Lady Squire

by Ling, Maria

  LADY SQUIRE

  MARIA LING

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Maria Ling

  Cover image copyright sateda - Fotolia.com

  Published by Byrnie Publishing

  83 Ducie Street, Manchester M1 2JQ

  United Kingdom

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No similarity to any living person or recent event is intended or should be inferred.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ***

  CHAPTER 1

  "Why can't women fight in tournaments?" Merin de Louvain shoved a pole into the soft earth of the tiltyard and checked that it stood straight.

  Her brother-in-law Alan frowned at her from three steps away. "I never said they can't."

  "Mother did." Merin pouted. "Well, she said I can't."

  "She's right." Alan shoved the next pole into place and measured out another three strides.

  "Why not?"

  "No training, no skill, and no muscle."

  Merin tore a pole from the armful he held and stalked off, taking four steps instead of his three. "I could learn."

  "You should have started six years ago. Seven for choice."

  "I was a child then."

  "Weren't we all." Alan uprooted the pole she'd thrust in and moved it by a thumb's-length. Merin scowled.

  "You could teach me," she suggested.

  "Not on your life. I'm not crossing your mother, for one thing. For another, I only take on fights I can win. You'll never make a tourneyer. Too slight."

  "You're not that big yourself."

  Alan held out his forearm next to hers. It was twice the girth, even though he was a lean build for a man. "I'm a lot stronger than you. It matters."

  Merin hacked another pole into the earth. "It's so unfair."

  "Weep, daughter of Flanders."

  "Shut up." Merin watched him move the pole. "What was wrong with that one?"

  "In - a - straight - line. I could have sworn I told you twice."

  Merin squinted. "I can't see any difference."

  "There you go. Seven years a squire, and you'd have that line plumb. But since you're nothing but a giddy girl, you can't tell straight from bent."

  "If I'm so giddy, why do you let me help set this up?"

  "I was under the false impression that you might learn to follow simple instructions."

  Merin stuck her tongue out at him. Alan laughed and handed her another pole.

  "I can ride," Merin said. "And I'd like to travel. And I think it would be fun to compete at great events and win splendid prizes."

  "Wouldn't it just. Of course, a natural talent like you could hop onto any old hack and sweep across the circuit grabbing gold with both hands."

  "You're not taking me seriously."

  "I'm only human," Alan said. "What you ask is beyond the power of saints. No one admitted to the pleasure of conversing with you could ever take you seriously."

  Merin laughed. She liked Alan.

  This stay at her sister's house had worked out better than she'd dared to dream. She'd mostly just wanted to get away from home, away from her mother's endless cajoling, and thought she might at least get some peace and quiet here. Instead, she found herself thriving: happier than she'd been for months back at home.

  Why? Because her parents wanted her to marry. Which was well and good, Merin rather liked the idea of getting a man and a manor of her own. Both her elder sisters had done it, and now it surely ought to be her turn.

  But she wanted someone fun. A man who made her laugh. She didn't care about titles or wealth, she found her mother's constant monologues on that subject dreary beyond belief. And she wanted to see the tourney scene, she'd been fascinated by it ever since Alan joined the family. Father and he talked about it at every visit, dredged up all sorts of old stories that Merin had never heard. But she listened entranced, and felt all of a sudden hemmed in at home, where the same old routines persisted year after year.

  So she'd asked to go and live with Caroline for a while. It would be a change, at least. To Merin's surprise, her parents agreed. Perhaps Mother was getting as bored with speaking of suitable alliances as Merin was of listening. Or maybe they expected Alan to introduce some of those eligible men to her acquaintance.

  He hadn't done so yet, though Merin would not object if he did. There had been an event held here after he and Caroline got married, about a year ago now, and it had been splendid. Merin had loved every aspect of it, the crowds and the festive glory, the colour and excitement.

  The place was quiet now, just the family and servants and workers, and a couple of boys Alan was training up as squires. Merin didn't have much to do with them, or rather the other way around. They thought girls were silly, and said so. She ignored them, and instead hung after Alan when she could. He didn't seem to mind.

  Probably she ought to spend time with her sister. But Caroline was an odd sort, always had been, forever digging around in books and complaining about the state of the world. She wasn't much fun.

  So Merin helped Alan when she could, spent her spare time exploring the manor grounds, and revelled in the freedom of not being harangued every day.

  "Mother says I should marry," Merin confided. "A man of means and patronage."

  "You certainly should," Alan agreed. "Always worth going after the bigger prize if you can."

  "But I think I'd rather marry a tourney man," Merin said. "Then I could travel everywhere with him. And he could teach me to tilt." She'd watched the boys when Alan trained them, and was sure she could do just as good a job. It didn't look hard.

  "Not if he wished to retain his sanity." Alan surveyed the line of poles, and nodded satisfaction. "Fetch some rings, would you?"

  Merin ran over to the box near the entrance, dug out four rings with ribboned fasteners, and brought them over to him. "These ones?"

  "You like to set a challenge. Yes, those will do." Alan measured out ten steps, then thrust another pole into the earth. "Hook them on. One per pole." He set out three more poles, while Merin walked behind him and hooked the rings to each pole in turn. She tried not to scowl as he turned back to check her work and make some adjustments that made no difference as far as she could tell.

  She did pay attention, truly she did. She just couldn't see what he saw. Not yet. Didn't have the experience, or the knowledge. How could she, when she was just a girl?

  Boys spent years training, and then more years fighting. Father said so, and now Alan told her the same.

  All Merin had ever done was sew and listen to Mother and make peace among her squabbling sisters. It felt like an awful waste of time, on reflection.

  "There," Alan said. "Looks a nice easy run. Let's see what the boys make of it." He gave a sharp whistle, and his two squires rode into the enclosure.

  Merin followed him to the fence, and watched with deep envy as the squires hefted up a lance each from the rack by the entrance and then trotted across the length of the tilting-ground. She would dearly love to try this game.

  "Slowly at first," Alan called out. The first squire nodded, raised his lance, and trotted forward, in and out through the line of poles, then straight ahead for the rings. One snagged on the tip of his lance, the others were left dangling.

  Alan muttered under his breath. Merin glanced at
him sideways. She was almost certain that had been an oath. He didn't show any irritation, though, just watched the second squire with composed indifference. Another ring snagged, leaving two untouched. Alan sighed, and beckoned the boys towards him.

  "You need to shift your weight as you come out from the last pole," he told them both. "Don't wait until you've overshot and then correct too far. Get the line right and hold steady. This is not difficult."

  It wasn't, Merin agreed. Actually it looked really easy, and fun. Those last two rings dangled free, tempting. If only she was allowed to ride with a lance, she could have the pair of them in one go.

  Instead she meekly took the rings from the lance-tips the squires presented, and ran across to hook them back on while Alan continued to instruct.

  The boys had another go, and another, until eventually they managed to catch two rings each. Then they tried it at a gallop, and couldn't even get through the poles.

  "Never mind," Alan said wearily. He turned to the nearest. "Get off that horse. I'll show you how it's done."

  He mounted, accepted the lance, and galloped over to the starting-point. The horse moved differently under him: ears pricked, body compact, eyes alert. Alan turned it neatly, then darted forward and slid through the poles with ease, levelled his lance and picked up each ring in turn. It was done so smoothly that Merin didn't quite realise it was over until he rode across to present the tip of his lance to her.

  "Control," he told the boys, while Merin gathered up the rings. "Of yourself, your weapon, your horse. If you don't have it, you'll get nowhere. Understand?"

  He dismounted, then watched with a critical stare, arms folded, as the squires tried again. And again. Over and over, until they finally managed to clear the poles and catch a ring each.

  "That will do," Alan said in the end. "The horses are fed up, and I don't blame them. Walk them around."

  "Can I try?" Merin pleaded.

  "No."

  "Just once. To see what it's like."

  Alan shot her a glance. "You don't let go of an argument, do you? Anyone would think you're related to my wife."

  "Which means I'm related to you," Merin said. "Family feeling, Alan. Duty to your new sister. Let me have one go at the rings."

  Alan snorted, then beckoned the squires across. Chose the horse he'd ridden, and lifted her up onto it.

  "An actual squire would know how to mount," he grumbled as he adjusted her kirtle and wrapped the reins around her hand. "One go. At a walk, mind you." He handed her the lance. She'd lifted them before, into the rack and out again, but she'd never carried one level like this, and never single-handed. It was much heavier than she'd supposed, and far off balance. The tip dived to the ground, and the grip slid from her hands. She fought to regain control, but a moment later the lance dropped to earth with a thud.

  The boys snickered. Alan picked up the lance and handed it to her again.

  "You could try holding on to it," he said. "Just a suggestion."

  "I know." Merin flushed with embarrassment. "It's not as easy as it looks."

  "Isn't it, now? Well, there's a surprise for us all."

  Merin struggled to control the weapon, which weaved and slipped. Alan tucked the butt into place by her ribs, and shoved her elbow hard against it.

  "Hold it straight," he said. "Or I won't let this horse take a step."

  Merin clenched the lance to her side. The tip wavered, but pointed vaguely forward.

  "Good enough," Alan said. "Now get me the rings. At a walk. Do you hear?"

  "I hear," Merin growled. She was sweating from sheer embarrassment, and her arm already shook with unaccustomed effort. How Alan and the boys made it look so easy, she could not understand.

  The horse danced a little under her, then abruptly shot forward at a gallop. Merin just about managed to swipe one of the poles, which bent and swung back with a clatter of ring against wood. The lance skipped from her grasp and landed crosswise. She tried to check the horse, but it merrily jumped over the fallen lance and added a flick of its back legs. Merin, unseated, slid from the saddle and tumbled ignominiously to ground.

  "Well, I've seen worse." Alan's shoulders were shaking. "Not for many years, though."

  Merin dragged the horse back towards him. Tears of frustration welled into her eyes. "I can do better than that."

  "Evidently not." Alan turned to the boys, who were giggling freely. "Entertainment's over. Get on with your work." They led the horses away, still audibly amused.

  "Why did it move so fast?" Merin demanded. "The horse. I was trying to make it walk, but - "

  "It's a little-known trick called horsemanship. You know, being clear about exactly what you want." Alan strolled off to begin yanking the poles out of the ground.

  "Can you teach me to ride like you?" Merin asked, dogging him.

  "No."

  "It looked really good."

  "You should have started fifteen years ago."

  Merin lifted the fallen lance, carefully with both hands, and held it upright. "But if I start now, then in fifteen years maybe I'll be as good as you."

  Alan grinned. "Flattery will get you everywhere. You're perfectly sound for a lady. Don't trespass on the men's games."

  "But I want to."

  "Did your father send you here because he thought I needed a jester?"

  Merin sniffed. "And how well did you do the first time you tried?"

  "Better than that. Aged nine."

  There wasn't a good answer to make, at least none that Merin could think of. She decided to change tack. "I'd like to be able to tell a walk from a gallop, even if I can't tell bent from straight."

  Alan paused, cocked his head, considered her with an assessing stare. "I suppose a few hints wouldn't hurt. Next time you ride out with Caroline, remind me to come along."

  "This afternoon," Merin said promptly.

  "Maybe later in the week."

  "Today," Merin begged. "Please. I'll be ever so good. And I won't ask to try any of this stuff again."

  "Of course you won't - not until tomorrow," Alan said. "When you think my guard is down. I know your devious heart. Yes, very well. This afternoon you will learn to notice when you've asked a battlehorse to charge."

  ***

  Valentin de la Mort, newly knighted and still shining with pride at carrying his lord's byname, cantered along the lane. Lush fields lay on either side, and above him fluffy clouds glided along on heavenly business. His path lay crosswise to theirs, he rode in the retinue of a mere mortal lord - though admittedly one whispered of as the very devil himself.

  Which he was, Guillaume, when the mood was on him. But he was in good spirits today, and as always that set the tone for the company. Men whistled as they rode, swapped the occasional comment or jest, and the horses danced through the scatter of dirt their hooves threw up from the lane.

  "Valentin!" Guillaume's voice, ringing with the habit of command, made Valentin wheel the horse and attend on the instant.

  "Master?"

  "God damn your laziness. Come at once when I call you, boy."

  Valentin merely smiled. Time was when such a response would have brought him close to tears. But not any more.

  "A man these days, my lord. By your own reckoning."

  "Shut that impertinent mouth or I'll shut it for you."

  Guillaume's wife, Matilda, leaned across. "What he is attempting to say is this. While we continue to the inn, you are to ride on eastward to the manor of Alan de la Falaise. Give him our compliments, and ask if he is able to receive us for a visit."

  "Gladly, mistress." Valentin bowed, then urged his horse on. He enjoyed his new role as occasional messenger.

  He made good speed, aided by helpful directions from the occasional peasant, but it still took him several hours to reach the manor. He was sore and weary, and thirsty too, by the time he cantered down a winding path through a rag-weave of fields. They gave way to outbuildings, and then a stone manor house with a generous tiltyard to one s
ide. A horseman was at practice there, so neat and elegant that Valentin paused to watch.

  There was no mistaking the man. Valentin had admired Alan many times, back when Alan rode in Guillaume's company and fought at the same tourneys. There wasn't a better seat on the circuit. Nor more skilful hands, either.

  Courtesy dictated that Valentin present himself at the hall, but he allowed himself a short detour. It would be a crime to let this display go unobserved.

  "Hello." Something ducked out from behind the lance rack, and Valentin found himself facing down a girl. Much his own age, with saucy eyes and a trim figure he could not help but enjoy. "Are you new?"

  "I have a message for your lord," Valentin said. "Alan de la Falaise."

  "You'll have to wait until he's finished. I want to see if he can really do the double-hander on the rings. And he's my brother-in-law, not my lord."

  "Oh," Valentin said blankly. "Your pardon, mistress."

  The horseman broke off his figures and rode over to them. Valentin bowed.

  "My lord Alan de la Falaise?"

  "Last I heard." The man waited, then leaned forward with sudden interest. "It's Valentin, isn't it? You're most welcome here. What's your errand?"

  "My lord Guillaume de la Mort - " Valentin barely suppressed a smirk of pride at the name he now shared - "and my lady his wife Matilda send their compliments, and ask if you would be kind enough to extend your hospitality to them and their retinue."

  Alan's face lit at those names. "They've arrived? Matilda wrote me they might come to the area, but I wasn't sure... How far out are they?"

  "About a day, my lord." Valentin mentioned the inn.

  "I'll send a messenger out to them. Stable your horse and go into the hall for a bite and a drink. My wife will see to everything. I'm just finishing up here."

  Valentin hesitated. "Your pardon, my lord, but this lady mentioned a double-hander. Might I have your permission to watch?"

  "You can do better than that," Alan said. "I've seen you in Guillaume's service. Show the lady."

  Valentin winced. This was a move he'd never mastered. Admired it, yes. Practised until his hands bled. But never quite got the balance and the timing right. Whereas Alan, with such light confidence in the saddle and deft handling of the reins, was exactly the right example to learn from.