Tori Phillips (37 page)

Celeste stared at it mutely, not daring to move or speak, lest the apparition disappear. Walter Ormond stood over the body of his father in angry disbelief as the trio drew abreast of him.

The tall central figure, clad in brilliant silver armor, wore the winged heart on his fluted helm. On his war shield, three blue forget-me-nots gleamed with new-painted brightness. His charcoal gray destrier pranced, flapping his trailing saddlecloths, on which a legion of winged hearts took flight. The two squires on either side of the knight, one almost as tall as his master, wore short white satin doublets, with the winged heart on their chests, and tight white silken hose. Most amazing of all, both squires were masked.

The Knight of the Loyal Heart pointed his lance tip at Walter, then turned to Celeste and bowed to her from his waist. Trembling, she returned her savior’s salute.

“Who comes upon the field of honor?” the earl of Thornbury, called across the arena. The crowd stilled again, eager to hear what the mysterious knight would answer.

The squire holding the banner replied. “I have the honor to present the Knight of the Loyal Heart. He has come to do battle for the hand of the Lady Celeste.”

“No!” screamed Walter, shaking his sword, which still dripped with his father’s gore. “She’s mine! She has always been mine by right.”

“Silence, Walter Ormond!” roared the king of arms. “Is the stranger knight a true knight?” he asked the mysterious squire.

Under his half mask, the first squire smiled. “Aye, my lord. He swore the oath of chivalry eight years ago. Our noble king, Great Harry himself, buckled on his spurs and dubbed him Knight of the Realm.”

“Then you are welcome, Knight of the Loyal Heart,” replied the earl.

“And doubly so,” murmured his countess in Celeste’s ear.

“No!” shrieked Walter. “This tournament is dissolved! Everyone depart this place! Begone!”

“’Tis not your right to dissolve this day’s proceedings, Walter Ormond.” The earl’s deep voice rolled over all present. “That right belonged to your father. And passed from him to me. You are challenged by this knight. What say you?”

“I say you may be damned to hell!” Walter shouted back.

“Mark me, Ormond,” boomed the earl. “If you deny the challenge, then I, as your overlord, will place you and your minions under arrest for the unlawful death of your sire, here witnessed by me and by these other judges, and your lands will be forfeit to me.” The four judges on either side of the earl nodded their agreement. “For you slew your father unfairly from behind and on his blind flank. As one who is not a knight and therefore has no noble rank, you will be punished as a commoner and I, as your judge, will see that your execution will be long and painfull.”

Walter’s knees trembled at this pronouncement, though he stood his ground. For the first time today, a spark of hope lit up Celeste’s soul.

The earl continued in his deep voice. “This knight does you more honor than you deserve, varlet. If you accept his challenge, you might escape your just punishment. The decision is yours, but make haste. The pallid sun waits for no man”

Walter licked his lips as he stared up at the imposing, silent knight astride the restless horse. He cast an evil glance at Celeste, then threw down his gauntlet next to his father’s cooling body. “I accept the challenge,” he snarled.

The first squire then spoke to Celeste. “Lady Celeste de Montcalm, if the Knight of the Loyal Heart is the victor, will you accept him as your husband and lord, and will you wed him this night?”

Everyone around the palisade and in the stands looked at Celeste. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. She glanced down at Sir Roger’s body, then at his murderer, above it. Finally she returned her gaze to the heart-helmed knight before her.

Celeste cleared her throat, so that all the world could hear her answer.
“Oui
, I accept this knight if he wins,” she proclaimed.
Please win!

The knight extended the tip of his lance to her. Its sharp point glinted wickedly.

“Your favor,” prompted the countess beside her in a whisper.

From her inner sleeve, Celeste withdrew the scrap of blue silk and attached it to the lance tip. With it went her silent prayer. The knight bowed again as he withdrew the lance.

“Merci,
my lady,” the first squire responded in French. “As you see, I have kept my promise. We have met again on Saint Stephen’s Day, though not under the conditions my lord expected. For the death of Sir Roger Ormond, we are sorry.”

Celeste could not trust herself to speak, lest she disgrace herself by bursting into tears. Instead, she nodded. The three horsemen saluted her, then wheeled their mounts to the far end of the ring. As Celeste watched them, she recognized the second squire’s horse. Black Devil!
Mon Dieu!
Could that be Gaston hiding behind the mask of the second squire? She wished she had looked closer at him.

Talbott, his face wet with tears for his slain
master,
hurried down the steps and directed the solemn removal of Sir Roger’s body. As he passed Walter, the steward spat in the mud at his feet. Walter appeared to be too perturbed to notice the insult. Deighton grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward his horse, at the near end.

“What weapons?” the king of arms called across the arena.

The challenger remained silent. The spectators turned toward Walter.

“Sharpened lances and swords, and may the devil take the hindmost!” Walter swung himself into the saddle.

“First blood?” intoned the earl, this time looking at the silent knight.

“Agreed!” answered the first squire.

“No!” Walter screamed. “I crave his heart, with or without wings, for my supper!”

“First blood only,” ruled the earl. “Commence at the sound of the trumpet.”

Sweet Jesu, protect my knight, Celeste prayed.
Please deliver me from Walter Ormond.

“Walter will try to kill him,” she said aloud to Lady Alicia.

“I know,” the countess answered grimly, never taking her eyes off the mysterious knight. “We must pray that God rides with your champion.”

Walter took up a fresh lance, then snapped his visor shut. At the other end of the arena, the mysterious knight tucked Celeste’s veil inside his gauntlet, then raised his lance to signify his readiness. Walter lifted his lance in the air, and the heralds blew a three-note tattoo. Both horses sprang forward.

Celeste wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t dare. Beside her, Lady Alicia drew in her breath as the two opponents thundered down the course, along the barrier. On the first pass, Walter ducked under the knight’s lance. The crowd hissed and booed at him as he rounded the far turn. On the second pass, the knight aimed his lance lower, almost under his shield.

Celeste’s breath caught in her throat at the moment of impact. The jarring sound shimmered the air in front of her eyes; then it seemed to crack into a spider’s web of pieces. When her vision cleared, she saw that Walter lay on the ground. Deighton and one of the marshals ran up to him. The challenger retired to the far end of the ring and waited.

Standing, the marshal faced the king of arms. “There’s no breath left in him, my lord, and blood springs from his mouth and nose.”

Celeste pulled herself up to a standing position. She gave Lady Alicia a weak smile as the matron joined her. Be a worthy prize, the countess had told her earlier. The cost had been high, and it was one Celeste knew she would never forget. She prayed God that the price had been worth it.

“First blood has been drawn, and justice served by the hand of the Almighty,” the earl intoned as Walter’s body was dragged away. “Sir Knight, you may claim the lady.”

As the Knight of the Loyal Heart rode to the base of the stand, Celeste swallowed hard. All her life she had dreamed of something like this happening to her. Today she had discovered that dreams could turn into nightmares. What would the next few minutes bring?

The squires helped the knight dismount, then held the reins of his magnificent charger as he walked slowly up the stairs. Celeste’s knees quivered as he drew nearer. Oh, la, la! The man was a giant! The golden tips of the wings on his helm scraped the top of the pavilion.

The knight pulled off one gauntlet, then the other. Dropping to one knee before her, he took her left hand in his. The warmth of his skin calmed her skittering nerves. His thumb gently caressed the golden ring on her finger.

Without lifting his visor or removing his helm, he murmured in French, “Sweetest Lissa.”

Celeste gasped at the sound of her pet name. “How did you know that?”

He did not answer her question, but continued to speak through the slit in his visor. His deep voice resonated from within as he spoke. “I have known you in my heart all my life. This day, I have won your hand in honorable combat, though I regret the outcome and will pray for the souls of both father and son. But now the sadness of this day has come to an end, and we should turn to happier thoughts. Heart of my heart, will you give me your heart in return for mine?”

Celeste tried to see into the visor. She wished she could look at his eyes and read his soul. His hand continued to caress hers in an oddly familiar way, suggesting more pleasant, more personal encounters to come. Her heart fluttered in her throat, as if longing to join its mate kneeling before her. Her flesh prickled and burned at the knight’s touch. Blood raced through her like molten wildfire.

“My lady?” he implored.

“Do what your heart tells you,” whispered Lady Alicia behind her.

Celeste lifted her chin. “My lord knight, you have won my body, and you hold my hand. I think you had better take my heart to make the package complete.” Having uttered the boldest words of her life, Celeste drew in her breath and wondered what would happen next.

The knight released her hand, then lifted his helm from his shoulders. When he raised his golden head, he smiled that unearthly, beloved smile at her. His sapphire eyes probed hers with shimmering pools of love.

“Brother Guy!” Celeste gasped, taking an involuntary step backward. She fought to keep the earth and sky from spinning around her head. “This cannot be! It is blasphemy! You are a priest!”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Never that.”

“But you are dedicated to the church! You took your vows. You cannot marry me!” She had to escape this awful situation, but there was no room to run, no place to hide her mortification.

Guy took her hand in his again. “Listen to me, sweetest one. I was only a novice at Saint Hugh’s. I have never taken final vows. Two days ago I received a letter from Father Jocelyn, releasing me from the Franciscans. It seems he knew me better than I knew myself. And I
have
kept my last vow. You notice I did not speak to you until your wedding day.” Guy kissed her cold fingers, his warm lips stirring her already befuddled senses. Now fully hearing his voice, Celeste found it velvet-edged and strong.

“Celeste, as my mother behind you is my witness, I will make you a new vow. I shall not go again to court. I have done with the sham of courtly life. And I have done with the celibate life of a monk as well. But, sweet mistress mine, I vow I shall never be done with you. I love you. Will you trust me with your love and happiness now?” The blue depths of his eyes promised volumes more.

Her fingers tightened around his. “
Oui
, Sir Guy Cavendish, minister to lost souls and flying hearts, I give you my love to keep. I fear that is all the dowry I have to offer.”

Guy’s laughter floated up from his throat. “Your dowry is your own sweet self. Your hand in mine is all the riches I need or want.” He kissed each finger in turn, paying special honor to the one his ring encircled. Then he stood and swept Celeste off her feet into the enveloping protection of his embrace. The forgotten crowd roared back to life with their deep-throated cheers of approval.

“Shield your eyes, Mother,” Guy warned the countess. “I fear my next behavior may shock you.”

“By my troth, nothing you do shocks me anymore, my son,” she replied calmly.

Dipping his head, Guy sealed his betrothal with the most passionate, loving kiss Celeste had ever experienced. Her world ceased to sway and spin. It stopped moving altogether.

Epilogue

October 1529

Snape Castle, Northumberland

“V
oilà, mon cher
, I win again!” Celeste laid her cards down on the polished tabletop, then reclined against the high-backed cushioned chair, her hands folded across her bulging abdomen. She regarded her husband, across from her, with eyes shining in violet triumph.

Guy added up the scores on his well-worn slate. By the Book! The sly minx had done it again. By now, after ten months of marriage, he should know better than to think he could ever best his little wife at her favorite card game. In fact, ever since Celeste had learned his manner of play, she had been beating him by wider margins. Running his fingers through his hair, Guy glanced up at her.

“There’s no need to chew your lips so, my sweet.” Leaning across the table, he traced his finger across her lower lip. She kissed it in return. “I will pay my just debts. How much do I owe you now?”

Celeste shrugged one shoulder in an offhand manner. “Crowns and pounds, who knows? Indeed, I have lost count since midsummer.” Her black brows knitted together, as if she recalled something distasteful from her memory.

Puzzled by her expression, which belied the lightness of her words, Guy flopped against the back of his chair. He drained the rest of the wine in his cup. One added benefit of having a French wife was the excellent wine she imported from France—at a ruinous tax—as well as the French chef who worked wizardry in Snape’s refurbished kitchens. Guy saw Celeste press her lips together into a thin, tight line.

Had he displeased her since supper? Since she’d become pregnant, Celeste’s moods swung in a wider arc, if that was possible—usually for the better. The coming babe seemed to have given her an increased energy that she used to transform grim old Snape Castle into a warm and cheerful home for Guy and his growing family.