Wild Wind Read Free

She quickly looked away.
    “Alex,” Luke hissed as he buckled the lad’s swordbelt around his waist. “The sword.”
    Quickly Alex crossed to the table and retrieved the broadsword he’d commissioned for Charles, the honor of giving it having been granted to him in light of his own renowned swordsmanship. The blade, of brilliant Poitou steel, shimmered in the sunlight. In the knob of the pearl-encrusted hilt could be seen a bit of dried blood of St. Romaine encased in transparent crystal. Alex handed the weapon to his nephew, who kissed the holy relic before sheathing it.
    Alex watched Christien present his jeweled helmet and Luke his shield and lance, all too aware of Lady Nicolette’s gaze upon him. His skin prickled beneath his clothes; his body felt oddly large and unwieldy.
    He’d thought he would never see her again, nor had he wanted to. He’d never expected her to be here. According to Berte, no one had.
    He wondered about Milo. Despite everything that had transpired that last, eventful summer in Périgeaux, Alex harbored no ill will toward his cousin. What happened wasn’t his fault, not really. And he and Milo had always been, as Berte pointed out, the best of chums, the ten-year difference in their ages inconsequential—especially once Alex reached adolescence and could tag along with Milo and his mates as they hunted and caroused. Life was carefree and exhilarating and golden, and Milo was at the center of it all. Educated for Holy Orders as befitted a second son, but lacking the temperament for a religious vocation, Milo dedicated his considerable intellect to the pursuit of pleasure. Intensely charismatic, he possessed the striking de Périgeaux looks—the height, the raven hair—combined with a quick wit and amiable disposition that earned him many friends.
    Trumpets blared. Shaking off his memories, Alex joined the other sponsors as they stepped aside for the king. William approached the youth, who bowed his head. Fully armored and equipped, young Charles looked every bit the soldier awaiting battle. The last Alex had seen him, before leaving for England, he’d been a small boy. Now, at sixteen, he was taller than his father, although Alex and Luke still towered over him.
    The colée was swift and hard, but Charles remained standing, although he stumbled back a step or two. Cheers rose from the onlookers.
    William embraced the novice knight. “Go in strength and courage, Sir Charles. Be of generous spirit and stout heart, and honor God and your sovereign with your faithful service.”
    “Heartfelt thanks, my liege,” Charles recited, his voice on the edge of cracking. “May the lord God hear this oath of fealty, and may I serve and love both you and Him until my soul embraces the fountainhead of peace.”
    More cheers arose from the crowd. Alex clapped his nephew on the back. “Well done.”
    It took the remainder of the morning for all of the candidates to receive the colée. Then came the war horses, four-and-twenty destriers beautifully groomed and harnessed, which the armored knights mounted simultaneously from running leaps—a feat that drew an elated roar from the crowd. The lads tilted at quintains and engaged in mock duels through the early afternoon, by which time Alex’s old hip injury was throbbing like a drum. Generally it only troubled him on wet, chilly days. All this standing still must have aggravated it.
    Almost worse was the grousing of his empty stomach. His gaze strayed frequently to the river’s edge, where banquet tables had been arranged beneath a pink and purple striped canopy. Savory aromas drifted toward him on the warm breeze, making his mouth water—yet still the games persisted. Only after two of the young knights had fainted dead away from the heat was it announced that the celebratory feast would now be served.
    * * *
    “I’VE ASKED LADY Nicolette to join us,” Alyce announced to her husband and his siblings as they seated themselves at one of the long