A Dishonorable Knight(70)

Elena was torn between being indignant and grabbing up the rope. Gareth seemed to sense how she felt because he leaned closer and touched her elbow.

"This is Wales, Elena. You can do whatever you want and not worry about what people will think."

Elena wavered a mere second. "I would like to try it."

Gareth grinned and pulled her up. "Well, come on then. Here Cynan," he said, handing over his mug. "Elena's going to see if she has any Viking blood in her."

"No, I'm going to test my balance. There are no Norse in my family."

Cynan laughed. "With as much raiding, looting and ra--er, uh, pillaging as they did, everyone has a little Viking blood!"

Elena's eyes widened at his reference, but Gareth quickly distracted her by pulling her towards one of the stumps and putting the rope end in her hand. He shooed off the children who were clambering on the stumps. Lifting her skirts, Elena climbed up on the nearest stump.

"Be there any lass who'd like to try her hand at the rope?" he called out.

Aldred, the first man Elena had watched was leaning against a nearby booth. "Are you so tired you can't best a man? You must now take on the women?" he yelled mockingly.

"More like he's found no worthy challenger amongst you men and he knows a woman will give him more fight!" said a sassy young woman of fifteen or sixteen as she climbed up on the opposite stump. The nearby crowd laughed at her remark and Aldred flushed, but laughed as well.

"No, no," Gareth jokingly admonished. "We've a newcomer who'd like to learn," he said as he handed the girl her end of the rope. "Are you ready, Elena?"

"I guess so."

"Crouch down. There you go. Now remember to use your arms, not your whole body. Are you ready?" he asked the girl who nodded and smiled encouragingly at Elena. "Very well. One, two, three, pull!"

Elena felt the rope being pulled out of her hands and when she grabbed it tightly, she found herself being pulled neatly off the stump. The crowd laughed good-naturedly, but Elena was embarrassed nonetheless.

"Don't worry," Gareth reassured. "That was only your first time. Here, try it again," he said as he retrieved her end of the rope. "Do you mind?" he asked the girl.

"Of course not." Calling to Elena, she said, "Don't think about your rope, miss. Just think on sticking like pitch to the log."

Elena nodded and stepped back up on her stump. Crouching down, she stared at a point on the ground and thought, Stay on the stump! Stay on the stump! When Gareth called out the count, she grabbed up as much of the excess rope as she could and began tugging, all the while staring at the point on the ground and concentrating on keeping her feet on the stump. Within a minute, she had pulled down her opponent and the gained the cheers of the crowd. The girl skipped over to Elena and said, "Well met! You're a natural!"

"Thank you," Elena said awkwardly as she started to step down.

"Not so fast," said Gareth. "You've got another challenger." Surprised, Elena looked up to see a young woman a year or two older than herself climb on the stump.

She easily defeated her second and third challengers, but by then her arms, unaccustomed to such vigorous play, were shaking with exhaustion and the forth opponent bested her.

"Excellent job!" said Gareth as she sat down. He handed her his mug of ale and when she had caught her breath, she took several ladylike sips of the sharp-tasting but cold brew. "Well, what do you think of our game?" he asked when she handed his mug back to him.

"I think the girls back at court would love it!" Seeing Cynan look sharply at Gareth and misunderstanding its meaning, she hastened to explain. "We are not always proper and stuffy, you know. We play games and have fun, too. Why, even Lady Elizabeth plays tag with us."

"Of course," said Gareth, shaking his head at Cynan.

The trio sat in silence for several minutes just watching the crush of people who were milling about the square. The sun had set and torches were being lit at each merchant booth. Their flickering light gave everything a dreamlike quality. The smoke from the pitch torches mingled with the scent of food cooking, the smell of hard-earned sweat, and the salty tang of the nearby sea. Somewhere in one of the enclosed taverns, a lute and recorder played a lively tune to the accompanying beat of an Irish bohdrin.

Elena inhaled deeply and sighed with contentment. She felt utterly comfortable and happy. Happy? she thought with a start. What was there here to make her happy? There certainly were no grand feasts of state with adoring men to flatter and cajole her. She had none of her beautiful gowns or precious jewelry give to her by her mother. There were no waiting maids to brush out her long hair or help her bathe. In fact, Elena could not remember the last time she had really bathed. Splashing around in a stream could not replace a barrel full of hot water and scented soap. Why she should be happy at this odd moment was a mystery to her, but as Elena sat on the hard wooden bench with the narrow slats of the back pressing against her ribs and Gareth's arm lightly brushing her, she decided that she was truly happy at this moment. As a matter of fact, she didn't even remember the grease stain on her skirt.