Nothing Else Matters (21 page)

sleeves and hem. Stian studied the design then smiled, first at the fancy work then at his wife. The design was a repeated pattern of a stylized wolf and moon.

When Eleanor saw that he was pleased with her gift she sighed with relief. She’d brought the cloth with her and had planned to make it into a kirtle for herself. When she’d gotten it out to start the dress, she’d been struck by how wel the rich color would suit Stian’s fair complexion and bright hair. The color pleased her but she had hoped the embroidery would please her husband. Edythe had cal ed the design barbaric and Eleanor had only laughed in

agreement and gone right on stitching.

“Do you like it?” she asked now.

In answer, he kissed her, crushing the cloth between them. It was one more barrier to be resented for this was the first time he’d properly kissed her since they’d left for York. While she enjoyed the chance to be away from Harelby, the circumstances had proved less than ideal. It was Eleanor who broke the kiss reluctantly, but they had no time now for dal iance.

“I think you like it,” she said on a breathless laugh. “There’s more,” she added, and picked up the black cote and bracceas she’d made to complete the court apparel. “Promise me you won’t wear these during the tournament,” she said.

“I wouldn’t—” Then he realized she was joking and his frown turned in to a grudging smile. “What else should I wear to please you, lass?” he asked as he stripped so he could wear her gift. “A jeweled brooch on my cloak?”

“Do you have one?”

He growled in reply then conceded, “Aye. But it’s at Harelby.”

With his heart, she thought as she waited for him to dress.

Outside the day was bright, the air ful of shouts and laughter. The earl had brought not only his own large household with him but many of the local lords and landless knights had come to pay homage and take part in the tourney. They were al camped outside the wal ed trading town of York, the bright tents almost as numerous as the buildings of the town. The citizens were out to watch the doings of the nobles, and the merchants were there with al their

wares.

There was excitement in the air and Eleanor could barely wait to take part in al the doings of the day. There was much to do and see, provisions and

trinkets to be purchased, news to be garnered, acquaintances to make. She chaffed to be out of the tent but she waited for her lord, trying not to let her impatience show. For she knew he dreaded the crowds she craved.

When he was ready, he took her hand and they left the tent together. “What now, my lady?” he asked as they stood in front of the tent.

For a moment Eleanor just drank in the colors, the sights, the sounds. “’Tis like a great fair.”

“Better than a war camp,” he agreed. Stian sniffed the air. “There’s mutton roasting nearby.” He looked to their own cookfire where the servants were

dishing up bowls of porridge. “I’m for meat to break my fast,” he said as he began to tug Eleanor toward the merchant pavilions. “Let’s find food before we find the earl.”

“If it please you, my lord.”

He could tel it pleased her for she practical y skipped as she hurried along beside him. The crowd grew thicker the closer they got to the merchant area.

Stian supposed it was to be expected this early in the day. At noon the focus of attention would be the gathering of the earl’s court. In the afternoon the crowds would gather to watch at the field staked out for the tournament melee. In the evening there would be a feast, tables set up beneath starlight and torches. Tomorrow the pattern would be the same and the day after, if the fair weather held.

Stian hoped torrents would come raining down from the clouds the moment today’s tourney came to an end. He’d come to York as his father wished.

Soon he’d make his homage to the earl and deliver the messages, reports and taxes to the earl’s clerks. Al that would be left then would be to bash a few heads and be gone. Surely Eleanor and Edythe could spend al Harelby’s gold on frippery in the time it took him to do his errands.

“You have a grim and brooding look to you,” Eleanor teased, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Nay,” he answered. “’Tis only hunger that twists my face.”

She laughed and drew him toward a baker’s booth. It was easy enough for him to use his size to clear the way through the crowd for her. Coins were

passed from Eleanor’s pouch and they soon turned away, each with a gold-crusted loaf of white bread in their hands. Strips of roasted mutton were had

from the next booth and ale at the next. The alewife had set out benches for her customers. Here Stian and Eleanor settled to break their fast and watch the passing crowd.

Eleanor couldn’t have been happier at the queen’s court than she was sharing simple fare with Stian. It was such a fine day she decided it was time to tel him her good news as soon as the meal was done.

Before she could speak, Stian lifted his head. Sniffing the air he said, “I smel ginger cakes.” He bounced to his feet as eager as a little boy. “I love ginger cakes.”

Eleanor breathed in the rich, spicy aroma, better than any perfume. “So do I.”

Stian grabbed her by the hand and they dove back into the crowd, laughing like children as they went in search of the sweet cake. It wasn’t long before they rounded a corner and came upon the booth they were looking for, where a plump old woman was doling out thick slices of brown cake to another

eager couple. Edythe and Lars were there before them. Edythe, dressed in shades of pale yel ow and white, looked like a fresh summer bloom. Lars,

wearing a green tabard over newly shined mail looked every inch the lady’s dashing champion. Especial y since he had braided cords of yel ow and white fastened around his upper arm as Edythe’s favor. Eleanor and Stian came to a halt as they spotted the pair. It was obvious that Edythe and Lars had eyes for none but each other. Neither Blanche nor Morwina was nearby as chaperone for the pair.

Eleanor looked away. She looked at her husband, who was staring angrily at the pair. “Stian?”

He looked at her, eyes icy with anger. “This is like the books you read to me, the tales Edythe fed to my cousin. The dishonorable way you lived in

Poitiers, where no man minds how his wife behaves.”

Stian’s right hand was grasping his sword hilt. She put her hand on his arm. “Edythe would never dishonor Lord Roger, I wil swear that on my own life, if you like.”

“You are not responsible for anyone’s honor but your own,” he answered.

“Edythe chose him as her champion with your father’s approval,” Eleanor hurried to explain. “To be a champion does not mean the same as being a lover.

Though it might look that way,” she admitted. “In anywhere but Poitiers.”

And in Poitiers, she knew, it had rarely been true that a man worshipped from afar for very long. No matter how long the love games went on, the object was always to bed the lady fair and move on to the next conquest. She wondered how long Edythe would play the courtship game before bluff, untutored,

rough-handed, handsome Lars beat her at it.

“I’m going to have to have a talk with that girl,” she concluded, feeling for once as if she were the older, more experienced sister.

“And I with Lars.”

“But don’t beat him,” she advised. “The more difficult he finds the way to her bed, the more he’l want her.”

I’ll beat him all right
, Stian thought grimly. To his anxious wife, he said, “As you say.”

He slowly took his hand away from his sword, but not before Lars saw him through the crowd. His cousin smiled and waved and pointed them out to

Edythe. The Lady of Harelby promptly ordered two more ginger cakes and brought them over. Lars hurried at her heels.

“I’ve checked out the tourney field,” he told Stian.

“Where are your ladies?” Eleanor asked at the same time.

“I left them haggling with a cloth merchant,” Edythe answered. “Lars met me while he looked for Stian and saw me as far as the baker’s booth. Isn’t it a wonderful day?” Edythe asked as she looked around them. “I wish my lord had felt up to the ride.”

“I’ve no doubt you miss my father very much,” Stian said cool y. Then avoiding the puzzled expression in Edythe’s incomparably blue eyes, he took Lars by the arm. “Come, cousin. Let us see to our arms and mounts before we’re cal ed to court.”

Leaving the women to make their way to the field before the earl’s great green-and-red-striped tent, Stian led Lars to the picket line where the squires were readying the horses and arms for later in the day. Stian wasn’t surprised to find his squire engaged in swordplay when he came up to where the lad was supposed to working. Nor was he surprised to see who the squire was sparring with.

“Malcolm,” he cal ed out to his other cousin. “Wel met! He always kites his shield, Ranald,” Stian told the squire. “Use that to get under his guard.”

“Thank you for your help, cousin,” Malcolm panted as Ranald fol owed Stian’s advice. It didn’t take long before he’d landed a blow to the ribs with the wooden sword from up under Malcolm’s shield.

“My job’s to teach the lad,” Stian reminded. “And yours is to hold the shield close to your body. You’d think it was a wing the way you flap the thing about.”

Malcolm cal ed a halt to the combat, threw down his shield and came up to Stian and Lars. “Don’t like Norman shields and broadswords,” he said. “Give

me something I can use two-handed any day.”

“You do fine with a battle axe,” Stian conceded while Ranald ran up with a cloth.

Malcolm wiped sweat off his face and neck. “You did wel , lad,” he told Ranald, who was also his youngest brother. “See that you keep doing wel ,” he

added before sending the squire back to his duties. Malcolm turned his attention to Lars. “Plan on winning the jousting, do you?”

“That I do,” the Dane answered.

Stian knew it was no idle boast. Nor did he mind knowing Lars was a better tournament fighter than himself. He was sure enough of his own skil to be

certain he wouldn’t be unseated in the melee. He thought it likely he’d be taking some other man’s possessions as a prize in the upcoming contest and

one prize was al he wanted. Such a smal victory would be good enough for him. Let the public acclaim go to someone like Lars who’d enjoy it.

“I’l do my best to unseat you,” Malcolm promised Lars.

“Your best is good enough for most men,” Lars answered. “I’l be careful.”

“Who else fights on the Borderer side of the lists?” Stian asked. “We only arrived last night, barely in time to enter the tourney. I’ve no idea who we’re fighting with or against.”

“Most of the Borderers are here,” Malcolm answered. “In one generation or another.”

“Ayrfel ?”

Malcolm laughed. “No. I’m told he’s out chasing cattle someone stole from him.”

“Now there’s an uncommon occurrence,” Stian said. There was the sound of a horn cal in the distance, high and sweet, coming from the direction of the earl’s tent. “That’s the first summons. Damn, I’ve got to go bend my knee before my liege—and everyone in Britain,” he added.

His cousins laughed. “By the Rood, you’re as shy as when you were a boy,” Malcolm said. “The only time I’ve seen you forget yourself’s on the battlefield.

Are you so shy with your wife?”

“That’s not for you to know,” Stian answered, trying not to take offense at the teasing question. He did however take offense at Lars’ smirk. Which

reminded him of a duty he needed to perform. Putting his arm around the Dane’s shoulder, he said, “Come and let us have a word in private, cousin.”

Not long afterwards, just as the horn was sounding the second summons to court, Stian met his wife as he came back from the far side of the picket lines.

“Wel met!” he said as she rushed up to him. “Have you come to fetch me to the earl?”

“In part,” she answered. “Have you hurt yourself?”

Stian realized that he was rubbing the aching knuckles of his left hand and stopped. “No, no. I am wel . In part to fetch me, you say?” he asked as they joined hands and walked along. “Why else did you come looking for me? Did you miss my handsome face?”

Eleanor paused long enough to study his face then they walked on. “It’s not such an ugly face,” she said. “Nowhere near as bad as I thought at first.”

“Familiarity renders it acceptable, does it?”

“Oh indeed, my lord.” In truth, she’d come to think that he had a rough, raw handsomeness that was uniquely his own. She admired his bright hair, height and width of his wel -formed body. She thought he looked especial y fine in the clothes she’d made to flatter his size and coloring. “Aye,” she told him,

“you’l do wel enough for a mouse like me.”

“That is good to know. So, why else did you search me out?” he went on, trying to keep his tone light to cover his pleased embarrassment at words he

found very flattering.

She paused again and took a narrow, folded piece of cloth from her pouch. She handed it to him hesitantly, with her gaze fastened on the ground. “’Tis my favor, Stian. For you to wear. If it please you,” she said, and looked up at him through her lashes.

Stian unfolded the cloth, a narrow width of dark blue covered with a bit of embroidery on the ends. Studying the design, he saw that it was the wolf pattern of his surcote repeated. Only this time the wolf was crouched down with a mouse looking up at it between its paws. Stian couldn’t help but throw back his head and laugh. It was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

“Do you like it?” Eleanor asked once he had his mirth under control. She had a half smile on her lips. “I think you like it.”

“I like it,” he said.

“Wil you wear it then? And be my champion?”

For answer he kissed her. And they became so caught up in each other that they almost missed the third and final cal from the herald’s horn.

* * * * *

“Aye, so do I, but there’s nothing for it. Pass the winecup, Eleanor.”

Edythe was set at the high table, on the earl’s right side. She was in the place of honor as the Baroness of Harelby and as the acclaimed fairest lady of the tourney day. It wasn’t Edythe’s place at table that was so disturbing, Eleanor expected no less for her sister. It was the fact that Lars was seated beside her as champion jouster of the day.