain you wish this?”
“Aye. No man should die spitted like a hog. Even such
as I would not do that to a foe.”
“You could have attacked when I was nearly
unseated,” Jeremy said quietly. “Yet you did not.”
Kenrick’s smile was pinched. “Honor is hard to
completely exorcize.” A tortured groan escaped him when
Jeremy pulled the lance free. His eyes fluttered closed.
“Thank you, friend.”
Just then, Jeremy sensed Alicen standing beside him.
He felt her presence before looking, but when he glanced
over, the agony in her eyes made him ache. She had seen
him kill a man and now suffered for sight of the deed.
Kneeling by Kenrick’s side, she gently lifted his head
and brought a small flask to his lips. “For the pain,” she
murmured.
Anguished eyes again opened, this time to fix on her.
“You are too kind, Mistress. I deserve no such
consideration.”
Alicen went cold at his words. Kind? I prayed for your
death! And my prayer was answered.
Half blinded by tears, she rose and fled to where
Hercules stood. She wanted to leap into the saddle and
bolt, but feared she’d ride him to death without realizing
it. With a tormented moan, she buried her head against
his strong neck and fought to control her sobs.
Jeremy could not leave the field to offer Alicen comfort,
not while his fallen enemy still lived. He stood helplessly
by, watching her. Her pain momentarily obscured the
fact a man lay dying at his feet. His only thought was
that he himself had caused her suffering.
“That one holds your heart, Blaine,” Kenrick said,
voice breathy and labored. “Keep her at your side, or one
such as I will have her.”
The mercenary’s eyes then fixed in a sightless stare,
and he expelled his last breath.
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