The woman's words took Deirdre completely by surprise, but the youngster had learned during the last year how to shroud her feelings well. She gave the nun her best smile.

"He's my guardian," she said. "Are the two of you friends?"

"Sir Alexis? No. I've come from my homeland to seek a boon of him."

"Granted," said Deirdre. She had no idea why she'd blurted out that word. For but a faint moment after she said it, she had a sudden suspicion that the woman had magicked on her in some way. But how ridiculous was that notion? Deirdre simply had become far too comfortable doing as she liked. The Fiend wouldn't be reproving of her making a promise in his name, but it wasn't something a child ordinarily would do. Others might judge her differently. And she scolded herself for acting out of her place. Always act normal.

She realized the nun was smiling down at her in the sweetest and most indulgent way.

"You haven't even heard the petition," she said to Deirdre.

"It doesn't matter. Sir Alexis is a pushover." She found herself taking the startled nun by the hand. "Let's go find him and let him know how he's to help you."

"If you insist."

"Oh ... um. What was the name of the family who carries the bull crest? The clan from the Frisian lands?"

The woman gave Deirdre's hand a squeeze as they walked. "They were called de Silva. It's strange that someone might carry that sigil after so much time."

"I'm certain I saw it right," said Deirdre. "But it's a simple design. Maybe someone just adopted it at random."

"That's possible," said the woman. "Or perhaps there's a cadet branch of the family of which I'm unaware. Heraldry hardly is an exact science."

By that time, the two had departed the great pavilion, and Deirdre gave a look around. The Fiend still might be where she had left him, but had he not said something about the tilting fields?

It took but a moment to spy her friend Lady Isabel near the yards, at about a furlong distant. With the foreign beauty was her self-appointed protector, Sir Armand de Bois-Gilbert, a great bulk of a Gheet knight. To her surprise, Sir Armand was talking to none other than the Fiend, who still sported the disguise of Sir Alexis.

"There he is," said Deirdre, pulling the tall nun after her.

The woman made no protest, but neither did she allow herself to be dragged along. The nun's long legs soon had her apace of Deirdre. Before they reached their destination, the faux knight called out to them.

"Tuppence, are you taking holy orders?"

"No," she said. "Mother Ignatia has come all the way from the Frisian lands seeking a favor from you. So, I granted it."

A humorous glint lit the eyes of the creature. When it did, he bowed slightly as the Gheet often did and offered the nun his hand, which she accepted.

"Mother, I apologize for the jest. I'm Alexis de Vere. Tell me how I might serve you."

The nun didn't quite curtsy, but she made a slight genuflection as the clergy sometimes did. Deirdre couldn't make heads or tails of most things religious, but she suspected religious folks were forbidden from truly bowing to the nobility. A slight tilt of her head was the happy compromise.

"Sir Alexis, it's a great boon I seek."

"Already granted," said the faux knight. "Tuppence speaks in my name on such things."

A look of surprise flashed across the face of the lovely cleric. "You do hold a fee near the village of Westering in your cousin's name, I think."

"I am so blessed," said Sir Alexis mildly. "A part of the land once was a priory, the Priory of Saint Elsbeth, if I'm not mistaken."

"It is."

"And you'd like to renew the chapterhouse there."

"Why, yes," the mother superior said. "I know ...."

"It's done," said Alexis. "I've not much in the way of coin, but I'll help in any way I can."

"Oh, good sir, your generosity is ... may the Walking God smile on you."

A grin split the knight's face. "Nonsense, mother. I've sinned much in my days. As I grow older, I grasp at any opportunity to bribe my way out of Perdition. Besides, helping the Holy Church is a duty and a privilege."

For just a moment, Deirdre thought the nun was going to laugh. But the woman was made of tougher stuff.

"Mother," said the fake knight, "this is my comrade at arms, Armand de Bois-Guibert, a great and noble knight. And beside him is my other ward, Lady Isabel. I want you to think of us all as friends and family."

"Are we not all friends and family, those of us who tread in the path of the Walking God?"

"Indeed. But I wonder, Mother Ignatia, how did you find us here in Pepperdine?"

"Just by chance. My ship was to take me to Westport, but a storm forced us to beach not far from here. I thought I might find an escort here in the village."

"Happy circumstance," said Sir Armand. "We go on to Westport from here, and from there on to Pont Salé to join the army. You are more than welcome to accompany us. From there, it should be no trouble at all to convey you and your sisters to Westering."

"Oh, I travel alone," said the nun.

"In these dangerous times?" said Armand. "You have great faith, sister."

"We're nuns, not warriors, sir knight. A dozen would be no more proof against bandits than one. I merely came first to blaze the trail."

"Have you made arrangements?" Deirdre asked her.

"For accommodations? I'm sure the local abbey will have space for a weary traveler."

"That's 10 leagues distant," said Alexis. "Tuppence will show you the way to my pavilion."

"Sir Alexis, I couldn't possibly ...."

The Fiend gave Deirdre a playful wink. "Nonsense. I'm a hedge knight. It's time for me to live up to my name."

Deirdre, considering the issue decided, took the nun in hand and began to steer her toward their nearby campsite.

"Oh, and Tuppence, do come back when you have the mother situated."

She felt a surge of energy. "Are you jousting, today?"

"I am, and I don't want you to miss it."

With that happy thought, Deirdre led the nun onward, a new spring in her stride.

***

The trip south from Proxima Thule had been thoroughly without incident but imagine Isabel's surprise when, at the first village at which they stopped in Albion, they encountered Alexis de Vere. The reunion had filled her with great joy and comfort, and the knight had been their travelling companion since.

And, of course, he just now had given up his accommodations to an itinerant nun. Self-sacrifice was part of the very fabric of what Sir Alexis was.

It didn't even trouble her overly much when he announced that he would be entering the lists that afternoon. Alexis was a fearsome fighter, a man who seemed virtually indestructible. Or perhaps Isabel was just growing accustomed to the violence in this land. It was difficult to say.

The first hour after midday was spent watching Alexis and Armand run their beautiful coursers through their paces at the tilting fields. There were several dozen other knights present, and it was quite the spectacle. She'd seen mounted knights fight in this land before, on many occasions, but she'd never been so confident in the outcome of events.

Her two companions were praiseworthy fighters and such unusually good men.

Deirdre returned not long after, having helped the tall and thin mother superior situate herself in Alexis's tent. Such a generous man, a veritable saint. Thereafter, she, Deirdre, and two young noble ladies they had met the previous day, Antoinette and Constance de Sable, adjourned to the stands to find good seats for the festivities.

The planting festival was not a tourney, per se, but it seemed that whenever the aristocracy gathered for even the most casual reason a tilting match was organized. It was the way the men of this land were. Who was she to say?

With most of the fighting men in the country off with the army, this would be a modest affair. It was not uncommon for tourneys to have a hundred or more participants. This event looked to have only a few dozen.

After they took their seats, the de Sable sisters began teasing Deirdre for the friendly wave that she gave one of the knights in attendance, a man with a golden bull emblazoned on his shield. The young Surrey lass took the teasing properly well.

"He seemed lost, so I steered him toward the tourney grounds," she explained. "We wouldn't want the fellow missing out on his chance at glory."

For her part, Isabel scarcely had gotten a look at the man. His helmet was on and his visor down, although the tourney was not yet ready to begin.

But that was no time at all. In the interim, Deirdre ran to fetch ale and biscuits for the four of them, and Isabel listened to the local gossip. The de Sable sisters were daughters of a local official, and, as was common among the ladies of the gentry, much of their chitchat was about marriage and engagement. Isabel did her best to follow the conversation, though it interested her not at all.

To Isabel's surprise, Deirdre seemed quite keen on listening to the gossip of the various knights gathered that day to compete. All save a few were local nobles, and all were well known to the sisters. Deirdre followed the conversation with rapt attention.

The Surrey girl showed more interest in the masculine gender during their wait for the tourney horn than she had since Isabel had known her. Perhaps Isabel's friend finally had made her decision to find a young man?

The great horn nearly gave her a start when finally the marshal of the tourney sounded it, and moments later the first of the knights came at each other in a thunder of hooves and a clash of lance on shield. Though both riders were shaken, neither left their mounts. It was four more sets of shattered lances before the issue was decided. Sir Ector Lampley—if Isabel understood the name correctly—was the victor.

All throughout the series of passes, Antoinette and Constance heaped cries of praise and ... well, they didn't quite ridicule the knights for their performance. No, but there was a fair amount of loud and somewhat unladylike chiding from the two sisters. At times, the two veritably bellowed their disappointment at an opportunity squandered or a blow poorly cast. They young women were veritable aficionados of jousting and seemed to understand what was going on in the lists as well as the knights themselves.

Several more pairs came and went, with the sisters calling and critiquing the performance of each knight. On two occasions defeated knights led their horses past and in playful tones sought the counsel of the young women on how they might do better next time.

It was all sweet and was in quite good fun. But Isabel had attended enough such get-togethers to know that, as the afternoon passed, the competition would begin in earnest.

It most assuredly did.

She was an outsider, so Isabel was able to ask questions at which others might have laughed. Her queries to the sisters bore fruit. It seemed that all of the knights jousting that day, mostly the very young and very old, all knew each other and were familiar with the skills of their competitors.

Alexis and Armand were outsiders and also men of great reputations in war and peace. Those two and another outsider, the knight of the bull shield, were the opponents against whom each of the local knights wished to test their mettle.

That testing came soon enough. Armand was next in the lists, and he went against a tall young knight named Sir Dexter, who the sisters assured her was one of the most promising young soldiers in the county.

The fellow didn't look so promising when Sir Armand knocked him from his horse on the first pass. Naturally, some time later, when Alexis met another young knight, the result was the same. Her friend and protector unhorsed his opponent with such ease that it was like swatting at a fly.

The number of riders was so small that their numbers were whittled down to the final four in very short order. Along with Alexis and Armand, the remaining contestants were the knight with the bull shield and an older knight who was an uncle to the de Sable sisters.

Armand defeated her companion's uncle only after the breaking of a half dozen lances. It was a thrilling and exciting set of passes that had the crowd standing on its feet and howling with delight.

The tilting between Sir Alexis and the bull knight was no less captivating. They broke seven pairs of lances against one another without either showing signs of defeat. On the eighth pass between them, Alexis struck his opponent such a powerful blow that it nearly hammered the man from his saddle.

It seemed as if the ninth pass would be the final clash between the men. But when Sir Alexis wheeled his mount to return to his mark, his shield dropped to expose an enormous shard from his opponent's lance that was protruding from the gap where Sir Alexis's breastplate met his pauldron.

Isabel nearly fainted.