"You conspire with her. You—"
Tearle could only look down at her. She was saying he wanted Anne. If Anne was angry at a man, she wouldn't grab a sword and try to behead him, she'd dress in some beautiful gown and seduce him into doing what she wanted. No, Tearle did not want Anne. He'd much rather have Zared, who spoke and acted honestly, with no hidden meaning, no hidden treachery.
He had not heard all of what Zared was saying. "Why would I want Anne?"
"She is a rich wife for a second son."
"True." He moved his hand down her arm and moved closer to her.
"Do not touch me!" she yelled, fighting against him, but he held her easily, although he grunted when she hit a sore place.
"I do not want Anne," he said, and he put his face against her neck.
Zared let her body go limp. Then, when the man relaxed, she rolled away from him, and as she did she kicked him hard between the legs.
Tearle groaned and grabbed himself with one hand and Zared with the other. "Sit!" he commanded, shoving her onto a cot. He hovered over her, trying to recover from the pain, and when he could at last breathe again he bent over her. "I want to hear all. I want to hear all that is in your head."
"I will tell you nothing," she said, firm-jawed.
"If you do not tell me, I will tell your brother who I am."
"He will kill you!"
"As he did today?" he asked mockingly, then he wished he hadn't. He had not meant to admit he had disguised himself.
"You loosened his cinch," she screamed at him. "You humiliated him! You want the Lady Anne!"
Tearle had to hold her to keep her on the cot while he thought about what she'd said. Perhaps there had been no "magic" to Severn's being unhorsed. Perhaps he had slipped. After all, Tearle's lance had barely touched him.
"Someone loosened Severn's cinch?" he asked softly, fearing his brother's hand. Since the king was gone, Oliver might dare much.
"You should know. You put the mud in his helmet, the honey on his—"
"What?" Tearle straightened and looked down at her. "I put mud in his helmet?" he asked indignantly.
"The people laughed at Severn," she said, and misery at the memory of that laughter was replacing her rage. "Severn will not get his rich bride now, and it will be my fault. If I had told him about you at the beginning, he could have killed you. Better that he was executed than suffer this humiliation."
Tearle couldn't seem to think for a moment. He had meant merely to dress in black armor to impress a girl, but instead of impressing her he had somehow caused her family humiliation and dishonor.
"What would you have of me?" he asked softly. "Shall I go? Shall I leave here and never see you again?"
"Yes," she said, putting her face in her hands. "You have ruined all. Severn will never marry his rich bride."
He put his hand lightly on her hair. "You must believe that I meant only good for you and your brother. I never meant—"
She jerked away from his touch. "Go! Leave me. I never want to see you again. You have ruined all for my family."
Tearle turned away from her, not really understanding, but hearing the deep sorrow in her voice. He left the tent and intended to leave her life, but first he wanted to find out what she meant when she talked of mud in a helmet.
It didn't take Tearle long to hear the story, for it was all the people on the grounds could talk of. As he listened to each recounting of the story of bees and mud and broken lances a suspicion began to grow inside him.
"Hugh Marshall won't be giving his lovely daughter to a Peregrine," one man said, laughing. "He wouldn't want a fool for a son-in-law."
"The Black Knight is who Marshall wants. I hear he's offering a reward to anyone who can tell him who the man is."
"The reward being the Lady Anne," someone else said, laughing.
Tearle didn't listen to any more but walked away. He paid a boy to go to the hall and deliver a message to Anne that he would meet her in the garden at dark.