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“Aye,” Sir Douglas agreed with a sigh. “The lady I most esteem does not look favorably on my suit.”

Sir Leonard snorted. “I daresay she is not even aware you are wooing her!”

Sir Fulke sniggered, and soon the tale of the perfect Lady Constance tumbled out along with Sir Douglas’s failure to engage her affections. Aimee found it most interesting, and the afternoon under the golden sun seemed to slip by after that. All three wineskins were drunk, the food consumed, and Jakeman dispatched to fetch more ale from the hall.

After Sir Douglas’s ineffective wooing, they heard all about Sir Leonard’s three grown sisters and how he must scheme and save to provide for them all, now he was the head of the family. “The misfortune of it is that the sole sister who possesses a dowry is the only one I do not want to be parted with.”

“How is it that this one sister possesses a dowry when the other two do not?” Aimee puzzled.

“Aye, well there you have it. She is not actually Leo’s sister at all,” Sir Fulke explained. “She was fully eighteen years old when he met her.”

“Her mother was only married to my father for a six month before he died,” Sir Leonard agreed. “But in any case, I am in no hurry to part with Sibyl. The other two, certainly,” he said pursing his lips. “But not Sybil.”

After that, they heard all about Fulke’s struggles to remain in his father’s favor now he had a stepmother and two stepbrothers to supplant him. “Perfect paragons, the pair of them,” Fulke said glumly. “Or so my stepmother would have you believe. And I can’t put a foot right in her book!”

By the time suppertime rolled around, Aimee felt well acquainted with all the young knights’ hopes and aspirations. They seemed a pleasant and straightforward bunch, and she was pleased Konrad could call them his friends. She took her husband’s arm as they made their way to Caple Hall for the evening banquet. The sun was so low in the sky that all the fields about them seemed bathed in a golden glow, and Aimee felt such a surge of contentment that she was forced to give herself a stern talking to.

She was not about to go and throw her heart at Lord Kentigern all over again. She had learned her lesson well and from now on would keep it well guarded. He did not want love from her, merely respect and affection. She would not permit herself to be disappointed by this, for in the first place, he had not even wanted that! They were learning to deal well with one another, that was all, she told herself firmly.

On arriving in the great hall, Aimee was pleased to see Aileen Howard was sat at the high table next to her new husband, Sir Darby. Lady Howard, too, seemed reconciled to the match, for she performed Konrad’s introduction to her daughter-in-law with a serene calm. To Aimee’s surprise, the de Bussells did not turn up to the celebratory banquet, despite Sir Armand’s day of triumph. Maybe they were celebrating just the two of them, she pondered. After all, Sir Armand must surely be exhausted after his exertions.

Conversely, the arrival in the hall of the de Crecys arm in arm caused quite a stir, as no one expected them to show. She fancied Sir Jeffree’s eyes strayed rather often to his wife’s profile with a faintly baffled look lurking in his gaze. Something had clearly happened between them, and Aimee felt most curious as to what it might have been. Whatever it was, Lady de Crecy seemed to have the upper hand to her mind. She looked composed and cool, where Sir Jeffree looked decidedly sheepish.

Tonight, Aimee did not feel self-conscious about the fact she was the most elaborately adorned in the room. She had debated removing her pearls or her brooch beforehand, but after all, she could scarcely leave them unattended in the pavilion, so instead, she had kept them on. Perhaps the several cups of wine she had drunk over the course of the afternoon had helped blunt any feelings of doubt.

Throughout the course of the meal, various figures kept materializing at her husband’s shoulder, hovering nervously. Aimee, catching sight of them, would tip her head to make Konrad aware of their presence, for half the time they stood at his left shoulder where he had something of a blind spot. Whenever he turned frowningly to see who it was, he found a stammering knight attempting to present their ransom to him from the melee.

Konrad would enquire their name, nod, accept their coin, and they would drift away stammering their thanks. “I’m blessed if I know why they keep giving it to me here,” her husband commented. “For they would find it far easier just to pass it to Jakeman on the morrow.”

Aimee, recognizing one knight in a rather threadbare looking tunic as someone her husband had declined to take for a hostage, guessed that they just wanted this moment of exchange with him. She could not say as she blamed them. If she were a young knight, she was convinced she would hang on his every word also. She wasn’t sure she would needlessly pay money for the privilege though, she thought watching the knight return to his friends looking flushed and triumphant. “He asked my name!” she heard him exclaim excitedly before he reclaimed his seat among them. She wondered if it was because he was so popular at Beres Caple that they dared approach him now, or if it was simply because he so rarely attended the evening banquets.

A sudden thought occurred to Aimee. “Do contestants never –” she broke off her words and frowned.

“What?”

“Try to – take advantage of the lack of vision in your left eye?”

Konrad shrugged. “It depends. Gallant fools like Vawdrey would never stoop so low.”

“Is Sir Roland gallant, then?” Her belief in knights had taken rather a battering since marriage to one.

“He’d be furious at anyone who suggested such a thing,” Kentigern acknowledged dryly. “But, aye, the King’s Champion is an honorable fighter.” He gave her a level look. “Vawdrey is young. In the war, he served briefly as a squire, nothing more.” He hesitated. “He wasn’t taught his craft on the battlefield.”

Aimee dimly realized there was some distinction being pointed out to her here. “I see,” she said slowly. “Sir Roland still believes in ideals, then? Like Sir Renlow.”

Kentigern laughed. “No one is quite as pure-hearted as Renlow. Before your sister came along, I thought him a likely candidate for the cloister.”

Aimee frowned. “Is there such a thing as monk-knights?” she asked.

Kentigern tipped his head to one side. “I came across a holy order of fighters once during the war, and they were some of the most ruthless I ever encountered. No, Renlow is something quite apart from their like.”

Aimee regarded him intently. Something was niggling away at the edge of her thoughts. “What of less gallant knights than Sir Roland?” she persisted. “Would they attempt to use your blind side against you?”

Kentigern huffed out a breath. “Some,” he admitted. “You must watch all your vulnerabilities around the likes of Orde. He would not let such a thing as chivalry get in the way of a win.”

Aimee lifted her chin. “I like Sir Roland,” she said defiantly.

“Everyone likes Vawdrey,” he replied scathingly.