An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two (27 page)

A loud cheer sounded from behind them, and Brianagh stood. “Come on. The tournament’s set to begin soon, and we need to get cleaned up.”

Emma took a deep breath and let it out shakily. Nodding, she took Brianagh’s arm, and they hurried back to the castle. Was she ready to fall?

She thought that maybe she ought to find out.

• • •

“Oh my God.”

Brianagh laughed at Emma’s expression. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Emma stared out over the lists, awed. Clan-colored flags hung from a series of long wooden beams, placed end to end on supports, directly through the middle of the enclosure. The same flags hung in the wooden stands, where people were quickly filling up the seats in their respective areas. The largest section was decorated with blue-and-gray flags, and hung from what looked like a president’s box above the tallest stand was a large tapestry emblazoned with a shield. On it, a hawk proudly flew, its wings spread wide, a shield on its chest…and that shield displayed the letter M, leaves of ivy snaking their way around each line of the letter, with a sword slicing across the M and its foliage.

Just like the napkin at The Colcannon
, Emma remembered. She felt a strange sense of worlds colliding as she studied the tapestry.

“We’re heading up there, to the best seats in the house,” Brianagh said excitedly, dragging her up the steps.

From the higher vantage point, Emma could see clear across the crowd, down into the jousting area, and the one marked for swordsmanship. The MacWilliam section was filled with a few hundred people, all waving flags or wearing blue. The Monaghans wore their bright green, and though they were small in number, they certainly made up for it in noise. Emma counted eight different clans gathered for the tournament, and she concluded that this was a very big event. She hadn’t ever read that eight clans gathered together peacefully. One or two, perhaps, but eight…

“How do you do it?” she asked Brianagh, unable to overcome her amazement. “All these clans, in one place, without fighting?”

“Love conquers all, Emma.” She glanced out at the crowd, a happy grin on her face. “It really does.”

A horn blew from below, and there was a mad dash to find seats. People were cheering wildly, and women were lining the front row, displaying their ample charms.

“They’re hoping for a flag from one of the warriors,” Bri explained. “In exchange, they’ll give him a favor—in our case, instead of a ribbon, it’s a kiss!”

Emma laughed. “I guess that’s one way to go about it.”

The horn blew again, and this time, a line of horses galloped in, kicking up dust as they circled the arena, the men holding their clan’s flag high. Each man was dressed in chain mail, the sounds of it just audible under the beat of hooves. The arena pulsed with energy as the ladies in front started calling and cheering, and the men behind them booed until their own clansman passed by, at which point they went wild.

The warriors galloped around the arena twice, then they broke the line and each headed in a different direction. The noise in the arena shook the wood beneath Emma’s feet. She gripped the edge of the box and grinned at Brianagh and Nioclas, who stood next to her.

Aidan rode over, expertly reigning in his horse, and he made a show of walking the beast back and forth, looking at each woman who waved and called out to him. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as though he were contemplating which woman to give his flag to when suddenly he vaulted off his horse and hopped over the banister, into the crowd.

Noise unlike any Emma had ever heard ensued. Clansmen were cheering madly, women were jostling each other to get to him, but he charged up the steps and stopped directly in front of Emma.

“A flag, my lady?” he asked, unable to contain his smile.

“How much does that chain mail weigh?” Emma wondered.

“A very savvy publicist once told me that responding to a question with another question just invites more questions.” He held the flag out, and she took it, momentarily speechless, as the world narrowed to just the two of them.

“Do you forget nothing?” she asked, emotion welling in her throat.

He wagged his eyebrows playfully, then offered his cheek, waiting for her kiss. She leaned in, and at the last moment, he turned, capturing her lips with his. He didn’t linger, but he gave her a quick bite on her lower lip before pulling away and facing the crowd in triumph.

Emma covered her mouth and started laughing.

He shot her a wink over his shoulder and said, “It weighs about fifty pounds,” before he charged back down the steps, hopped the banister, and vaulted himself onto his horse.

“Showoff,” Emma murmured, a bubble of joy enveloping her. She let out a breath.

Emma watched with amusement as Shane brought his horse to the Muskerry clan and offered a flag of green to Brigit, who curtsied before accepting it. She clasped it to her chest, and he tipped his cheek toward her. She leaned forward and gave him a very chaste kiss, and the Muskerry and Monaghan clans cheered.

Brianagh gave her a smile of relief. Match saved.

• • •

Aidan shifted, ignoring the sweat under his chain mail as he stood next to his horse. He placed a calming hand on the beast’s neck, murmuring to it as he watched a rival clansman land in a cloud of dust.

Aidan hadn’t jousted in almost ten years. It used to be his favorite sport; unseating a man from atop his horse gave a feeling of triumph like no other. Of course, being the unseated gave a feeling of pain like no other. He remembered nursing a very sore backside for the better part of a se’ennight during his training years.

“Do you remember how the healers here set a broken bone?” Reilly asked from behind him.

Aidan’s horse snorted and danced a couple of steps away, and Aidan patted the beast reassuringly. He murmured to the horse, “That’s exactly how I feel about him too.”

Reilly leaned against the stable wall, watching the now-hobbling warrior make his way off the field. “No one’s been able to unseat Monaghan.”

“Or perhaps they’re allowing him a good show for his soon-to-be bride,” Aidan responded.

The recently unseated clansman made his way into the stable, holding his wrist and swearing.

“Is he that good, then?” Reilly asked the defeated warrior.

The man breathed hard and nodded. “Is the healer nearby?”

“I believe she is down there,” Reilly replied, pointing. “Back of the stables. Get in line.”

He limped off, muttering about fools on horses and hurting his sword arm.

“You’re sure?” Reilly asked in his most uninterested voice. “Because—and this is important, so keep those ears open, lad—I wouldn’t want you to forget that you’ve still got to unseat me to get to your lady.”

Aidan slammed his helmet down and dug his heels into the horse’s side, spraying a satisfactory amount of dirt into Reilly’s face.

If Emma was stuck here, Aidan would ensure her happiness. He would make her smile every day, show her how important she was to him, show her how much he loved her.

He definitely loved Emma.

But he knew she might choose the future over him. The thought twisted like hot metal in his gut. Could she love him back? He wasn’t sure how to know. Last night, he’d panicked when he’d heard the detachment in her voice about being handfasted. He sought to arm her with the knowledge that she wasn’t being forced to do anything, but she’d taken his comment about marriage entirely the wrong way. And as the conversation wore on, Aidan realized that he loved her enough to let her go…and that she didn’t love him enough to stay. Not that he would ask that of her—he knew exactly what she would be giving up.

But a part of him wished she might want to give it up for him.

The crowd, as expected, went crazy when he galloped out, and he waved his MacWilliam flag as he sized up his first competitor. Monaghan had already bested four of the eight, and he showed signs of fatigue; his posture wasn’t as straight, and he was rolling his right shoulder to ease the pain.

The horn blew, and Aidan cleared his mind of everything except Monaghan’s sore shoulder. The two men brought their horses to their respective ends of the track, and at the second horn, they took their positions. Aidan hefted the long, blunt-tipped lance from the squire. He tucked the handle tightly against his side and raised his shield, and he steadied the horse with his knees.

The third horn blew, and the horses charged, one on either side of the beam. Aidan urged his horse to a breakneck speed and, just before impact, he raised the lance slightly, loosened his grip on the handle, raised his shield to meet Monaghan’s lance, and braced himself for the impact.

His lance hit Monaghan squarely in the shoulder, on his bone. Monaghan toppled from his horse, unable to hang on. He rolled when he hit the dirt, showing Aidan he was not seriously injured, and Aidan slowed his own horse.

Aidan dismounted and walked toward Monaghan, who, despite the hard fall, was standing on his own. They reached out and shook hands, more gently than they would normally, and Monaghan grimaced and called him a foul name.

“To the victor, my friend,” Aidan said. They both glanced up toward Emma, who was hugging herself and watching them silently. Her golden hair, piled atop her head in a complicated pattern of braids, highlighted her beauty, even as she stood in the shade of the laird’s box.

“You are a damn lucky man,” Monaghan said to Aidan.

Aidan nodded once, then watched as his competitor took himself from the field to hollers and heckles.

Aidan gave a sweeping bow toward Emma, then returned to his horse amidst the cheers. He prepared himself for the next competitor…then the next, and the next, and the next.

When he stood on the field, victorious as the last jouster standing, he looked up toward Emma, wondering if she understood how truly serious he was about marrying her.

The horn blew again, and Aidan spun around. “What the hell?”

“A late entry, my laird!” one of the squires called out to Nioclas, who nodded regally and took his seat again.

“Bastard,” Aidan grumbled, knowing that Nick was only allowing a late entry to show the MacWilliams’ prowess. He had barely managed to keep his seat with Muskerry, his final competitor. His legs ached, his back was stiff, and his arm cramped in places he didn’t realize were even part of the extremity.

“The O’Malley clan!” the squire called out.

The crowd hushed for a moment, unsure as to what an O’Malley was doing there, but they apparently decided they didn’t care. Cheers, hoots, and boos intermingled as Reilly took his place at the end of the beam, waiting for Aidan to mount his steed and fight one more time.

Aidan cursed him. Reilly gave him a salute.

Aidan mounted, then brought his horse around and took his position once more. He snapped his helmet down, slowed his breathing, and waited, poised, for the sound of the horn. When it came, he encouraged the horse to faster speeds, hoping to knock Reilly off-balance with a quick joust to the shoulder.

Reilly slammed into him with a force Aidan hadn’t felt from any other, and he tottered on his seat as Reilly’s lance snapped in half, wood shards spraying around him. His horse, bless him, took that moment to turn, which was all that saved Aidan from making his own cloud of dust.

Aidan swore and saw Reilly watching him closely. He very subtly rotated his right shoulder—where Reilly had almost, but not quite hit—and held back his grin when Reilly’s eyes narrowed. He spun his own horse around to take the position again.

Aidan raised his shield slightly, as though to protect his shoulder, which left his left shoulder all but exposed. He traded his damaged lance for a new one, pleased that he’d made at least some contact with Reilly’s shield, which, even from where he sat, looked roughed up.

The horn sounded, and Aidan kept his shield over his right shoulder. At the last moment, he moved it to the left, deftly blocking Reilly’s blow, and caught Reilly full on in the stomach, where he hadn’t been expecting Aidan to be able to hit. Reilly fell spectacularly, and when the dust cleared, he remained seated, knees bent, with his forearms resting on his knees.

Aidan didn’t bother to get off his horse. Instead, he walked the beast over to Reilly and shook his head.

“Why did you let me win?”

Reilly squinted up. “Who says I let you?”

Aidan gave him a suspicious glance. “I get the feeling you don’t fail at anything.”

“Strange,” Reilly mused, “I get that same feeling about you.”

Aidan reached a hand down, and Reilly took it, popping onto his feet as though he hadn’t just fallen from a tall horse. The crowd cheered, and Reilly looked at him once more.

“You must realize that I’m not your biggest challenge. That is up in the stands, with very little idea as to what happens next.”

Aidan dismounted. “Do I have a choice, O’Malley?”

Reilly looked at him silently for a moment. Then, softly, he said, “I don’t know, Aidan.”

He walked off the field as the MacWilliams jumped the barrier, heading for Aidan. Reilly tipped his head toward Nick, Bri and Emma, leaving Aidan standing, victorious yet disheartened, in the middle of a horde of happy, boisterous clansmen.

He’d never felt more alone.

When Emma finally tore her eyes away from Aidan, who was accepting help from clansmen to remove the chain mail, she grinned widely at Brianagh.

“I can’t believe he won!” she cried, excited. “I can’t believe I just saw a real tournament!”

Brianagh’s smile was tentative. She wrung her hands nervously. “Um, Emma, there’s something you should know.”

“He has to do swords next?” Emma guessed, craning her neck toward the swordplay area.

Brianagh exchanged a glance with Nioclas. “No, that’s not it.”

Laird Monaghan was jostling his way through the MacWilliam crowd, headed toward them. Bri was saying something, but Emma was again distracted by the sheer amount of food stuck in the laird’s beard. She wondered if she’d missed a food hawker during the event. She would have loved to try the medieval equivalent of popcorn, or a snow cone, or even a hot dog.