breath smoked in the air and mingled with the stallion’s as he leaned over to pat its muscular arched neck. Mindful of the horse’s tender mouth, he had further adjusted the bit and rode with the lightest of curbs.
Collecting a lance from the stack at the end of the tiltyard, William turned the destrier to face the field and the quintain. A squire was standing beside the upright pole and cross bar and at William’s signal he hooked a small circle of woven reeds on to the end of the latter. William nudged Blancart into a short, bouncing canter and the stallion’s ears twitched and then pricked as he settled to his task. William encouraged Blancart with thighs and heels and the stallion increased speed, galloping in a straight, smooth line. William hooked the ring neatly on to the end of his lance and rode round to the start again, by which time the squire had placed a second, smaller ring on the end of the post.
William continued tilting at the ring, using the smallest diameter garlands and rowing them down the shaft of his lance with each successful pass. He was aware in his peripheral vision that he had an audience, but the sight of knights at their training was always guaranteed to draw spectators and his concentration was such that he paid little heed. However, as he drew rein and slipped the rings down his spear into the squire’s hands, he happened to glance across and noticed that the numbers were unusually large.
A woman wearing a wine-coloured cloak detached herself from the crowd and began picking her way delicately across the churned ground towards him. An embroidered blue gown flashed through the opening of the cloak as she walked and her veil was edged with tiny gold beads. William had not seen her about the castle before but knew that several great lords had brought their wives to court for the Christmas feast. She had three boys in tow; the tallest one brown-haired and slender, striding confidently beside her. On her other side, also striding out, was a strikingly attractive lad with hair of auburn-blond and a fierce smile blazing across his face. The smallest of the three hurried along behind, dark-browed and a determined jut to his jaw. Looking beyond the woman, William took in the conroi of armed knights and a throng of richly clad ladies. A nurse was holding an infant that was squalling its head off at being restrained in her arms. Two little girls, one with dark hair, the other reddish-gold, clung to her skirts. There was an older, plump girl too, in a blue dress. A thick braid of bright brown hair tumbled over her right shoulder.
The woman reached William and looked up. Beneath arched dark brows, her eyes were the colour of woodland honey, neither brown nor gold. Her nose was thin, her cheekbones sharp, her mouth wide. Not a beautiful face in the aesthetic sense, but so filled with charisma that William’s senses reeled. He stared, and she gave him a smile that contained the brimming mischief of a girl and the allure of an experienced woman.
“Madam,” he croaked and, dismounting from Blancart, knelt at her feet and bowed his head. Even if his senses had been bludgeoned, his wits had not. From the moment his eyes had fallen upon her guards, he had known who she was.
“I pray you rise,” she said with a soft laugh. “I am accustomed to men falling at my feet, but I prefer to bring them to their knees by means other than my rank.”
Her voice, deep and husky, sent a ripple down William’s spine that reached all the way to his loins. She was old enough to be his mother, but there the resemblance ended. “Madam,” he said again, all his eloquence deserting him. As he stood, he caught her scent—a combination of winter spices and summer rose garden.
“My sons were admiring your prowess at the quintain,” she murmured, “and so was I.”
William reddened with pleasure and embarrassment. “Thank you, madam. I have not had the horse long and I work with him as much as I can.”
“You
Collecting a lance from the stack at the end of the tiltyard, William turned the destrier to face the field and the quintain. A squire was standing beside the upright pole and cross bar and at William’s signal he hooked a small circle of woven reeds on to the end of the latter. William nudged Blancart into a short, bouncing canter and the stallion’s ears twitched and then pricked as he settled to his task. William encouraged Blancart with thighs and heels and the stallion increased speed, galloping in a straight, smooth line. William hooked the ring neatly on to the end of his lance and rode round to the start again, by which time the squire had placed a second, smaller ring on the end of the post.
William continued tilting at the ring, using the smallest diameter garlands and rowing them down the shaft of his lance with each successful pass. He was aware in his peripheral vision that he had an audience, but the sight of knights at their training was always guaranteed to draw spectators and his concentration was such that he paid little heed. However, as he drew rein and slipped the rings down his spear into the squire’s hands, he happened to glance across and noticed that the numbers were unusually large.
A woman wearing a wine-coloured cloak detached herself from the crowd and began picking her way delicately across the churned ground towards him. An embroidered blue gown flashed through the opening of the cloak as she walked and her veil was edged with tiny gold beads. William had not seen her about the castle before but knew that several great lords had brought their wives to court for the Christmas feast. She had three boys in tow; the tallest one brown-haired and slender, striding confidently beside her. On her other side, also striding out, was a strikingly attractive lad with hair of auburn-blond and a fierce smile blazing across his face. The smallest of the three hurried along behind, dark-browed and a determined jut to his jaw. Looking beyond the woman, William took in the conroi of armed knights and a throng of richly clad ladies. A nurse was holding an infant that was squalling its head off at being restrained in her arms. Two little girls, one with dark hair, the other reddish-gold, clung to her skirts. There was an older, plump girl too, in a blue dress. A thick braid of bright brown hair tumbled over her right shoulder.
The woman reached William and looked up. Beneath arched dark brows, her eyes were the colour of woodland honey, neither brown nor gold. Her nose was thin, her cheekbones sharp, her mouth wide. Not a beautiful face in the aesthetic sense, but so filled with charisma that William’s senses reeled. He stared, and she gave him a smile that contained the brimming mischief of a girl and the allure of an experienced woman.
“Madam,” he croaked and, dismounting from Blancart, knelt at her feet and bowed his head. Even if his senses had been bludgeoned, his wits had not. From the moment his eyes had fallen upon her guards, he had known who she was.
“I pray you rise,” she said with a soft laugh. “I am accustomed to men falling at my feet, but I prefer to bring them to their knees by means other than my rank.”
Her voice, deep and husky, sent a ripple down William’s spine that reached all the way to his loins. She was old enough to be his mother, but there the resemblance ended. “Madam,” he said again, all his eloquence deserting him. As he stood, he caught her scent—a combination of winter spices and summer rose garden.
“My sons were admiring your prowess at the quintain,” she murmured, “and so was I.”
William reddened with pleasure and embarrassment. “Thank you, madam. I have not had the horse long and I work with him as much as I can.”
“You
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