desperate with every passing day. Finally, on the morning of the day that should have been her wedding, she stared into her breakfast bowl, nauseated by the congealed beans therein, as tears brimmed in her eyes.
‘We’re never going to find him,’ she said.
‘You need to be patient. These things take time,’ said Humphrey, aware of how lame he sounded.
‘Sir Alistair and I should be getting married right now.’ Her throat was cramped with the effort of not crying in front of them. ‘Instead I’m cold and damp and I haven’t slept properly for two weeks, and I’m in dirty clothes, sitting in a field with a disgraced ex-knight and a miniature giant, and we’re no closer to finding out what happened to the man who is supposed to be my husband, and if we don’t find him soon I may as well die.’
She got up from the fireside and went into her tent, pulling the flap shut behind her. It wasn’t as effective as slamming a door, but the message was clear.
She barely said another word all day. When Humphrey fought his duel, against a woman this time, who had hair cropped short and a surprisingly deft way with a lance, Elaine didn’t even watch, but chose that moment to go and refill their water skins at a nearby well. Humphrey, distracted by her absence, lost concentration, allowing the female outlaw to knock him from his horse, much to the delight of Conrad and the gathered crowd.
That night, Elaine went to bed without any supper. Humphrey decided to turn in early too, after enduring a seemingly endless meal of uninspiring food – breakfast’s beans reheated, which were in turn last night’s beans reheated – and relentless mockery from his squire.
Several hours later, however, he surfaced queasily from the depths of sleep to find himself being shaken by a determined hand.
‘Careful,’ he groaned, as the hand was gripping the very spot on his shoulder where the lady miscreant’s lance had hit.
‘Shh,’ whispered the voice of his awakener.
Humphrey blinked in the darkness. The owner of the hand was Elaine.
‘What are you –’
‘Shh,’ she whispered again. ‘I think I heard something. Men. Near my tent.’
Humphrey nodded. He emerged swiftly from his bedroll, pulled on his boots and a tunic over his long underwear, and buckled a sword over the top.
They crept outside. There was no moon, but the stars were bright. Elaine’s long white nightgown, unlaced at the throat, stood out against the darkness.
‘Do you see anything?’ she said.
‘Not yet,’ said Humphrey, who had seen nothing other than Elaine.
‘It was coming from down the slope, near the river. I thought I heard voices.’
Humphrey set off towards the riverbank. Elaine followed him, catching up and slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. He felt the heat of it like a burn.
‘Over here?’ he whispered, his voice a little shaky.
‘I think so,’ Elaine replied, moving even closer to him as they approached the river, its water glinting under the constellations. Humphrey caught the scent from her hair. She appeared to be wearing perfume, which was strange for the middle of the night. His heart beat hard in his chest and he tried to keep his mind on the brigands who might lie in wait.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Elaine said to him. ‘I feel safe with you.’
This stopped Humphrey for the slightest moment. There was something about the way Elaine said it that didn’t quite ring true. Then he decided he was being ridiculous. Whyshouldn’t she feel safe with him? He was a knight. She was a damsel. That was the way things worked.
‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, ‘and if there is, I’ll deal with it.’
Elaine responded with a squeeze of his arm. Humphrey scanned the darkness, looking for any sign of movement. Nothing. He crept forward. The slope became steeper close to the riverbank, and as Humphrey picked his way down he felt the sudden loss of Elaine’s hand, as she slipped and
‘We’re never going to find him,’ she said.
‘You need to be patient. These things take time,’ said Humphrey, aware of how lame he sounded.
‘Sir Alistair and I should be getting married right now.’ Her throat was cramped with the effort of not crying in front of them. ‘Instead I’m cold and damp and I haven’t slept properly for two weeks, and I’m in dirty clothes, sitting in a field with a disgraced ex-knight and a miniature giant, and we’re no closer to finding out what happened to the man who is supposed to be my husband, and if we don’t find him soon I may as well die.’
She got up from the fireside and went into her tent, pulling the flap shut behind her. It wasn’t as effective as slamming a door, but the message was clear.
She barely said another word all day. When Humphrey fought his duel, against a woman this time, who had hair cropped short and a surprisingly deft way with a lance, Elaine didn’t even watch, but chose that moment to go and refill their water skins at a nearby well. Humphrey, distracted by her absence, lost concentration, allowing the female outlaw to knock him from his horse, much to the delight of Conrad and the gathered crowd.
That night, Elaine went to bed without any supper. Humphrey decided to turn in early too, after enduring a seemingly endless meal of uninspiring food – breakfast’s beans reheated, which were in turn last night’s beans reheated – and relentless mockery from his squire.
Several hours later, however, he surfaced queasily from the depths of sleep to find himself being shaken by a determined hand.
‘Careful,’ he groaned, as the hand was gripping the very spot on his shoulder where the lady miscreant’s lance had hit.
‘Shh,’ whispered the voice of his awakener.
Humphrey blinked in the darkness. The owner of the hand was Elaine.
‘What are you –’
‘Shh,’ she whispered again. ‘I think I heard something. Men. Near my tent.’
Humphrey nodded. He emerged swiftly from his bedroll, pulled on his boots and a tunic over his long underwear, and buckled a sword over the top.
They crept outside. There was no moon, but the stars were bright. Elaine’s long white nightgown, unlaced at the throat, stood out against the darkness.
‘Do you see anything?’ she said.
‘Not yet,’ said Humphrey, who had seen nothing other than Elaine.
‘It was coming from down the slope, near the river. I thought I heard voices.’
Humphrey set off towards the riverbank. Elaine followed him, catching up and slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. He felt the heat of it like a burn.
‘Over here?’ he whispered, his voice a little shaky.
‘I think so,’ Elaine replied, moving even closer to him as they approached the river, its water glinting under the constellations. Humphrey caught the scent from her hair. She appeared to be wearing perfume, which was strange for the middle of the night. His heart beat hard in his chest and he tried to keep his mind on the brigands who might lie in wait.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Elaine said to him. ‘I feel safe with you.’
This stopped Humphrey for the slightest moment. There was something about the way Elaine said it that didn’t quite ring true. Then he decided he was being ridiculous. Whyshouldn’t she feel safe with him? He was a knight. She was a damsel. That was the way things worked.
‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, ‘and if there is, I’ll deal with it.’
Elaine responded with a squeeze of his arm. Humphrey scanned the darkness, looking for any sign of movement. Nothing. He crept forward. The slope became steeper close to the riverbank, and as Humphrey picked his way down he felt the sudden loss of Elaine’s hand, as she slipped and
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