Read Online Mary Reed McCall by Secret Vows - Free Book Online Page B

distance from the field where the mélée was being assembled. Several ladies and the few older lords who sat as spectators viewed her surreptitiously as she passed. Because of her husband’s position, she knew that none would use outward ill manners, but it was clear that they were curious about the woman who’d wed the powerful Baron Grayson de Camville.
    She recognized a few guests from the brief introductions she’d received during the wedding feast yesterday. Lady Mandeville sat at one end of the pavilion. She was surrounded by her ladies, all in varying hues of pink, while she herself was swathed in what seemed to be yards of heavy crimson fabric. Only the force of a breeze that had developed in the past half-hour seemed to prevent the lady, draped in excessive silk, from succumbing to a swoon.
    The Countess avoided Catherine’s gaze, but a younger woman nearby smiled shyly. Nodding in return, Catherine tried to remember her name. Lady Margaret of Haverford, that was it. She murmured some pleasantries to her as she edged past toward her seat in the front of the spectators.
    Catherine settled onto the padded bench, uncertain what to do next. She’d never witnessed a tournament before; both her father and Geoffrey had been too ashamed of her to allow her attendance atthem. As she glanced discreetly to her right, she saw Eleanor de Valianne waving a silken cloth at a knight riding past. Fascinated, Catherine watched as the gallant stopped to acknowledge the gesture. With a flourish, he tipped his spear, accepting the bit of silk from Eleanor, before riding off to join the ranks gathering on the northern side of the field.
    The chivalric display made a pit open in Catherine’s stomach. Quickly, she sat up straighter, scolding herself for a fool. ’Twas futile to wish for what could never be. She’d learned long ago that she’d never be first in any man’s heart.
    Someone nudged her arm, sparing her further self-disparagement. “Have you a token for Lord Camville, lady? He will undoubtedly take the field soon.”
    Turning, she looked into the wrinkled, kind face of William de Bergh, one of the king’s assistant justiciars. He’d taken the seat next to her, and for some reason, seeing him made her feel more at ease. As with all of Ravenslock’s guests, she’d met him briefly during the wedding feast, and she’d noticed that Grayson had seemed fond of the old man. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “What did you say?”
    He smiled and patted her hand. “You should prepare a token, Lady Camville. Ready a favor to present to your lord husband when he comes onto the field.”
    Catherine’s throat felt like it was going to close. “Me, offer him a token?” she croaked. “But what shall I give? I brought nothing—”
    The sound of trumpets broke into her speech, followed by a rumbling so fierce, she thought the pavilion must fall with the reverberation of it. Threescore knights thundered onto the far end of the field, led by a magnificent figure atop a steel gray stallion. The squire riding next to him held high an azure banner that flapped in the wind.
    As the pennant unfurled and snapped, Catherine squinted and caught sight of an emblazoned gold eagle with wings outstretched, a thunderbolt clasped in its hooked beak. The same design decorated the blue samite tunic the powerful knight wore over his hauberk, as well as the shield strapped onto his left forearm.
    A thrill of shock went through her. ’Twas her husband’s device—and it was Grayson himself who led these warriors across the green. He was still too distant for her to see his expression clearly, though Catherine could now identify his form. His powerful stature and dark hair gave him away. Many of the men who rode behind him wore mail coifs and helms that left only their faces visible, but Grayson’s head was bare, allowing his hair to flow free to his shoulders and whip in the wind.
    “Lord of the Storm,” William murmured next to her.