Joust of Hearts (3 page)

Devin shut the door quietly, grinned and shook his head. If he could find an unmarried woman who delighted both his mind and body, he’d surely have a prize.

He ordered his horse saddled at the inn’s stable then headed north. By nightfall, he’d be home. His squire, Devin was sure, would be keeping watch for his approach, for the start of the Willowbrook games was but a day away.

Chapter Two

Melisande, Maggie and Tilly climbed into the wagon her late husband had had completed just days before he’d passed on. This would be its maiden voyage, for Melisande had never fancied the thought of venturing forth beyond Dupree’s walls until the invitation to the Bergavnys’ had been issued.

The small procession left for Willowbrook just as dawn was breaking over the horizon.

The journey was slow, for the paths were rarely visited. The shrubbery on either side practically choked out the course and the caravan seemed to gouge its way through the old passage. The ruts, stones and deep mud puddles from the last rains were harsh on the horses as well as the large wooden wheels of the three transports. More than once Melisande had hope that something would greatly affect their trip and the party would have to turn back… But to no avail.

They finally arrived at the Willowbrook gates at dusk that very day. As Melisande’s drivers unloaded her trunks, she was shown along with her maids to their chambers in the old castle.

The Willowbrook servants brought to her chamber a lavender-scented basin of water for her in which she could refresh herself. After Melisande had partaken of the meal delivered to her room at her behest, Lady Bergavny herself made an appearance. The woman was taller than Melisande, yet still petite enough to be called fragile. ’Twas her age that made her so, for she was mayhaps forty and five. Though her head and shoulders were covered by the cream-colored barbette she wore, it was still transparent enough to reveal the many strands of silver hair mixed in with the black.

“I am truly pleased you have decided to attend the games, Melisande,” Lady Bergavny said warmly. “How have you been faring, my dear?”

Melisande smiled as she took the lady’s proffered hands. “We are very well at Dupree. Gramercy, Lady Bergavny.”

“And your journey?”

“The route was greatly in need of a drying by the sun. However, we arrived in good time.”

“Splendid. Fitzherbert and I are most anxious to hear what verses you will be presenting at the opening of the games on the morrow.”

“I have chosen to recite
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
. Bravery and adoration for a damsel are intertwined beautifully in the tale.”

“Oh, Melisande, ’twill be a most perfect selection, for the men as well as the ladies will enjoy the telling.”

“I do hope for that to be the tribute you receive,” Melisande replied with sincerity.

“Of that I am certain.”

“May God grant you mercy, Lady Bergavny,” Melisande said as she disengaged her hands and executed a curtsy.

“Melisande, there is no need be so formal, and do call me Helena,” she announced with a bright smile.

That statement alone made Melisande feel slightly better about being out in public for the first time in so many months. She found it quite comforting to have a friend and to feel safe so far away from Dupree. “I shall then, Helena.”

“Delightful. Anything you are in need of, enquire of my servants.”

“Thank you again, Lady—Helena.”

Helena nodded in acknowledgment. “Sleep well. I will have my attendants alert your maids as to when to awaken you.” She reached out once again, giving a reassuring squeeze to Melisande’s hands. Just before stepping out of the room, she said, “I pray that you enjoy your holiday with us. I look forward to the morrow.” And she pulled the heavy oak door closed.

Maggie helped Melisande into her sleeping gown while Tilly arranged the bed coverings. She then climbed the two wooden steps and lay in the middle of the down-filled mattress. Sleep, she knew, would come soon, so she bade the maids snuff out the candles.

Finding herself once again anticipatory about Liam’s allies, whom she was to meet over the next two days, Melisande silently meditated as she closed her eyes.
In two days hence, I may return home. I count the hours.

Tired from the tedious journey, and mentally exhausted from worrying overmuch, she slept hard through the night.

* * * *

As her maids rushed into the room the next morning, Melisande felt slightly disoriented at first glance of her surroundings.

“We were unable to awaken thee for the mass, m’lady, and the games will begin shortly. ’Tis past time for you to rise and meet the day,” Tilly said in haste.

Ah
. Now she remembered where she was.
Willowbrook
. The thought ran through her mind that she should just pull the coverlet back over her head and stay there for the rest of the day. At Dupree, Melisande had arranged for mass to be said each day after ten of the clock, owing to the fact that she usually slept best past the rising of the sun.

Maggie placed a slaver of bread and cheese onto the bed. “Do eat, m’lady, and we shall dress you directly.”

After the last crust of bread was down, and Melisande was sure it wouldn’t come back up owing to her misgivings, the maids chose a light green and ivory outfit for their mistress. Melisande, not in a disposition for pastels, disallowed the decision and made them dress her in a dark gray tunic and matching surcoat. Decorative ribbons of the same hue fell like streamers from the soft white leather belt just above her waist.

Maggie and Tilly worked collectively to tuck Melisande’s hair into a silver-gray chaperon. As they finished, a knock sounded at the door. Melisande stood, smoothing out the ribbons along her waist. She called permission to enter.

The large oaken door swung open and there stood an elderly male servant dressed in Willowbrook colors. “The lord and lady have requested Lady Dupree to join them on the Bergavny pavilions, directly. It is my duty to escort you.”

“Very well.” Taking a deep breath, she started for the door with Maggie and Tilly in tow.

As they made their way along the battlement wall, Melisande gazed out over the expanse of the property. There were hundreds of people assembled to witness the events, not counting the large number of servants running behind and around the tents, decorating them with the family crests and blazons of their lords. Liam had tried to describe to her how many attendees would be present at the games, but it was altogether different seeing it. Melisande was sure this was the greatest number of people she had ever seen at a singular gathering in her entire life.
All from the nearby villages must be in attendance this day
.

From afar, she witnessed the beautifully decorated banners and flags caught high in the wind to the east and west of the lists. Willowbrook Castle was to the north of the festivities, a good walking distance from the commotion.

Melisande and her maids followed as their escort passed lovingly tended gardens and intricately carved stone benches placed to garner the best views. Then they traversed over a small meadow of tall grass with a wide gravel-strewn path curving through it. They finally came to the lists and the Bergavny pavilion where the Lord and Lady of Willowbrook were seated. Draped in Willowbrook colors, the structure was built high above ground on a platform big enough to hold three large chairs and a small handful of servants.

Before Melisande ascended the final six steps to the main deck, she dismissed Maggie and Tilly. “You may have the rest of the day to yourselves. However, I shall require you in my chambers this e’en.” The two maids curtsied and scampered off.

When Melisande reached the dais, Helena spoke. “Come, sit here with me.” Helena patted the large, ornately carved wooden chair next to her and turned to her husband. “Fitzherbert, you remember Lady Melisande Dupree?”

Melisande curtsied to him.

“Indeed, indeed. How it warms my heart to see you, Lady Dupree.” He smiled.

“You look well, Lord Bergavny,” Melisande replied with a respectful nod.

“I thank you, my dear. As do you.”

After she was seated, Helena whispered, “My lord is very pleased that you have come to Willowbrook.”

Melisande glanced at her host. Lord Bergavny was of good health, at least better than Sir Liam had been in the few years Melisande had known him. Lord Bergavny had gray hair that reached to his chin, and, at present, came from underneath the folded rim of his black fur hat, blending with his matching beard. He had kind blue eyes that peered out through slits from under bushy white brows. His fine robe was a richly embroidered soft green fabric with a wide brown fur lapel that complemented the lighter brown of his hose. A large gold medallion and thick chain were draped around his shoulders. A great ring of gold bearing the Bergavny seal perched regally on his right index finger.

Melisande’s gaze shifted to the center attraction. So this was the lists she had heard so much about from Liam. She was loath to see any bloodshed, or horses’ eyes rolling with fear, or anything that would bring forth the bad dreams of which she was finally rid. She remembered well the tales of her late husband and his victories on the battlefield.
I pray Thee, Lord, deliver me swiftly through this day.

Helena placed her hand over Melisande’s. “You look pale, my dear.” She then added, “I have not seen you unnerved as you are now, just before you recite. All will love the chronicle you will share— you may be assured of that.” She patted Melisande’s hand gently.

Melisande made an effort to smile at Lady Helena, for it was in fact not her performance she was concerned with. It was being here at the blood-games, which seemed to cause so many people amusement, and having to witness them first-hand.

Almost everything that surrounded Melisande reminded her of Sir Liam.
He thrived on this kind of living
, she thought with a shudder, the sandy lists, the large crowds that emitted strange odors when many un-bathed people and animals came together, the anticipation of the games. Luckily for her, Sir Liam had been too old to travel around the country from tourney to tourney by the time they were married. Sometimes, though, she felt as if she
had
lived this way because of the many, many stories she’d listened to at her husband’s feet. Occasionally she’d wished she had not the lucid imagination that accompanied her memorization skills.

Trumpets gained the attention of the audience and everyone quickly found their seat. The herald introduced Lady Melisande Dupree as a bard of yesteryear. Melisande stood up. After the crowd’s shouts and huzzahs subsided, she began the verses of
Sir Gawain
.

Chapter Three

Devin’s fellow knights, in the midst of being readied by their squires, departed from the tent in haste. Before he could ask what they were about, he noticed the sudden silence of the crowd assembled for the joust. Curious, he followed. Such cognitive matters claimed his wits more oft than naught. He supposed it to be a flaw in his soul.

As they approached the lists, a single feminine voice talking of knights and ladies floated toward them on the wind. Two of the men elbowed one another and estimated that the voice must have been attached to a beautiful face in order to gain the vast assemblage’s attention thus.

Satisfied, the two made their way back to their dressing tents, all the while teasing the others about the fair maiden and who could win her.

Devin moved to a place where he could get a closer look at the young lady. It was times such as this that he was glad to be a head taller than most of the men. A slight breeze blew a few strands of hair across his eyes. He smoothed the hair away from his face and swept his hand over his whiskers, scratching as he went.

He focused in on the visage that belonged to the melodious voice and held his breath in order to still the mesh-against-metal noise his chain mail made when it rubbed against his tassets. It was certainly not because he found her to be most comely, although the rapidly growing bulge against the protective padding behind his codpiece begged to differ.

Her voice, though loud enough to be heard by everyone, was like a caress to him. She seemed to look right through him as well as her entire audience. Her eyes were a silvery-gray, an exact likeness of the color of her attire. His gaze refused to falter from where it had landed, and all surrounding her lovely face faded to black, as if she were at the opposite end of a long tunnel. He felt suddenly warm as he stood motionless, watching, listening.

God’s teeth, you’re not some green lad
, he chided himself. He’d flirted with and bedded many a fine-looking maiden, why did his body react to the storyteller thus? He found himself randy as a spring morning. One side of his mouth curled up in a grin. He could have her if he wanted. This one was a mere performer, she must be used to such amusements… But he’d have to find out for sure before he began his pursuit. He thought to ask his squire to find out if this goddess would be at the banquet this eve.

The applause and shouts of the crowd woke him from his thoughts. The young lady’s face flushed with a reddish glow and she curtsied in appreciation of their approval and attentiveness.

It was her blush that made his heart skip a beat. It was genuine, not feigned or painted on like those of the women at court.

He had only been to court once, which was quite enough for him, he had admitted on several occasions. The smiles and eyelash fluttering of those women were as stale as yesterday’s loaf. He’d ridden half of them anyway, and what good was it? The married ones had willingly spread their legs for him, but it was as if they had all received the same instruction on bedding. There was no creativity in their chambers. He would just as soon apply needle to thread as go back to those boring women.

He redirected his focus to his next conquest.
Fie, but she looks as soft as a feather mattress covered in silk
. If angels looked as if they were female,
this
girl just might be one.