Some unspoken agreement seemed to hold them all back, but when the man stepped away, all bets were off. The mass of bodies descended on where he had been, presenting the girls with a solid wall of backs.

“Stay here,” murmured Gwen, turning and squaring her jaw. Then, after a pause, she added, “Though if I’m not out in five minutes, send help.”

Isobelle was so busy watching Gwen disappear into the seething crowd that she startled when a voice came from behind her.

“So keen, my lady, to find out who your new husband will be?”

She whirled around and found Sir Ralph, well—she didn’t like to use the word, even in her head, but there was no avoiding it: he was leering down at her. She took a step back before she could stop herself.

“I suppose it’s natural for you to speculate,” he continued. “But daydreaming won’t hurry the day along. You must be patient.”

The silence that followed as Isobelle searched in vain for a reply was disrupted by a familiar, but most unladylike, shout from near the pillar itself, and a ripple went through the group of men. Then the mass of bodies spat out Gwen.

She emerged between a pair of squires and nearly ricocheted off the barrier erected to keep the crowd of spectators away from the joust. But where she ought to have lifted her head to search for her companion, instead she just gripped the fence with both hands, head bowed as she tried to catch her breath. Or recover from some deeply damaging blow.

Isobelle simply turned her back on Sir Ralph, hurrying over to push her way in beside Gwen, ducking her head to get a look at the other girl’s face. Every line of Gwen had become familiar to her these last days, but she had never seen her look like this before. There was a blankness to her expression, as though she weren’t Gwen at all, but a statue of her, the spark of life simply gone from her face.

“It’s over,” Gwen said softly. “It’s over, before I’ve ever had a chance to try. We’re done, Isobelle.”

Ice slithered down Isobelle’s spine. Archer’s papers had looked perfect; how could this be? Olivia had said they would work, and Olivia was never wrong.

How much danger was Gwen in? Were they looking for Sir Gawain even now?

Her body took over. She took Gwen’s arm and led her, unresisting, away from the scrum around the newly announced tournament brackets. This was clearly a conversation best had without witnesses, and given she was the prize these men were fighting for, the odds of someone blundering up for another obnoxious chat in the next minute or two were high.