The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(179)

“Give me some wine, Sergio, will you?” He held out a hand.

“Do you think you will have time, Milord?”

“Oh yes.” D’Altavilla eyed the two sturdy knights who had taken up positions on opposite ends of the fields. “They’ll go at each other for a good, long while. And there are two other pairs up after them, before it’s my turn.”

“Of course, Milord. Here you go.”

Sergio held up a leather wine bottle, and Lord d’Altavilla lifted it greedily to his mouth. “Ah! The heat is killing me!”

“Indeed, Milord. It is not pleasant.”

“Especially not if you’re boiling in this tin!” D’Altavilla tapped his armor.

A crash sounded behind them. Glancing up, d’Altavilla saw the two knights collide. Both were thrown back in their saddles, but neither fell.

“Care for a little wager?” asked another knight waiting at the sidelines. “How many runs do you think they’ll make? Two or three?”

“Three,” d’Altavilla answered without hesitation.

“Are you sure? That one seems to have a pretty strong arm to me.”

“I’m sure.”

“Sure enough for ten silver Thalers?”

“Twenty.”

“Done!”

The knights turned around for their second round. D’Altavilla’s new acquaintance watched with baited breath, but Lord d’Altavilla himself did not even glance up. He was not just an expert fighter, but an expert judge of abilities, too. When, a moment later, a crash sounded and a disappointed “ohhh” rose from the crowd as both knights still remained in the saddle, it did not take him by surprise.

He held out his hand.

The other knight cleared his throat. “Um…I do not have it on me. I—“

Without looking, Lord d’Altavilla’s hand shot out and closed around the man’s neck. He was not wearing a bevor—stupid! But that made things easier. Pulling him forward, d’Altavilla squeezed.

“I…rg…I just remembered…here! I have a purse here!”

“Good.”

D’Altavilla lightened his grip, but only slightly. Extending his other hand, he caught the purse the man threw at him and then let him go. Gasping, the man fell back onto his horse.

“A little friendly advice for the future,” d’Altavilla told him. “Do not make bets with me you cannot keep. You would not like to see me angry.”

“Sir Claude de Rémi, against Sir Reuben von Limburg!”

D’Altavilla’s ears perked up at the call. So…the boy was going for his first fight, was he? He probably would get more than a few scratches on that pretty armor of his.

“Care for another bet?” he asked the knight beside him with a smirk.

The man shook his head frantically.

“Didn’t think so.” D’Altavilla snorted. “Well, it’s a little too obvious how this fight will turn out anyway.”

Beside him, Sergio chuckled. “Indeed, Milord.”

“Will he hold himself in the saddle during the first run, do you think?”

“I doubt it, Milord.”

“So do I.”

“Laissiez-les aller!” called the herald in the background. Hooves began to thunder. Neither d’Altavilla nor Sergio deigned to look up, though.

“It would be a pity, though,” the servant mused, “if he doesn’t make it through. It will deprive your Lordship of the pleasure of skewering him with your lance.”

“True.” D’Altavilla gave a short, sharp laugh. “I should have challenged him to a duel after all! What I fool I was, thinking I’d get the chance to fight him in the tournament! He’ll be on the ground in a second.”

D’Altavilla’s squire, who had been the only one watching the joust, cleared his throat. “I rather doubt that, Milord. Actually, I think—“

Crash!

The sound of metal on metal ripped through the air. Then came a whooshing sound. Sergio and d’Altavilla turned just in time to see the armored body of Sir Claude de Rémi slam into the ground with enough force to bend metal.

For a few moments, silence reigned. Then the crowd all around erupted in to cheers.

“Reu-ben! Reu-ben! Reu-ben!”

Lord d’Altavilla stared at the prone figure of Sir Claude. Then, slowly, his eyes lifted towards where Sir Reuben von Limburg was just executing a smooth turn before galloping back up the lists.

“I declare Sir Reuben the winner of the joust!” called the herald. “Next pair!”

“A lucky strike,” Lord d’Altavilla said. “It had to be.”

“Of course, Milord,” Sergio hurriedly assured. But he wouldn’t meet Lord d’Altavilla’s eyes. His lordship took another good look at Sir Reuben. He had reined in his horse at the end of the lists and slid out of the saddle with an easy grace that didn’t exactly fit the idea of a novice fighter. The heavy lance with which he’d struck down Sir Claude he held easily in one hand.

“A lucky strike,” murmured Lord d’Altavilla again. “It had to be!”

The next two fights passed in tense silence. When the herald finally called “Lord d’Altavilla against Sir Richard de Morville!”