The Fallen One by Kathryn Le Veque

Rosalund strained to catch a
glimpse. “If this is true, then we must go and greet him immediately.”
    Saer couldn’t disagree. He grasped her arm
to steady her as she climbed from the carriage. “I should have known he would
come,” he said. “This tournament is practically in his garden, it ‘tis so
close.   I cannot recall the last time I
saw the man.”
    Rosalund was straightening her gown, her
eyes on the encampment in the distance. “At Christmas,” she reminded her
forgetful husband. “He extended an invitation for us to come to Carlisle Castle
and we did.”
    Saer nodded at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he
said, tugging at the mail that was chaffing his arm pit.   “I remember now.   I also remember there were quite a few children
running about. He has quite a brood now, does he not?”
    “Five children,” Rosalund said, distracted
as she motioned her daughters out of the carriage. “Come along, my girls.   We must greet Cousin Tate.”
    Roxane climbed out, fussing with her hair,
as Cathlina took Abechail in hand and gently helped her out.   Abechail stumbled on the uneven ground but
Cathlina steadied her.   The gentle breeze
blew her pale blue skirt about, and the white shawl waving softly against her
body as she straightened out Abechail’s simply green surcoat with the white
ruffles around the neckline.
    “You look very lovely today,” she told her
little sister. “Are you excited for the games?”
    Abechail nodded, curiously inspecting their
surroundings. “I have never been to a tournament, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “Do men really try to spear each other?”
    “Who told you that?”
    “Rainey,” she replied, referring to their
cook’s young son. “He said men drive big daggers into each other!”
    Cathlina grinned. “He was also the one who
told you that knights cannot see out of their visors.”
    Abechail looked contrite. “Well,” she said
reluctantly. “Some cannot.”
    “That is not true. If they could not see,
they would crash into everything and kill themselves.”
    Abechail simply shrugged and averted her
gaze, fussing with the sleeve of her surcoat.   As far as she was concerned, Rainey knew much more than anyone else,
even though Cathlina knew him to be a little boy with a big imagination.   She stood there a moment, watching her little
sister and thinking there was a good amount of color in her cheeks today.
Usually, Abechail was so pale that to see some color in her face was unusual
indeed.
    The truth was that Abechail still wasn’t
recovered from the near-abduction two days before.   A sickly child even on the best of days, the
struggle had taken something out of her.   Rosalund had been fearful that it might render her weak for days but as
the morning came about, Abechail had been dressed before any of them.   She wasn’t going to allow a misadventure to
spoil her fun.   Besides, she spent most
of her time in bed or resting due to her terrible health.   She wasn’t going to miss today’s tournament
no matter how poorly she felt.
    Which wasn’t too terribly, considering.
Abechail eyed her older sister, knowing that the woman was watching her closely
for any signs of collapse, so it was best to put on a strong front.   Taking Cathlina by the hand, she pulled her
along after their mother as the woman forged a path across the soft, green
meadow towards the crimson tents in the distance.
    As the group of ladies drew close to the
collection of tents, they noticed a fair amount heavily armed soldiers
patrolling the encampment.   When one of
then saw the group of women approach, he went to greet them and to discover
their business.   No sooner had the women
come to a halt than a scream went up in the largest tent and two small blond
boys suddenly charged out.
    The attention shifted from the incoming
visitors to the escaping children. It was evident that the soldiers on patrol
knew what to do, as if fleeing toddlers were the norm in their world.    The