Lady Squire

by Ling, Maria

  "Will you be in the stands?" Valentin asked. "I looked for you today, but couldn't see you."

  "I was there. And will be tomorrow." She regarded him curiously. "Do you have to fight?"

  "Of course." He seemed surprised. "If my lord fights, then I do. It's the duty of a knighted man. A great honour, too."

  "I suppose so." Merin consulted the horse. It looked dubious. "What if you get hurt?"

  "Part of the fun." Valentin grimaced. "Well, not all that much fun, I must admit. But no excuse for shirking."

  "At least I do have an excuse," Merin admitted. "Being a lady. No one will make me fight." Which was a great relief. She pitied boys who felt the same but were not given a choice.

  "If I say I'm pleased," Valentin offered tentatively, "don't take it the wrong way. You would struggle to hold up under the level of punishment we expect tomorrow."

  "Bet you'll win, though." Merin smiled at him, hopeful despite the afternoon's events.

  "We'll give a good account of ourselves. My lord's the very devil when the fighting mood is on him, and it's seldom far away on tourney days. Loves the charge. Has the build for it, while those of us less fortunate must make do with what we have."

  Merin sought for words of comfort. "I'll cheer for you."

  "Thanks. I would like that."

  Silence settled over them, not awkward. Gazing into his eyes, Merin felt that urge to touch him, to kiss. But she couldn't. It would be wrong.

  "I'd better go." Valentin gave her an uncertain smile, then retreated.

  Merin leaned against the horse's neck, and kissed it instead.

  ***

  CHAPTER 6

  Valentin breathed steadily. His nerves always danced in this moment, while both sides waited for the signal to charge. Had done so even during the years when his task was only to provide his lord with weapons at need, gather up the horses and armour won as ransom, beat defeated knights and rival squires off the field.

  Now, when he fought in his own right, they danced all the more.

  He was positioned to the left rear flank of Guillaume's small force. Close by, de Rous' men eyed him with obvious contempt. Didn't think he'd be much of an obstacle, if they decided to attack Guillaume in person. Valentin intended to prove them wrong.

  He spared a glance up towards the stands. Couldn't see Merin, not at this distance, it was all a blur of bodies. But he knew she was there, watching him, and the thought of her gave him strength.

  Trumpets blared, the signal to charge. Men and horses sped forward, lances dipped and aimed. Valentin rode light, not couching his lance, he had no target in mind. From here he was blocked entirely, other men would reach the opposition before him. Guillaume first of all, he stormed forward as usual, all ferocity and brutal strength. Valentin admired that, envied it, but knew it could never be part of his own armoury. His own talents lay in the direction of accuracy and skill - and for those, also, he'd had a champion for a master. But he spared a wistful thought, even in this moment, for the happy hours he'd spent in Alan's tiltyard, patiently working on each next step along the path to perfection.

  Now there was no time for that. No need, either. There would be plenty of skill on display among his betters. Valentin's task was to deal with the men on his left, whose eyes were already fixed on Guillaume as he charged into battle. First to strike, always, and the fiercest too. Unstoppable power cut a swathe through the ranks of his opponents, brought men crashing to ground. But it could not be turned on the instant, with a quick deft touch. It needed space enough for a slow arc, and always for a moment then Guillaume was vulnerable, isolated and alone, exposed to the men drawn to stand his friends. Valentin knew it, he'd seen it too many times to count. What he'd never seen was men taking advantage of the fact. Few dared ride against Guillaume in person.

  But these men did. Cut across their own line, nothing too obvious, from the stands it could easily be taken for a slight detour due to the vagaries of terrain. The rest of their force charged towards the proper target, another lord with his retinue that thundered towards them from across the field. But de Rous himself held to the right, shadowing his own stray men, until his line took him directly towards the point where Guillaume's arc of return must end. They would face each other for a moment, it would look like an honest mistake, or else an accident caused by Guillaume and not de Rous.

  Valentin instinctively shifted his own line. He could not ride against de Rous, not overtly, it would be too obvious a provocation. But he could get close, and be ready to deal with any direct threat to his lord.

  On they rode, fast and hard, matched Guillaume stride for stride. Still he pulled away from them, smashed into the opposition line and carved a path clear through it. Swung around and back, levelled his lance with ferocious determination, eager to take on any bastard who dared cross his path.

  Caught de Rous' lance square in the chest, reeled back and hung to one side off his horse, lifeless.

  Valentin charged. Hit the gap between de Rous' men at top speed, levelled his own lance and slammed into de Rous' exposed back with all the power at his disposal. Drove hard over and down to unseat his enemy and force him to ground. Turned on a pin's-head, the way he'd done for show in the youths' games all these years but never for a prize better worth winning. Took down one of de Rous men with an instant charge, caught another with a fierce sideswipe, glared around for further enemies. Heard Guillaume laugh, close by his side, and saw with an exhalation of relief that his own beloved lord sat upright again, tall and powerful and with the light of battle in his eyes.

  "I thank you," Guillaume said. "That's work I like to see from men in my own retinue." He faced down de Rous, who struggled in the dirt. "Yield, sir. You're at my mercy."

  De Rous glared up, hatred shining naked for a moment in his eyes. But Guillaume's lance rested on his throat, and Valentin's waited ready for any man who dared attempt a rescue.

  "I yield," de Rous growled. "Name your terms."

  "Tourney fee for yourself and every man you brought, paid over in gold."

  "You must be fucking joking."

  "Forfeit the right to this field, too," Guillaume said. "Get the fuck off and take your worthless men with you. Leave your horse."

  De Rous remained utterly silent for a moment. Then bowed, still on his knees.

  Guillaume raised his lance, signalling permission to rise. De Rous scrambled to his feet, recalled his men with a voice hoarse from rage, then trudged away.

  "He'll be after revenge," Valentin said.

  "Eh. My men can outfight his any day of the week." Guillaume leaned across to punch Valentin on the shoulder. "There's a tenth of the value of that ransom for you. Greedy bastard."

  "My actions were not motivated by desire for gain." It was truth. In the moment, Valentin's only thought had been of protecting his lord.

  "Of course not. Wouldn't trust you with my back it they were." Guillaume signalled to Bertram, who pulled together a group of men and escorted de Rous' retinue off the field. Then he grinned at Valentin. "Come on, then. Plenty more game for us to hunt together this morning."

  ***

  Here they came at last. Merin watched them drifting in from the churned-up fields while the sunset blazed behind them. A band of men weary but pleased with themselves, heads held high while their bodies drooped. Now and then they whistled snatches of melody she recognised from the road.

  Merin waited, breath held, as they approached the stands. She had watched with stinging eyes, hardly daring to blink, as they fought. Guillaume's men, and Valentin among them: him she had watched most of all.

  At first she almost expected him to falter, he appeared so slight and uncertain next to Guillaume. Yet he persisted, until she realised that it was only a matter of comparison. Beside a ferocious giant, he appeared smaller and less confident than he was. Gradually she recognised the balance and deft handling she had admired from the first, saw how it served him well out here among the brutes.

  But the tourney fiel
d was not his true habitat, she could see that too. He ought to be at peace, able to focus entirely on the perfection of movement. Instead, he battled on with hard and heavy strokes, tiring visibly as the afternoon wore on.

  Now at last he was permitted to rest. She smiled at him as he rode past, and he bowed a little in the saddle, a gesture she felt certain was for her alone. Guillaume glanced at him sideways, then at Merin, who blushed and lowered her eyes. She dared not give the appearance of flirting.

  She was tired. Hungry, too. But she waited patiently until the field was clear, and all the fighters assembled below the stands. Listened without interest to the announcements, watched Valentin furtively from the corner of her eye. Admired the way he held himself, even now, when exhaustion spoke so plainly from his limbs. She wished she could help him, groom the horse and dismantle his armour, wash the sweat and grime from his skin, ease fresh new linen over warm muscles. Caress him -- she shivered at that thought, because now she ventured into realms that serving Matilda had never tempted her to.

  With Valentin it would be different. Him she would touch, play with the feeling of warm skin under her fingertips, taste him gently with her tongue. Merin desired that, with a strength that shook her. She wanted to be close to him, breathe in his scent, and after that --

  Maybe she did crave marriage, after all.

  Years, Guillaume had said. Merin didn't want to wait that long.

  And she didn't want any other man. There were plenty of them assembled here today, some of them both young and handsome, she'd seen them in the days before. Now, all in armour and massed in ranks, they were indistinguishable except by the coloured cloths they wore. But she'd seen enough before today to be certain that none of them tempted her.

  Valentin, though...

  She wanted Valentin.

  At last the ceremony was over, and the retinues dispersed. Merin made her way down from the stands among the crowds of women, shuffled across the assembly ground and past the stables, towards the tents. Where she found Matilda uncharacteristically silent, and a strange tension hanging over the familiar space.

  Merin blamed herself. Probably it was her own thoughts of Valentin that introduced this new note of awkwardness. She assisted Matilda as before, poured wine and served biscuits, waited patiently for further commands. Imagined serving Valentin instead, even silence from him would be better than this, because at least she'd be with him.

  "I'm going to Guillaume's for a little while," Matilda said coolly. "Stay here unless sent for."

  Merin curtsied. Whatever ailed Matilda, it was bound to be some matter beyond Merin's ken. Some disagreement from the field, perhaps, some incident that Merin had not spotted or else failed to understand.

  She sipped the remainder of Matilda's wine, cautiously for she had been warned of its effects. It soothed her, the intense honey flavour carried deep into every part of her body. She nibbled on a biscuit, too, then wandered around the tent tidying up the few items that remained out of order. Found Matilda's spare gloves, wondered whether to put them away, worried that she might get it wrong and lose them again.

  She'd been told to stay. But surely that meant only near the tents, under supervision. Going into Guillaume's tent while Matilda was there could not be wrong.

  Merin stole out of the tent, smiled uncertainly at the man on guard, walked over to Guillaume's with every appearance of brisk determination. Was allowed through when she held up the errant gloves, found herself in the gloom of the foretent -- alone, because no page nor squire was to be seen, and the inner flap was shut fast.

  "I don't like the way you looked at Merin as we came off." Matilda's voice, quiet from the inner tent, was cold.

  "You didn't see it," Guillaume replied in a lazy tone. "I rode ahead of you."

  "Well, I didn't like how she responded."

  "Can't fault her for modesty."

  "She blushed," Matilda said tightly.

  Guillaume laughed. "Poor girl was overcome. Why blame her?"

  "That is not remotely funny."

  "Lady of my heart." Guillaume spoke in a softer tone than Merin would ever had thought him capable of. "Nothing could make me stray from your side. But if I were to do so, it would not be for the sake of an ignorant waif under my own protection, close kin to my former sword-brother and yours also. Credit me with some measure of sense and discretion."

  "Sorry." Matilda sounded genuinely contrite. "You're right. I should have known better."

  "No, I'd want a married woman." Guillaume was teasing, Merin could hear it. "A lady of full form and mature beauty, experienced in pleasuring a man, skilled at clandestine liaisons - "

  Something crashed within the inner tent, so loud that Merin jumped back and stifled a yelp.

  "Bastard," Matilda said. "Come over here and say that."

  "You know there is no one else," Guillaume said, affection audible in his voice. "Never can be. Only you."

  Matilda's reply was in a murmur, soft and low. Merin tucked the gloves into a fold of her cloak, so she could pretend to have left them, then stole away before she risked hearing anything she really did not wish to share in.

  But the conversation left her unsettled. Not because of the reference to herself - Guillaume's reply had eased her mind completely on that point - but because it stirred up feelings within her that proved difficult to soothe. She wanted what they had, Guillaume and Matilda: that comfort and good comradeship, the affection, the love.

  With Valentin.

  She ducked into Matilda's tent, put the gloves on the bed where at least they would be findable, shrugged off her cloak. Wondered idly where the boys were, concluded they must be busy in the stables or attendants' tents. Daydreamed of Valentin, stripped and washed and easing into fresh clothing, somewhere sheltered from here eyes, in a place where only men and boys were permitted to go.

  Merin wished she could join him. Not for any wrongful purpose. Just be there, see and touch and smell his body as he moved. Watch the smile light up his face when he saw her, and smile back at him in return, and feel safe and joyful and content because they were together.

  Married.

  She wanted that. Knew it, all of a sudden, with a clarity that stunned her. They belonged together, and had done from the first.

  Merin sat down on the bed, picked up the discarded gloves, played with them idly as she considered how to structure her arguments to win approval from her family for the match.

  ***

  There. Valentin smoothed down his tunic, checked his fingernails, adjusted his belt. This ought to do it. He was as presentable as he was ever likely to get.

  Which mattered more than usual, because the stakes were higher by far than those he was accustomed to. Years in Guillaume's service had inured him to blows. This time, he risked the shattering of his heart.

  Because he was going to speak to Merin. No matter what it cost. Had to, after he'd seen the way she responded to a single glance from Guillaume. Valentin couldn't go on without knowing how she felt, one way or the other.

  No more reticence. If it meant risking the wrath of his lord, then so be it. That would destroy him, Valentin knew it well enough. His life and his career would essentially be over. He'd have to plead for countenance from some clipped-penny knight without either name or pride, serve out his years hacking and slashing at the behest of men he held in contempt. Because no reputable lord would admit Valentin into service, if Guillaume turned him away in disgrace.

  Still Valentin had to chance it. He must know how Merin felt.

  If she felt anything at all.

  He'd been convinced of it before. So had Guillaume, from the words they'd spoken on the matter. But watching Merin blush and lower her gaze the moment she caught Guillaume's eye had overset Valentin's faith entirely. Not that he believed her to be fickle -- not for an instant. But Guillaume possessed years of experience in seducing women, and Valentin had yet to see him fail.

  He took his place within the retinue, followed Guillaume and Mat
ilda in the slow procession towards the banqueting tent. Slid out of his position as they paused near the entrance while a more notable lord preceded them all. Slipped close to Merin, who stood a little aside, close to Matilda but not absolutely by her elbow.

  "May I speak with you?" Valentin murmured quickly, as near to Merin's ear as he dared approach. "Later, after the meal."

  She turned in surprise, saw him, and blushed. Lowered her eyes, but not before he'd seen the light that shone from them. For him, Valentin realised in dumbfounded joy. Not for Guillaume, or any other man better suited to a lady of her station, but for him alone.

  "Yes," she whispered, then shot an anxious glance at Matilda.

  "I will find you," Valentin promised and edged away, taking care not to move with suspicious haste.

  He meant to return to his correct place, and file away with the majority of the men to the fenced-off area that housed everyone not admitted to the honour of the banquet itself, but discovered that Guillaume was beckoning him forward.

  "Got to have my best men on show," Guillaume said as Valentin drew close. "And annoy that piece of vermin there." He nodded to de Rous, who stood back white-faced with rage to let Valentin precede him.

  Valentin fought not to smirk. He'd never taken precedence over a powerful lord before. Probably never would again, so it was worth enjoying the moment. But he didn't want to seem boastful, for that would earn him a degree of hostility he did not care to meet.

  He caught sight of Merin again, from the corner of his eye. She shone with open admiration, so beautiful in that moment that his heart lurched. He swore he'd win her, by whatever means lay within his power, if their match was as desirable for as to himself. Seeing her now, he felt certain that it was.

  This was not the time to speak of it, though. He had her affection, even more precious to him than Guillaume's favour. The friendly recognition that greeted him within the banqueting tent, from knights whose skill and courage he had long admired, warmed him - yet nothing made his limbs sizzle the way Merin's single glance of adoration did. She was carried away by Matilda, had to be, while Valentin attended Guillaume. But Valentin remained aware of her still, knew her exact position even when she was hidden from his sight.