Page 53 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Er … Yes,’ said Gwen, giving her an apologetic grimace.

‘Well, you did a really awful job of pretending,’ said Adah cheerfully. ‘I knew you weren’treallyLeclair’s cousin. Anyway – yours is the merlin, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Gwen said. ‘He hates me.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Adah said, smiling again. ‘He hates everybody. Equal-opportunity loathing. I’ll fetch him, and we can remind him that you’re the keeper of the snacks.’

She went in search of Rowan to claim Beowulf; left alone, Gwen was equal parts relieved and terrified to see Bridget walking across the yard towards her, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a simple, dark green dress. Somebody – surely not hersquire, but then, who else? – had braided most of her hair, so that it was pulled back from her face.

‘Good morning. Feeling sore?’ she said, immediately upon reaching Gwen.

‘What?’ Gwen said, startled.

‘From the training yard,’ Bridget said slowly. ‘You must ache.’

‘Oh! Oh, yes,’ Gwen said, extending her hand and making a small circle with her wrist. ‘A little.’

She had ached quite a lot, actually. Muscles she hadn’t known existed seemed to have been torn asunder by just an hour or two of activity, leaving her stiff and wincing for days. But each twinge had reminded her of Bridget’s hand on hers – Bridget raising an eyebrow and granting her small smiles when she had done something right, Bridget’s swordpoint kissing her chin – so Gwen had treasured them as souvenirs.

‘You should stretch,’ Bridget said, reaching for Gwen’s hand and then pausing at the last second. ‘May I?’

‘Er,’ Gwen squeaked. ‘Yes?’

‘Like this,’ Bridget said, gently bending Gwen’s hand back until Gwen let out a hiss from between her teeth. ‘Sorry. Does that hurt?’

‘No,’ Gwen lied. ‘It feels good.’ The second part, at least, was true.

‘I was told I could acquire a bird,’ Bridget said, letting go of her hand and glancing over at the falconer’s assistants, who were bringing out various disgruntled-looking hawks and matching them to temporary owners. ‘Well. I was toldknightscould acquire a bird. They most certainly didn’t mean me, but I have them cornered on a technicality.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ Gwen said. ‘You can fly mine. He hates me.’

‘Enough with the dramatics,’ said Adah; she had returnedwith Beowulf on her arm, and Gwen took a step away from him instinctively. ‘Morning, Leclair. Listen, your highness – he’s a bird. His only requirements for feeling absolutely neutral towards you are that you feed him, and you’re not a much larger bird who might try to kick his arse. He doesn’t hate you.’ Delivered by anybody else, this may have felt like a scolding, but it was all said with warmth and good humour. Beowulf, on the other hand, was looking decidedly less friendly.

Over in the centre of the yard her father was comfortably supporting his enormous gyrfalcon, Viviane. He must have given some signal to the gathered crowd, because all at once they started making their way towards the drawbridge across the north side of the moat, led by the exuberant hounds. At a different time of year they would have been able to begin their hunt from almost right outside the castle walls, but the tournament grounds and the large area set aside for visiting participants and spectators to camp had split the land beyond the castle; a copse of trees, which expanded into a proper forest the further they travelled north, formed a natural barrier between the campgrounds to the left and the open meadows to the right. The falconer and his men were trying valiantly to keep the birds happy and calm as they walked towards the woods; Beowulf seemed perfectly content to sit on Adah’s arm and glare.

‘I’ve never seen so many people come for the tournament,’ Gwen said, nodding towards the spectators’ camp through the trees.

‘Me neither,’ said Bridget, frowning at the closely packed tents thronging with people. She looked pinched, as if inpain; Gwen wondered if she had slept poorly the night before, or if it was just her natural reaction to wearing a dress. ‘I wonder what has made the difference.’

‘I don’t know,’ Gwen said, shrugging. ‘Perhaps it’s all for Gabriel. The older he gets without being betrothed or married, the more fascinating he seems to be. Everybody wants to catch a glimpse of him.’

‘Perhaps they come to catch a glimpse of you,’ Bridget said, and Gwen snorted.

‘Right. BecauseI’mso fascinating.’

It dangled in the air between them, but Bridget didn’t take the bait; she seemed suddenly distracted, her jaw tense.

‘They’ve come to see the first woman to win the whole damned thing,’ Adah said, and Bridget flashed her a quick smile that Gwen wished she could have earned instead.

When they reached the dark, mossy hush of the deeper woods, Adah was just trying to convince Gwen to put on a glove and fly Beowulf herself when the queen appeared at Gwen’s side, putting her hand gently but firmly on her shoulder.

‘You’re needed, Gwendoline,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said Gwen, ‘but – Mother, Lady Leclair is just going to borrow my bird—’

‘That’s fine,’ said her mother, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘She can borrow the bird, and I can borrow you.’

Gwen grimaced at Bridget, whose face remained politely blank, and then allowed her mother to guide her away towards the Duke of Lancaster’s daughters, who werewhispering together in a tightly knit flock. Gabriel was as far away as possible, talking to their father.