The fury of his voice matched his expression as he glared from one of them to the other, his eyes forbidding further argument.
“God’s blood, I have had a bellyful of this.” He shook his head in disgust. “I have used peaceful means and failed. I have tried to negotiate a truce between you, but you will not accept it. This poor maiden has been driven mad, and that is not yet enough.” His voice turned frosty. “We will settle this once and for all upon the field of honor. You will decide it with single combat, my lords. A joust, armes à outrance. To the victor the spoils. Is that acceptable?”
Tourelle gave Gaston an assessing glance, then smiled. “Acceptable,” he agreed.
“Aye,” Gaston said with relish, anticipation burning through him.
“No!” Celine turned to the King with a look of dismay. “No, you can’t let them—”
“Milady, the choice is not yours. The challenge has been made and accepted.”
“But it’s not fair! Gaston was injured in the battle with Tourelle’s men, and he’s been locked up without food and water for five days. He’s not in any shape to fight anyone.”
The King raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Gaston. “You shall rest a day and we will meet on the next day at dawn. Will that be acceptable?”
“Aye, my liege.”
“Gaston!” Celine pleaded, turning back to him. “That’s not enough time—”
“There is no choice.” He softened his tone, raising a hand to her cheek. “There are but six days left.”
It was obvious she understood what he meant, though no one else in the chamber might. They had but six days to find her missing bundle and return to his chateau in time for the eclipse. Five, if he rested a day. He dared not take longer than that.
“But I don’t care about that,” she whispered.
“Then it is well that one of us is thinking of your future.” He gave her a grin, but she apparently was in no mood for teasing.
In fact, she looked ready to joust with him herself. “Damn it, you stubborn, reckless—”
He pulled her into his arms again and looked over her head at the King. “My liege, I would ask that my men be allowed to leave, that they might search for this bundle we have spoken of.”
Philippe shrugged. “As you wish.”
“Then we meet on the day after the morrow.” Gaston shifted his gaze to Tourelle, and smiled. “At dawn.”
***
Celine stood beside Royce, trembling with a chill that didn’t come from the morning mist curling around the hem of her cloak. The King had chosen a neutral field a few miles from Tourelle’s chateau, and a sizable crowd had gathered by the time the first pale rays of light had broken over the horizon. The King stood at the center of the spectators, flanked by his royal guards, who formed a blue-and-white neutral zone between Tourelle’s supporters and Gaston’s.
Celine barely glanced at anyone. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the two pavilions that had been set up on the right edge of the field, a few yards apart, their brightly colored pennants fluttering in the breeze. Her heart fluttered almost as wildly.
She kept telling herself there was nothing to worry about. This was just a joust, a ceremonial duel, not one of those insane tournaments like the one in which Gaston’s father and brother had been killed.
But she couldn’t shake her fear that Gaston might get himself seriously hurt.
She had seen him only briefly since their meeting with the King. His idea of “resting” had been to spend all day yesterday preparing for this moment. He and Royce had taken hours selecting and preparing weapons and armor. It had all been very grim and determined and efficient, with no time for feminine interruptions.
Pharaon had been readied as well. The stallion stood outside Gaston’s pavilion, decked out in chain mail and quilted padding and black silks. Someone had even strapped a metal faceplate on him, with a unicorn-style horn in the middle. Prancing and tossing his head, he looked absolutely ferocious. A small boy nervously held the reins, and one of Gaston’s guardsmen stood on the other side, ready to act as squire since Etienne was not available.
Her throat dry, Celine glanced at Tourelle’s pavilion.
The Duc was already outside, strutting around, laughing with his squire. His confidence made Celine uneasy. She wouldn’t put anything past him. Even with the King’s guards supervising all the preparations, he might attempt something underhanded. And it only increased her anxiety to realize how evenly matched he and Gaston were: Tourelle might not be as tall or broad-shouldered as Gaston, but he had a muscular build, several years’ more experience in battle—and he hadn’t spent the last few days in a dungeon.