The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi

Author:Alex de Campi [Campi, Alex de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781783528493
Publisher: Unbound
Published: 2020-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

Rather than go back to the tent, Harry drags Iain to the market area outside the knights’ enclosure, babbling excitedly to him about how this draw means that he’ll be fighting against extremely prestigious but not very skilled opponents, and that with luck he can place very high off his first day.

Iain just smiles at him, fondly.

They buy two new shields and put an order in for lances, and then get huge plates of roast beef and bread and gravy, and tankards of ale, at an open-air tavern set up right in the middle of the market field. They’re both happy and exhausted and a little drunk, and Harry thinks, gazing at Iain across the table from him, that everything might just turn out well.

Then he hears his name called, from the edge of the tavern enclosure.

It’s Lady Alys de Morton, elegant in a long lavender overtunic with the teal-blue sleeves of her dress underneath showing. She’s walking with two other courtly ladies.

Harry stands up immediately and strides over. The two ladies, a blonde and a redhead, giggle to each other behind their hands.

‘Alys,’ he says. ‘I’d hoped you’d be here.’

‘Harry,’ she admonishes. ‘Everyone is here.’

‘And you manage to look more elegant in the middle of a field than most ladies do at court,’ Harry says, then hastily corrects himself. ‘You all look elegant.’

This causes more giggling from Alys’s friends.

‘We’re late to supper, but I’d love to catch up,’ Alys says. ‘When are you competing?’

Harry smiles, bashful. ‘I’m in the opening mêlée. Fighting against the King, but one can’t have everything.’

‘Ooh,’ Alys says, placing a small, pale hand to her chest. ‘Are you very good?’

‘Just look at him,’ Alys’s blonde friend simpers.

Harry shrugs. ‘I try.’

‘I think I shall place the most enormous bet on you. Don’t lose,’ Alys grins, waving as she and her friends depart with perfect, unhurried footsteps.

Harry turns around to go back to his seat, but Iain and the two new shields are gone.

When Harry gets back to the pavilion and can’t find Iain there either, he begins to panic.

But then he sees the new shields resting against the cart. He looks in the cart, and Iain’s curled up on its rough wood boards, snuggled under his cloak.

He pokes his squire. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Iain.’

Iain glares at him. ‘Leave me alone.’

Harry rolls his eyes. ‘It’s cold out here, there’s a pallet in the tent, and I’m getting you up at Lauds to spar so I suggest you pick the option that allows you decent sleep, rather than spending a miserable night playing martyr in the bottom of a cart. Besides, imagine your devotional pictures. A palm leaf in one hand and the splinter that pierced your bottom in the other.’

Iain sits up, still cocooned in his cloak. ‘I hate you,’ he says.

‘Well,’ Harry mutters, holding open the flap of the pavilion, ‘we’re not here to be nice. We’re here to win. Also, it looks like rain.’

Iain stalks in and throws himself on the small pallet, putting himself as far over to one edge as he possibly can.

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