Read Immortal Champion for Free Online Page A

chest, beneath a length of golden spiderwork the duchess had presented her for her wedding veil.
    Then, as summer faded into autumn, she set out with deliberate effort of thought to do as the duke and her father wished and resign herself to the idea of Richard le Despenser, who would, mayhap, one day make her Countess of Gloucester.

CHAPTER 3

    Raby Castle, County Palatine of Durham, April 1412
     
    A TOURNEY. AND a big one, if all those tents meant anything.
    Gunnar looked over the broad meadow west of Raby Castle and grinned at his good fortune. He’d been hoping for a rich table, what with it being just after Easter and Raby being the seat of the Earl of Westmorland, but a tourney meant there would be true feasting. Even better, the crush of men would let him slip in, enjoy the best meal he’d had in many a month, barter for a few supplies, have a lie with one of the whores who would have gathered for the joust, and then slip back out unnoticed. Jafri could have a go tomorrow before they continued on to the coast, and they’d both spend the summer as happier men. The prospect of months alone in the woods always sat a little easier after a good meddle.
    He checked to make certain the wolf hadn’t followed him out of the woods, then turned his horse toward the castle. By the time he neared the walls, the fading light had brought the last of the day’s combats to an end so that he could simply fall into the boisterous stream of men and women leaving the lists. He passed over the bridge and through the fortified gate, just one more in the crowd. No one even bothered to ask his name, and soon he stood in the castle bailey, staring up at a scaffolded tower, some ten yards high, that rose in the center of the yard. The pavilion at its top had wide windows on all four sides, but colorful draperies hid whatever or whoever was inside.
    “Which favor will you vie for?” asked a voice at his shoulder.
    Gunnar glanced at the speaker, a grizzled knight with a cropped beard. “Favor?”
    “Aye. There.” The man indicated a score of gloves and ribands and sleeves and veils arrayed on a length of paling wall whose still-green points showed the logs had been cut just for this tourney. “One for each of the ladies to be found in the Castle of Love.”
    “Castle of Love? Aren’t those usually built out by the lists?”
    “Aye, but Countess Joan wanted it close in. She’s breeding.” The man outlined a rounded belly with his hands. “She cannot go out to the gallery, so she called for the castle to be put here, where she can watch from her window. And she’s declared her own rules, as well.”
    “What sort of rules?”
    “She collected the favors from the ladies herself and had her varlet hang them, so no one knows which lady gave what, or even which ladies are in the tower for certs, for they climbed up while we were yet in the field. You’re to retrieve a favor and make your way up—if you can, of course—to win a kiss from whichever lady owns it.”
    “Without knowing whose favor you have?” Gunnar raised an eyebrow. “What if you get up there and she’s ugly?”
    “Unless you’re a fool, you’ll close your eyes and kiss her like she’s the fairest maid in the land,” the fellow said, laughing. “For each lady has a silver branch for the man who claims her—but only if his kiss moves her to release it.”
    “Silver?” asked Gunnar, suddenly more interested. “Are these branches big?”
    “Big enough that I wish I could climb.” The fellow stretched his forefinger and thumb wide to show the size. “Sadly, I’ve no head for heights. I’d tumble down aswoon before I climbed halfway up. But you look the sort who could manage it.”
    Gunnar glanced from tower to favors and back, but shook his head. “I didn’t come for the tourney. I don’t even have my harness with me.”
    “You don’t want armor anyway, not to climb,” chided the man. “And as for not being part of the tourney, ’tis no matter.