Page 27 of An Ill-Made Match

One of the buglers approached them cautiously and raised his horn. When the bugle blast rent the air at such close quarters, they both staggered back, looking around in seeming confusion.

“Oh dear,” said Gunnilde. “I do hope poor Sir Roland will not be too disappointed to be on the losing side.”

After all that, he’d lost? Thought Eden in bewilderment. Sure enough, the seated knight was wearing a blue arm band.

“To my eye there seems to be more blue hostages though,” said Hal. “So I’d say it probably works out that the yellows will receive the fatter purse, all told.”

“This – this melee makes no sense!” Eden complained tightly. “No sense whatsoever!”

“Do you think not?” asked Gunnilde sounding surprised. “To me, it seems to imitate actual battle quite closely.”

“How?” demanded Eden, irritably. “To my mind, there is no clear winner. It is chaotic. It is unfair. It’s hard to even tell which side anyone is on and…” she broke off distractedly. “Oh,” she said catching Gunnilde’s meaning. Clearly there was a lot more to her new friend than met the eye.

Gunnilde gave her a sad little smile. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “My Father was taken as a hostage for three years after the battle of Oskirk. And yet, to all intents and purposes our side were the victors.”

Eden huffed. “But why should anyone want to celebrate anything so… so nonsensical?” she broke off, in agitation.

“Is it not better to have pretend battles where there are far less casualties, than actual battle?” asked Gunnilde so sensibly, that Eden felt guilty for feeling so irritated by her words.

Why did she feel so wound up about it all, she wondered and took a deep breath. “In any event, I found it very hard to watch,” she said in a muffled voice.

“But you weren’t bored,” pointed out Hal, nudging her in a familiar manner she really ought to discourage. “Bored people do not jump out of their seats at tournaments and shout.”

Eden gave him sideways look. “A momentary lapse, I assure you.”

He sniggered and Eden pursed her lips.

“Tis likely you found it hard to watch because you have a loved one in the field,” said Gunnilde kindly patting her on the shoulder. It occurred to Eden that she’d had more physical contact with other people in the last two days than she had for the rest of her twenty-two years in entirety. She felt her cheeks color. Gunnilde’s theory didn’t really hold water, but she could hardly say as much.

Servers filed onto the field carrying trays of ale and mead and small pastries.

“Oh good,” said Hal, perking up. “I’m half-starved.”

“What happens now?” asked Eden watching the various knights still milling around the field.

“Well, that’s today’s main entertainment,” Gunnilde explained. “This afternoon there will be a Challenge to Arms, but otherwise…”

“What’s that?” asked Eden, accepting a cup of ale from a passing page.

“Last night at the feast an open invitation for any challengers was issued by a group of knights who did not enter the melee. Their shields will be hung shortly from that tree over there,” said Gunnilde pointing to a large oak. “Any knight who wishes to take them up on it, will ride up and hit their shield with their lance. That will take place around three o’clock,” Gunnilde explained. “But those taking place in tomorrow’s jousting will likely take it as an opportunity to rest up in preparation.”

“I see,” replied Eden. She was wondering uncomfortably where she was to be put up for the evening. She had noticed bunks in the tent Roland’s friends were occupying. But surely she would not be expected to bed down in such a communal arrangement? Then she remembered Roland had sent some of his baggage up to the house. So deep in thought was she, she nearly jumped out of her skin when her shoulders were seized, and she was spun around to face Roland Vawdrey, who seemed to have shed half his armor, and must have vaulted over the barrier.

“Well, wife?” he asked, sounding in high good humor. Why did he look so pleased with himself? She scanned his jubilant face. Did he not just lose? He walked her backward until the back of her knees hit the bench, and she was forced to put a hand to his forearm to steady herself. Ale sloshed over her other hand, but for the life of her she could not look away from his gaze. “I saw you out of your seat, cheering for me,” he said in a low intimate voice that turned Eden’s face quite scarlet. She could see he was pleased by the idea, and could not quite bring herself to correct him.

“I – er – yes,” she gulped. “It was all most – um…” Words failed her, as his gaze focused on her mouth. Oh gods, he wasn’t going to kiss her, was he? Eden’s wits scattered even further. It would be just like midwinter all over again! She made a strangled noise in her throat and at that, his eyes snapped to hers. There was a question in them. Eden darted her eyes meaningfully to the left and right. He frowned, but tore his attention from her to take in sea of faces all around them. Reluctantly, it seemed to Eden, he dropped his hands from her shoulders. There was almost a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd. She cleared her throat. “Allow me to introduce my new friends, Harold and Gunnilde Payne.” She wished to goodness she did not sound so breathless. “My husband, Sir Roland Vawdrey,” she said as Gunnilde dropped into a curtsey and Hal performed a rather wooden bow. Roland returned a perfunctory nod. “They have kindly been explaining the melee to me,” she added somewhat desperately.

“May we wish you joy on your recent marriage,” offered Gunnilde politely. She jabbed her brother with her elbow, no doubt hoping to jolt him into offering his congratulations, but he was staring up at Roland with a star-struck expression on his face.

“Congratulations,” Hal said squeakily. “The way you brought down Lord Kentigern was masterly!”

Roland’s gaze flickered to the boy with a little more interest. “Liked that, did you?”

“The Lady Eden did not think you struck soon enough,” Hal confided. “But I saw naught amiss with your attack.”

Eden inwardly cringed at Roland’s startled glance in her direction. Mercifully the hurried approach of Sir Aubron forestalled any further discussion of Roland’s technique in the field.

“Sir Roland,” beamed their host. “What a display! What an outstanding display you have treated us to this day! We are honored to see the King’s Champion in action, positively honored! I declare the loudest cheer of the tournament so far, went up when you unseated Lord Kentigern in your glorious act of valor!” Roland heartily returned Sir Aubron’s congratulatory embrace and they slapped each other’s shoulders a few times. Eden was surprised to see the older man had tears of sentiment in his eyes. “Never did I dream to see such feats, in the grounds of my humble home. Entertainment fit for a King! A veritable King!” A smattering of applause ran through the audience at his words, and he nodded and smiled in response. “How proud your Father, the old Baron would have been to see it! And such a treat, indeed, for your new bride to see your manly skills on display,” he said turning his benevolent gaze on Eden.