Every knight in Maddoc’s circle was back to back with another knight so they covered each other from the rear and formed an unbreakable bond. It was classic warfare tactics, now employed to ensure Canterbury’s team emerged the victor. All went well until two hours into the fight when a new and fresh knight was introduced.
That’s when things started to change.
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The field marshals had allowed the new knight to enter at Victoria’s insistence. The man had arrived late to the festivities and had very much wanted to compete in the battle. Usually, late entrants were not allowed but Victoria begged enough so that her father forced the marshals to make an exception.
The fresh knight was dangerous against the weary ones, and began destroying everything in his path. The crowd, smelling blood, got in behind the newest arrival with their cheering. New life was breathed into the waning event.
The first thing the knight did was go after Maddoc’s circle. Adalind and Willow, no longer jumping and screaming but standing wearily on the sidelines, noticed the unfamiliar knight from the outset. He was very big, with expensive armor, and he went straight for Maddoc the moment he entered the field. Maddoc, having survived two hours of battle, was on the defensive as the knight swung a club at his head.
It was a nasty fight from the inception and Maddoc’s circle began to get pummeled from all sides by other combatants now that Maddoc was distracted. Maddoc’s reflexes were cat-like as he countered the fresh knight’s attack and, soon enough, he began to retaliate. As his weary circle began to crumble, Maddoc broke ranks because he had no choice. The new knight was attacking him as if he had a personal vendetta against him, so Maddoc’s tactics changed. To hell with the group; now he was out for himself.
Maddoc’s stamina was strong. He went after the knight with a vengeance, pummeling him so hard with his club that he eventually knocked the knight’s weapon out of his grip. As it fell to the dirt, the knight balled his fist and slugged Maddoc in the neck. Maddoc staggered back and inadvertently dropped his club. The club had no sooner hit the ground when Maddoc threw two punches at the knight, in rapid succession, and knocked the man off balance so decidedly that he ended up on one knee. Seeing his opponent on the ground fed his frenzy and Maddoc pounced, grabbing the knight around the neck and pummeling him with a deadly fist on the side of the head.
Somehow, the knight didn’t go down completely. He was big and strong, and managed to sweep Maddoc’s legs out from under him before Maddoc could knock him unconscious. Maddoc fell heavily on his left side but rolled out of the way before the knight could leap on top of him. Then Maddoc rolled to his knees and grabbed the man around the neck again, shoving him face-first into the once-green grass that had now become a mud pit.
It was clear that Maddoc intended to hold the man’s face in the mud until he passed out. But the knight somehow managed to dislodge Maddoc’s grip, bringing up an elbow and smashing Maddoc in the side of the head. Even though he had his helm on, the blow dazed him and Maddoc fell onto his side, his ears ringing and stars flashing before his eyes. But he wasn’t senseless and as the knight, who was now showing distinct signs of exhaustion, moved to pounce once more, Maddoc brought up a massive foot and kicked the man right in the groin. He fell like a stone.
It had been a particularly brutal and nasty fight. Since Maddoc was on the ground he could not get up again per the rules of the event, so he lay there as the last of the mêlée dwindled down around him. He watched Gerid take on two men who were determined to send him to the dirt, but Gerid held fast. He was strong and steady, and three hours after the mêlée had started, Gerid finally emerged the winner.
The moment his victory was announced and the crowd cheered wildly, Adalind dashed onto the muddy, bloody field and ran straight to Maddoc. “Maddoc!” she cried, skirts hiked up as she raced through the muck. “Maddoc!”
He heard her coming, sitting up as he wearily pulled his helm off. His ears were still ringing and his head was throbbing. He turned to Adalind just as she fell to her knees beside him.
“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously, her hands on his shoulder, his arm. “Are you hurt?”
Maddoc shook his head. “I am not injured,” he replied. Then he realized she was kneeling in the muddy mess and he labored to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Get off the ground, sweetheart. You will soil that beautiful garment.”
Adalind still wasn’t over the abject terror she’d felt since the moment she saw Maddoc and the new knight in mortal combat. When they both fell to the ground, it was all she could do not to run out on the field. She was convinced Maddoc was badly injured, waiting anxiously until the event was declared over so she could rush to his side.
“Are you sure you are well?” she pressed even as he pulled her to her feet. “You are not injured?”
He shook his head, his exhausted eyes glimmering at her. “I am not injured,” he assured her. “You need not worry yourself so but I am grateful for the concern.”
She frowned. “Of course I will worry,” she snapped. “I saw you and that knight and… he hit you so hard. It seemed he was furious with you. Who is he?”
Maddoc turned in the direction of his worthy opponent, who had struggled to his feet and was now exhaustedly unlatching his muddy helm. The blow to the groin had the man hunched over somewhat. Maddoc’s eyes narrowed at him.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
Both Maddoc and Adalind were looking at the knight when the helm finally came off. His blond hair was close-cropped and, as he turned in their direction, they could see his square-jawed, rather handsome appearance. His blue-eyed gaze lingered on Maddoc a moment, perhaps with some interest as well as respect, before focusing on Adalind.
“Lady Adalind,” he greeted rather gallantly. “You are looking as lovely as ever.”
Adalind’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Brighton?” she ventured. “Brighton de Royans?”
Sir Brighton de Royans grinned, displaying straight white teeth and big dimples in his cheeks.
“So you do remember me?” he said. “You had better. My sister is your best friend and I will never forgive you if you do not recollect me.”
Adalind was torn between shock, outrage, and some pleasure at his appearance. “Of course I know you,” she said. “Where on earth did you come from? Is Glennie with you?”
Brighton shook his head and took a few exhausted steps in her direction. “Alas, no,” he replied. “My sister is at home and I have come today because I was invited. Lady Victoria’s older brother is a friend of mine.”
Adalind realized she was rather pleased to see the man, although she was not pleased at what he had done to Maddoc. In fact, she remembered that she was still holding on to Maddoc with a death grip and she turned to look at him as if to explain her familiarity with someone who had tried to do him some damage.
“Sir Brighton is Glennie de Royans’ brother,” she explained. “She was my very best and only friend at Winchester. He serves Norfolk.”
Brighton heard her, nodding as she divulged the information. “I am now a ranking knight in Norfolk’s army,” he said rather proudly, his gaze moving to Maddoc as he rubbed his lower abdomen, “and you, my lord, are a formidable foe. I am somewhat regretting my attempt to defeat you.”
He had a rather friendly personality, his eyes twinkling with the mirth of the situation. Maddoc, however, wasn’t a particularly outgoing or friendly individual so he responded somewhat formally. More than that, he didn’t like the way the man looked at Adalind. Pure and rank jealousy was beginning to rise in his chest.
“I thought, perhaps, I had unknowingly wronged you and you were out for vengeance,” Maddoc said. “You are formidable as well.”
Brighton shook his head. “I do not know you, my lord,” he replied. “I simply looked for the leader of the biggest group and chose my target accordingly. Bu
t that arrogance cost me.”
Adalind grinned because Brighton was truly comical the way he delivered the last sentence. She could see that he was attempting to ease the situation.
“You could not know that Maddoc du Bois is the one man in all of England that you cannot defeat,” she said, gazing up at Maddoc fondly. “He is the greatest knight in the country.”
Maddoc, who had been staring at Brighton and mentally sizing the man up, tore his gaze off of him to look at Adalind. Her expression softened his harsh stance.
“She speaks the truth,” he said, his lips twitching with a smile. “She is as wise as she is beautiful.”
“I would agree,” Brighton said, aware of the soft and loving expressions between Adalind and Maddoc. “Since my sister and Lady Adalind have fostered together, I have, in a sense, watched her grow up. She has always been one of the less flighty and silly females I have known.”
He was teasing her, winking at her with a grin, and Adalind giggled. “Thank you for your kind words, Brighton. How you must flatter the women with your smooth tongue.”
She was jesting with him in return but before Brighton could reply, Maddoc interrupted. “I have known her since she was very young,” he said, making sure that Brighton understood he had known her longer, and better. “She has always been an exceptional lady.”
Brighton could sense that Maddoc was not pleased with his attempts to communicate with Adalind, perhaps sensing it as competition or, worse, flirtation. He had only just emerged from a battle with the man and was in no condition to enter into another. As good a knight as he was, he knew from recent experience that Maddoc was a daunting opponent. Wisely, he changed the subject.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said, shifting focus. “Sir Maddoc, whom do you serve?”
“I am Canterbury’s captain,” Maddoc replied, not completely unaware that the man was trying to change the subject. “I have served de Lohr my entire life, as did my father.”
Brighton nodded in understanding. “He is fortunate to have you, then,” he said, eyeing the man a moment before finally extending his hand. He felt as if he had to. “I tried to best you today and was turned away. No hard feelings?”
Maddoc hesitated before slowly claiming the man’s hand and shaking it, once. “None,” he replied. “It made for an exciting battle.”
“I nearly got my brains beat in.”
“Had I not been so weary, you most certainly would have.”
Brighton grinned. “Perhaps you will allow me to join your camp later for food and drink, Sir Maddoc. Perhaps you will allow me to make amends for our rough introduction.”
“Did you come alone?” Adalind asked.
Brighton nodded as he looked at her. “I am heading to Gloucester on business from Norfolk,” he said. “I knew that Victoria’s celebration was happening this week so I took a detour to see her brother and to wish her well. Little did I know I would find you here.”
Adalind smiled. “I am eager to hear of Glennie,” she said. “It has been two months since last I saw her. The last we spoke, she was heading home with the hope that her father may have arranged a betrothal for her. Has this happened?”
Brighton wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Maddoc was quite literally staring him down. More than that, he could feel the protectiveness and animosity radiating off the man every time he focused his attention on Adalind. He got the hint. So he did what any mannered knight would do; he deferred to the man who appeared to have the claim on the lady.
“If Sir Maddoc will be gracious enough to allow me to visit, then I will tell you all I can,” he replied, “but you have seen my sister more recently than I. The last I saw of her was several months ago.”
“Still, I would like to hear any news you may have heard.” She turned to Maddoc hopefully. “Is it acceptable for Brighton to join us?”
Maddoc’s gaze lingered on Brighton one last time, attempting to determine if the man had an ulterior motive for wanting to be near Adalind other than to discuss his sister. Given the record of the past several strangers that had been in Adalind’s orbit, he was naturally suspicious and protective. But he graciously acquiesced to her request because it seemed to mean so much to her.
“If you wish it,” he said, taking her hand. “We will see him tonight at the feast. For now, however, we must see how your grandfather is faring.”
Adalind clutched him as he began to walk away. She waved at Brighton when she managed to free a hand from Maddoc’s iron grasp.
“We will speak tonight,” she said. “Until then!”
Brighton smiled weakly, lifting a hand as he watched them go. Mostly, he was looking at Adalind and her striking hourglass figure. It was true that he had known her the past several years, watching her grow from a young girl into a young woman alongside his sister, and it was further true that he always thought she was quite lovely but far too young. At twenty years and eight, he had thought he was simply too old and prestigious for her. But now, he didn’t think that any longer. He was coming to think he’d been an idiot. In fact, he knew it.
Maddoc du Bois notwithstanding, Brighton couldn’t help his thoughts from lingering on beautiful and sweet Adalind de Aston.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
David had not fared well after the mêlée. A blow to the head, followed by one to his back, had injured him fairly seriously. The attending physic thought he might have blood on his brain because his left ear was discharging some bloody fluid and his back was so painful that he couldn’t stand or walk. More than just the usual bruises that came with such events, the Earl of Canterbury seemed to have suffered real damage.
His condition dampened the mood for the entire party from Canterbury. The celebration at Shadoxhurst was no longer fun but serious. Emilie and Christina stayed with David, tending him, while Maddoc conferred with the earl on what the man wanted to do next. It would do no good for him to remain, ill and injured, in a tent. They needed to get him home and Maddoc was trying to convince him of that. But David didn’t want to spoil Adalind and Willow’s fun, knowing how much they had looked forward to the festivities, so it came to the point where Maddoc brought Adalind to his bedside to speak to her grandfather and convince the old man it was in his best interest to go home.
It was slow going with the stubborn man. After much pleading on Adalind’s part, David’s best response was that he would think about returning home on the morrow. As dusk fell over the cool and shadowed land, David grew too exhausted to speak any longer and Maddoc pulled Adalind from the tent. She was distraught and worried over her grandfather, and Maddoc sought to provide her with some comfort. He felt rather bad for the way the day had ended.
A large fire was burning in the center of the Canterbury encampment, spitting sparks into the evening sky. Soldiers moved about as the enormous hindquarter of a cow, provided by their host, roasted on an open spit. The smell of smoke and cooking beef was heavy in the air as Maddoc procured a cup of wine for Adalind. He set her down by the fire on a small leather and wood chair, collapsible, as she sipped on her drink. The mood was very somber.
“He is going to be all right, isn’t he?” She gazed up at Maddoc with her bottomless green eyes. “The physic can heal him, can he not?”
Maddoc folded his enormous arms across his chest. “He shall recover,” he assured her. “Your grandfather just needs time to heal, which is why we must take him home.”
Adalind nodded in agreement, sipping at her wine as the physic, a small man with bushy white hair and a red beard that trailed to his waist, emerged from David’s tent. He fumbled with his bag as he glanced up at Maddoc and Adalind.
“I have left instructions that he not sleep,” he told them. “With a head injury, there is always the chance that he will not wake up again. He is to stay awake for the next several hours at least. His wife and daughter said they will see
to it so there is nothing more I can do for now. I will be back in the morning but send for me if you need me.”
Maddoc nodded his head as he reached into his tunic and pulled forth a few coins for the man. Paying the physic, he watched the little man fade away into the growing darkness. Then he returned his attention to Adalind.
“Since we will be here until at least tomorrow morning,” he said, “perhaps you will allow me to escort you to the festivities in the great hall. The party should go on all night.”
Adalind had been staring into the fire, her mind in the tent with her grandfather. Her gaze was distant, her expression pensive. When Maddoc spoke, she looked up at him.
“I am not sure,” she said hesitantly. “It does not seem appropriate to celebrate while Papa is lying injured.”
Maddoc cocked his head. “He would be the first person to demand you attend,” he said. “Go and prepare yourself and I will escort you to the hall. Willow, too.”
Adalind thought of her sister in their tent, upset with the turn of events and particularly upset over her exchange with Victoria after the woman’s attack on Adalind. She sighed reluctantly.
“I am not sure she will want to attend,” she said. “She and Victoria had an awful fight.”
Maddoc had suspected as much, having seen the two argue earlier. “About you?”
Adalind nodded and hung her head. “Willow slapped her,” she said, peering up at him. “Did you hear about that?”
Maddoc struggled not to grin. “I did not. It seems as if I missed a great deal while I was occupied in the mêlée today.”
Adalind tried not to look too embarrassed or contrite. “In fairness to Willow, Victoria slapped her first when Willow called her a stupid, fat cow. I suppose that provoked her.”
Maddoc put a hand over his mouth so she wouldn’t see his lips twitching. “I would imagine so.”
Fathers and Sons: A Collection of Medieval Romances Page 46