Isobelle leaned backward to open the little gate and let in Jane, who was accompanied by an unholy amount of food. The perfect distraction from the unpleasantness of Whimsitt’s machinations and Ralph’s cool possessiveness.

“Did I miss anything?” Jane asked brightly, squeezing herself in beside Sylvie. Isobelle turned back to find the two knights had passed each other and were slowing once more.

“Nothing,” Sylvie drawled. “Or rather, they missed something. Each other.”

“It’s their first run at it,” said Hilde, ever-forgiving. “They’re just warming up.”

The pair were wheeling around once more to face each other, and Isobelle popped a toffee into her mouth and studied Sir Gawain. His opponent was familiar enough, but the younger knight—for he certainly moved more nimbly than old Sir Evonwald, and his build was slimmer—was a new name to her.

Once more the two horses began to accelerate, and when Sir Evonwald’s lance banged off Sir Gawain’s shield, sending the young challenger reeling back in his saddle, a ragged cheer went up from the crowd.

“Are they against Sir Gawain?” Jane asked, still handing out her snack haul.

“I think they’re for any kind of action,” Sylvie replied.

Isobelle said nothing, still leaning forward and studying Sir Gawain as he shook his arm out, trying to ease the pain of the collision. She wasn’t sure why her attention had fixed on him, but if there was one thing her maid, Olivia, had taught her—and Olivia’s advice was always to be heeded—it was to pay attention to whatever caught your eye. Especially if you didn’t know why.

“Where is Toussaint, anyway?” Hilde asked, thoughtful. “It sounds French, I think?”

“I don’t think it’s going to matter much longer,” Jane replied. “Pity, he at least looks younger than Evonwald. He could’ve been good for some fun! Then again, he’s about to have some spare time on his hands, so . . .”

“You can make anything dirty,” drawled Sylvie.

“I don’t think he’s finished.” Isobelle hadn’t realized she was going to speak until she’d done it.

“What?” Jane asked, doubtful.

“Sir Gawain’s not done yet,” Isobelle murmured. “Just watch.”

On the other side of the lists, a halfhearted attempt to start a wave began, then petered out before any of the girls were required to pretend enthusiasm, though Hilde was already setting her drink down in readiness.

The two knights turned toward each other a third and final time. Sir Evonwald had scored points on Sir Gawain, so it was almost impossible for the younger knight to win now. If he could at least connect with the other man’s shield, then perhaps he could force the fight on to a tiebreaker on foot, with swords.

Sir Gawain’s shield sagged as his horse pushed into a canter, and his body leaned back as though he might slide from his horse.