The Consummation (Unexpected Circumstances 3)

“It is just an expression, Alexandra,” she said as she patted my arm. I let out a slow breath. “I know you would not wish to share my brother.”

I nodded.

“You actually care for him, do you not?” Ida asked quietly. Another blare from the trumpeters nearly drowned out her voice. I nodded as I looked out to where he stood to the side of the arena, preparing for the next joust. Ida squeezed my shoulder. “I am very glad of that

.”

Ida and I looked at each other, and I could not help but smile. Her love and concern for her brother was obvious in her eyes. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I turned my attention back to the arena where I saw the first two knights line up and prepare to joust. One had a blue griffon on his breastplate, and the other’s knight’s armor was shiny silver but without any additional markings. Looking again to the side of the arena, I could see Branford with his page, Michael, as he checked the end of his lance and bent over so Michael could place his helm on his head.

The knight with the blue griffon on his chest defeated the other handily and raced his horse once around the inside edge of the arena as his fans cheered him on. He stopped below the platform where Lord and Lady Sawyer were seated. She stood as he held the end of his broken lance toward her, and she tied a red ribbon around the end of the weapon before he rode off and took his place off to the side.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Branford at the end of the arena shift his position atop Romero. At the trumpeters’ call, he jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks and sped forward, straight for a knight with a red plume on top of his helm. As Branford’s lance crashed and splintered against the opposing knight’s chest, the other knight missed Branford entirely. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“A perfect hit!” Ida exclaimed. “Branford will win as long as he is not knocked from his horse.”

Two more passes went by, and Branford was declared victorious. As he rode to the edge of the field, and Lady Sawyer placed a red ribbon on the end of his lance, signifying his win, I felt relief flood through my veins. I was not relieved that he had won the contest, only that he had done so without injury.

What surprised me was that my thoughts were not solely directed toward my own fate if something were to happen to my husband. From the beginning, I had feared what would become of me if something were to happen to him, but what I felt now was something different. In my mind, I thought of returning to our rooms, alone. I thought of looking at the kettle and not having Branford there to ask him if he wanted tea. I wondered how empty the water basin would look in the evenings were he not standing there, pulling his shirt over his head and preparing for the night. And lastly, I thought of the bed—our bed—and though I had spent very few nights lying beside him, I could not fathom sleeping without the warmth of his arms around me now.

The very thought sent a chill up my backbone and through my arms.

“Is he done now?” I asked Ida, hoping this might be the end of the games but still knowing it was only the beginning. She shook her head.

“This is the first of three jousting trials,” she explained. “If he bests the other two knights, he will compete for the title tomorrow in hand-to-hand combat.”

Several other knights took their turns before Branford was up again, this time challenged by the blue griffon knight. Branford was lined up at the side closest to where Ida and I sat, and I saw his head turn toward us before the trumpet blew. He nodded in our direction, and Ida cheered and waved at him as he took off, riding close to the dividing barrier between his horse and his opponent. The knight with the blue griffon symbol on his chest urged his horse faster as he neared Branford, and they clashed together with a horrific sound, and both were awarded one point.

Again, the horses raced toward each other, and my attention was suddenly diverted to the construction of Branford’s helmet. With the front drawn down, his head and face were completely protected except for a small slit across his eyes. I looked to the end of the lances and speculated that there may be just enough room for the end of a lance to enter the eye slot. I had to fight the urge to look away again as they clashed, the tip of Branford’s lace smashing against the very edge of the other knight’s shield. At nearly the same instant, Branford’s opposition managed to position his lance at Branford’s chest, knocking him around in the saddle.

The entire crowd stood and began chanting and waving in the air either the pennants of their preferred knight or their tankards of ale. I stood with them—my eyes focused on my husband as he shook his head sharply to the side, adjusted his helm, and took a third lance from Michael. Branford hefted the lance and took a moment to position it before nodding his head, and the knights were off again.

Romero sped forward as Branford leaned into the steed’s neck and held the lance up high before swinging it over and across his body, aimed right at the head of the griffon on his opponent’s chest. The lance seemed to be ready to hit its goal when Branford’s opponent shifted to the side, and Branford’s lance missed its target. At the same time, his competitor’s lance hit Branford square in the chest, knocking him sideways and completely out of his saddle.

I couldn’t breathe as I watched Branford fall from the horse and land with a heavy thud on the sandy ground below. His helmet flew off into the sand, and his left arm was crushed underneath him. There were both gasps and cheers from the onlookers as the other knight was awarded the victory, and Michael ran out to Branford’s body, lying still on the ground.

I covered my eyes with my hands. My mind raced—so many different thoughts cramming together all at once. How badly was he hurt? What if he lived but his arm was broken? If I wanted to pray to his God, where would I begin? I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“No, no, no,” I heard myself whispering through ragged breaths. The hand on my shoulder began to shake me.

“Alexandra, look!” Ida’s voice was forceful. “He’s walking off the field on his own. He’s even yelling at his page. He is fine, Alexandra! He is fine!”

“Fine?” I whispered as I dared open my eyes. Ida was correct. When I looked down on the field, I could see Branford stomping off, shoving Michael out of his way as he did. He held his left arm out away from his body, his face in a grimace. Air finally filled my lungs again.

“I want to go to him,” I said as I turned to her. Ida narrowed her eyes, and her lips smashed into a hard line. She seemed to debate for a moment before nodding and grabbing my hand in hers. She turned and pulled me into the crowd behind us as they pushed in the opposite direction, trying to get a better view of the victor. I followed, my hand grasped in Ida’s tiny fingers as she dragged me down the steps at the back of the stands and around the edge of the arena walls. On the far side, she spied Sir Parnell and quickly brought me over to him.

“Ida, what are you doing here?” Sir Parnell inquired as we approached. “You should be up in the stands. I shall be competing next, and you know this is no place for a lady.”

He smiled and stroked her cheek with his gloved thumb.

“Alexandra wanted to find Branford.”

Sir Parnell’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not unkindly, as he shook his head. He glanced off into the distance where the outer wall of the castle displayed an open arch leading to a field and trees beyond. I let go of Ida’s hand and started in the direction of the arch.

“No, Alexandra,” Sir Parnell said. His hand coiled around my arm, and he held me back. “You do not want to be near him right now.”

“He is hurt!”

“Let him be.”