Stephen stepped back from the friendly hand. His face changed into one of furor. “I want that woman! You have no right to take her from me.” He whirled on Roger, who had begun to smile. “I’ll meet you on a battlefield, and then we’ll see who is most worthy to claim chiefship.”
“Accepted!” Roger snapped. “Tomorrow morning. The winner will wed her in the afternoon, bed her at night.”
“Done!”
“No,” Sir Thomas murmured, but he knew he’d lost. They were two hot-blooded young men. He sighed heavily. “Leave me, both of you. Prepare your own battlefield. I want nothing to do with it.”
Chapter Four
STEPHEN STOOD BESIDE HIS STALLION, COVERED IN STEEL from head to foot, the sun beating down on his armor. It was weighing him down, but he’d long ago learned to handle its weight.
“My lord,” his squire said, “the sun will be in your eyes.”
Stephen nodded curtly. He was well aware of the fact. “Let Chatworth have what advantage he can. He’ll need it.”
The boy smiled in pride at his master. It had taken a long while to dress Sir Stephen in the layers of padded cotton and leather that went under the steel plates.
Stephen mounted his horse with ease, then reached to take his lance and shield from the boy. He didn’t bother to look to his right. He knew Bronwyn stood there with a face as white as the gold-trimmed ivory dress she wore. It didn’t help his spirit any to know the woman would like to see him lose or perhaps even be killed.
He adjusted the long wooden lance against his armor. He and Roger had not spoken since last night, and Sir Thomas had been true to his word; he was
ignoring the fight. Thus no rules had been established. It was a joust, a fight to see who could stay on his horse longest.
Stephen’s war-horse, a massive black stallion with heavy feathering on its feet, pranced once in impatience. The animals were bred for power and stamina rather than swiftness.
Stephen’s men surrounded him, then pulled back as Roger appeared at the far end of the sand-covered field. A low wooden fence ran down the center.
Stephen lowered his helmet plate, leaving only a slit for his eyes, his head completely covered. A young man raised a banner, and when he lowered it, the two noble men charged at each other, lances raised. It was not a test of speed, but of strength. Only a man in the peak of condition could withstand the lance shattering against his shield.
Stephen gripped his horse hard with his powerful thighs when Roger’s lance squarely hit his shield. The lance shattered, as did Stephen’s. Stephen reined his horse back to his end of the field.
“He’s good, my lord,” one of Stephen’s men said as he handed his master a new lance. “Watch the tip this time. I think he means to run it under your shield.”
Stephen nodded curtly and shut his helmet again.
The banner was lowered to begin the second charge. All Stephen had to do was knock his opponent from his horse, and by all rules of jousting, he’d win. When Roger charged again, Stephen dipped his shield lower and effectively kept Roger from hitting him. Taken aback, Roger didn’t see Stephen’s lance as it struck his side. He reeled in the saddle and nearly fell from the mighty blow, but he managed to keep his seat.
“He’s dazed,” the man at Stephen’s side said. “Hit him this time and he’ll go down.”
Again Stephen nodded and slammed his helmet shut.
Roger concentrated on his attack and didn’t take care of defending himself. As he dipped his lance Stephen hit him again, this time much harder than before. Roger fell backward then toward the side, landing hard in the dirt at the feet of Stephen’s horse.
Stephen glanced briefly at his opponent lying in the dust and then looked away toward Bronwyn.
But Roger Chatworth was not a man to turn one’s back on. He grabbed a spike-headed club from his horse’s saddle and ran with it aloft.
“Stephen!” someone screamed.
Stephen reacted instantly but not quite quickly enough. Roger’s club came down hard on Stephen’s left thigh. The steel armor bent and jammed into his flesh. The unexpected impact sent him reeling, and he fell from his stallion, clutching at the pommel.
Stephen righted himself and saw that Roger was again advancing on him, prepared to attack again. He rolled away, steel hinges creaking in protest.
Stephen was thrown a club just as Roger’s club hit his shoulder. Stephen grunted and slammed his club into Roger’s side. As Roger staggered sideways Stephen pursued him. Stephen meant to win this battle.
His second blow, on Roger’s right shoulder blade, sent Roger sprawling. The armor protected the men from cut flesh, but the immense force of each blow was stunning.
Roger lay still, obviously dazed. Stephen withdrew his sword, straddled Roger’s shoulders, and kicked open his face plate. Then Stephen, with both hands on the hilt, held the sword over him.