Page 4 of Picking Up the Gauntlet

“What won’t I like?” asked Raven.

“I’ve been more than patient with you over the years, but I can no longer condone your obnoxious behavior,” continued Corbett. “It’s gotten way out of hand.”

“Obnoxious?” Raven had never heard her father talk this way to her before. “What does this all mean? I am not a child anymore, so please stop being so secretive.”

“Nay, you’re not a child. I agree,” mumbled Corbett, with a slow shake of his head. “You are a woman now, Raven, as well as a titled lady. Not to mention, my only daughter.”

“Tell her,” whispered Devon, growing impatient with him.

“Raven, I’ve decided it is time for you to marry,” announced Corbett, standing up straighter and lifting his chin, almost as if he were throwing down the gauntlet and not expecting her to pick it up in challenge.

“M-married?” That shocked her so much that she found herself tongue-tied. Raven thought he would possibly take away her weapons for a week, or mayhap confine her to the ladies’ solar for a spell, if he even reprimanded her at all. But this was something she never expected. It had to be the worse punishment of all.

Raven never thought her father would betroth her without talking to her about it first. In hindsight, she should have known it was coming. Raven was well past marrying age. In reality, she should have been betrothed during childhood and birthing babies by the age of sixteen at the latest, but it hadn’t happened. She had told her father on more than one occasion that she never wanted to marry. Somehow, she thought he understood, but apparently not. She didn’t like this in the least. The last thing Raven wanted was to be married to a man who was sure to make her put down her weapons and instead wear frilly dresses and sew or weave all day long, barely stepping foot outside in the sun. This isn’t at all what she wanted to hear.

“Now, Raven, you know I’ve always respected your wishes, but this time, I have to agree with your father,” said her mother, shocking her even more since she hoped at least her mother would be on her side. “It will be for the best, dear.” Devon put her hand on Raven’s back, rubbing her fingers in small circles, trying to comfort her the way she did when Raven was a child and having a bad dream. Actually, this was a bad dream. All Raven wanted to do was to wake up and discover that none of it was even real.

“Who?” she pushed the word from her mouth, still finding it hard to speak. “Whom am I to marry?” was all she managed to say. It felt hard to breathe again. This time it had nothing to do with falling from a horse or wearing a heavy helm.

“I can’t say,” answered Corbett, running his hand over his horse’s head. Raven could tell this decision upset him as well as it did her, since he couldn’t seem to look at her when he spoke.

“I have a right to know,” she retorted.

“He’s not keeping it from you,” interrupted her mother. “Your father just doesn’t know yet whom you’ll be marrying.” She tried to explain, but still, Raven didn’t understand.

“So, I’m not betrothed yet?”

“Nay, not yet,” said Corbett. “But soon.”

This should probably have made her feel more at ease, but it only prolonged the agony.

“I’ve decided there will be a tournament at the castle in three weeks’ time,” her father told her.

“A tournament?” That took Raven’s interest. She loved tournaments. Secretly, she always wanted to compete in one. “Tell me more. What is the occasion? This doesn’t have something to do with my betrothal, does it?” Part of her felt excited about the tournament, but she was also afraid this might have something to do with her upcoming marriage since her father changed the subject so quickly. That only made her stomach queasy.

“Oh, do let me tell her,” said Rook, eagerly wanting to give her bad news even though she couldn’t drag information from him a few minutes ago.

“Go ahead.” Corbett held out his arm.

“Father is holding a tournament, and the winner gets the prize,” said Rook.

“The p-prize? What prize?” Raven asked, but was afraid she already knew the answer.

Rook opened his mouth to tell her, but Corbett stopped him this time.

“Nay. I’ll tell her,” said Corbett, still petting the horse. “It’s my responsibility. I should have taken measures long before now. Raven. Daughter,” he said, leaving the horse and coming and gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “It is time you marry a nobleman. I don’t want you to fight me on this anymore.”

“God’s eyes, nay!” She backed away from him, holding her arms around her. “Please don’t tell me I’m the prize for the winner of the tournament.”

“You are,” said Rook, flippantly. “Although, I can’t say the winner will consider you a better prize than a gold cup.”

“Rook, stop it,” scolded their mother.

“How can you do this to me?” she asked her parents, feeling her body shaking with anger. “At least let me have a say about whom I wed.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Sister,” said Rook.

“Well it should,” she ground out. “If men get to choose their brides, why can’t a woman choose her own husband?”