All that strength, all that steel, vanished in an instant as every drop of blood drained from Alex’s body. For one horrible moment, he thought Felton wouldn’t be able to stop the downward motion of his sword before he saw her.

Alex lunged forward, bloody well knowing it was useless. There was nothing he could do—no way to pull her to safety before . . .

Felton jerked to an abrupt stop, looking as pale as Alex probably did.

Apparently oblivious to the danger she’d narrowly avoided, Joan was clapping delightedly. She shot him a glance before turning her full attention on Felton.

Maybe not so oblivious, he realized. The look she’d given him had been filled with concern. She was worried about him; that was why she’d put herself at risk.

“Bravo, bravo! That was magnificent, Sir Robert.” She gave the other man a dazzling smile. “That was quite a show. My cousin told me that you were one of the best knights in Christendom, and now I see she did not exaggerate.”

As Felton was momentarily confused, it took him a moment to respond. He puffed up like a rooster, obviously more than happy to go along with her pretense that he’d gotten the best of Alex.

Bloody hell, did she think him in need of rescue? And why did the very thought make his teeth grind together and Alex want to reach for his sword to prove her wrong?

Joan’s cousin had come up behind her. “Oh yes, it was wonderful,” Lady Margaret said. “But I hope we did not disturb your practice.”

While Felton gallantly assured her that they had not, and the two women continued to fawn, Alex stewed.

What the hell were they doing here anyway?

He had his answer when the farcical party on the practice yard grew even larger with the arrival of Sir Hugh Despenser and his retinue.

“There you are,” the young knight boomed, striding forward with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal prince. He even dressed like a prince in heavy velvets embroidered with gold, decorated with jewels, and (oblivious to the heat) lined with furs. Set around his mantle was a thick gold chain with a garishly large emerald pendant in the middle that Alex suspected had been a gift from the king. “I hope the ladies did not disrupt your training, Sir Robert,” Despenser said to Felton.

Felton gave the other man a polite nod of greeting, but Alex suspected that Felton didn’t like the arrogant young peacock any more than he himself did.

Despenser personified everything Alex despised about the English: he was haughty, condescending, and solely concerned with his own advancement.

What the hell did she see in him?

Besides the obvious. As much as Alex disliked the other man, he couldn’t deny that he was fair of face. If you liked men who were pretty as a lass.