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Farleigh duly returned with ale and a maid carrying a platter of pastries. The next hour passed swiftly before he, Symes, and Lowell were required to go and don their armor once more for the afternoon’s final deciding battle.

25

“I do not think I have seen Sir Armand compete before,” Aimee said thoughtfully as another knight fell victim to his gauntleted fist. “Is he always this … formidable?”

Poor Sir Fulke had again gone crashing out of the battle early in the clash, but they had not had much time to mourn this, for both Konrad and Sir Armand were cutting swathes through the opposition.

Sir Douglas shook his head without taking his eyes off the field. “I have never seen de Bussell fight quite like this before. I had heard he was impressive at Areley Kings,” he conceded after a faint pause. “But I thought that must have been a fluke or exaggeration. He will surely win the autumn royal tournament if he retains his zeal.”

Sir Douglas pondered. “I can’t even see the likes of Vawdrey or Orde vanquishing him.” Then he seemed to remember his present company. “Though mayhap Lord Kentigern would give him a good fight,” he added hurriedly.

Aimee’s eye had already traveled to the opposite end of the field where her husband was dragging two fallen knights by their feet toward the waiting Jakeman. “Tell me, how are ransoms collected from those you defeat in battle?” she asked curiously.

“The correct form is to present the sum at the celebratory feast that evening. Of course, some knights do not attend the feasts, so in reality, you can just send along your squire with the fee to spare your blushes,” Sir Douglas explained.

“Does my husband not attend the feasts?” Aimee guessed shrewdly. Her companion nodded his head, looking pleased she was so quick to catch his meaning. “But how does one ensure that all fees are paid?” she persisted.

“Some knights have tokens printed with their crests to give as pledges,” he explained. “They hand those over as a marker to redeem at a later point.”

“I see,” Aimee mused. It still seemed an exercise of trust to her. She supposed it was a question of honor and principle, but she knew her father would have required a more secure means to ensure his debtors paid their dues.

“I think de Bussell will get today’s trophy for most impressive in the field,” Sir Douglas pronounced with confidence.

“You cannot yet be certain of that,” Aimee objected. “For it seems to me that both my husband and even Sir Jeffree in the first bout fought just as many opponents this day.”

Sir Douglas made a sound of cautious agreement. “That may be so,” he conceded. “But it is Sir Armand’s performance that draws the eye.”

“I disagree,” Aimee said lifting her chin, though in truth, she herself had been staring in astonishment as Sir Armand outfoxed his opponents. Konrad was grim and steady in his progress. He methodically lay waste to all who stood against him, while Sir Armand seemed to be lit up from within.

Her heart sinking, Aimee was forced to admit, to herself at least, that Sir Douglas spoke nothing but the truth. Watching Konrad fight was not a joyful, but a jarring sight. His delivery looked bone-crunching, though undoubtedly there was skill involved and technique.

“What was it Kentigern called it?” Sir Douglas asked in an awed-sounding voice.

“Divinely guided by the spirit of battle,” she replied absently.

The two of them watched as the inevitable moment grew closer. The moment when Lord Kentigern and Sir Armand would be the last men left standing on the field. Already, Aimee could feel her stomach tensing into knots of nervous anticipation.

“He is going to triumph, is he not?” Aimee asked hollowly. Sir Douglas did not answer, but she felt comforted by his presence all the same. Clearly, his bond to her husband was a considerable one, though a good deal of it consisted of hero worship.

Still, Konrad seemed … benign in his attitude toward his young friends. Almost kindly, she decided, and for some reason, Aimee found herself suddenly wondering if that was the kind of father he might make to any sons they might have.

All such pleasant reflections were brought to an end when Sir Leonard was first defeated by the combined efforts of two blue sashes. He fought hard but could not withstand their coordinated attack, crumpling into the dust and rolling painfully onto his side before staggering to the sideline where he collapsed into a heap.

“Oh no!” Aimee breathed, covering her mouth. “I hope he is not too badly injured.”

“Probably more his pride than anything,” Sir Douglas answered gloomily. “At least he made final five by the skin of his teeth,” he pointed out, and Aimee saw that was just about true. Both Sir Armand and her husband stood over insensible foes they had already dragged to the edge of the field. “That should console him in any case.”

Sir Armand turned his head and seemed to be weighing up his opposition on the field. Apart from Lord Kentigern, there was only one other orange armband remaining. He started toward him with a disconcerting spring in his step. As for Konrad, he immediately made for the two other red sashes who had just defeated Sir Leonard.

Aimee watched him swing his sword with such ferocity that the first of the knights fell to his knees from the force and the second knight’s sword went flying from his hand in a spinning arc. A ripple of excitement went up from the crowd as Sir Armand similarly made short work of dispatching the other orange knight.

When the two red knights held up their hands in acknowledgement of defeat, her husband pointed meaningfully toward Jakeman, and they trailed their own way toward the manservant with slumped shoulders.

“Here it comes,” Sir Douglas said, leaning forward in his seat.

The two knights started walking toward each other, and the crowd sat up, a wave of excitement breaking over the benches.

Twenty minutes later, Aimee had wrung her scarf into a limp rag, and Sir Douglas had leapt twice to his feet in excited anticipation. The combatants seemed evenly matched, but even Aimee’s untutored eye could see that the longer the fight continued, the greater Sir Armand’s advantage grew.