Champion of the Heart (8 page)

Jordan scoffed to herself. They didn’t even know her. How could they love her?

An uneasy feeling churned her emotions, settling in the pit of her stomach. Many of the men were young and impetuous, barely beginning to shave the stubble peppering their jaw, but others had the look of a dangerous savage burning in their dark faces. Jordan scanned the large field, looking for Evan, but she could not find him amidst the glistening, gleaming metal. The yard itself had to be widened to accommodate all the knights who had come to win Jordan’s hand in the tournament. Apprehension grew stronger inside Jordan. How could she even hope Evan could win against all these knights? There must have been fifty visiting warriors, Jordan realized, if not more.

The platform was packed with other nobles, all anxiously awaiting the start of the tournament. A noblewoman stepped up to Jordan, a woman she didn’t recognize. The woman wore a green dress, heavily embroidered with leaves. “This is so exciting,” the woman said. “All of these men fighting to claim you.” She waved her hand over her face, fanning the heat flushing into her cheeks. “If only I could be so lucky.”

Lucky? Jordan felt nothing of the kind, only an impending dread. Something horrible was going to happen today. She knew it. She could feel it clawing at her spine.

The noblewoman next to her waved coyly at several of the knights who looked Jordan’s way. Appalled, Jordan looked at her, catching the woman’s gaze. “Well, they all can’t have you,” the woman explained. “I’d be happy to settle for second place.”

Jordan turned at the sound of approaching hoof beats, seeing Evan approaching. She had never felt more relieved to see him than she did today. But beneath that relief, uneasiness still stirred inside her. She desperately wanted Evan to win, but her thoughts carried her beyond just today, to the future. To a very uncertain future. Would she be happy with him? In his arms? Would his lips feel right when they pressed up against hers?

A nervous excitement stirred deep in places that were unfamiliar to her. Would she be making love to this man tomorrow night after his victory, after their wedding celebration? Was it nervous excitement or just plain fear? She didn’t know. The war of emotions was leaving her thoughts foggy and muddled.

“Greetings, my lady,” Evan said, beaming her a confident smile. “And I do mean
my
lady, for today I shall be victorious and claim you as my prize.”

Prize. Is that what I am to all these men? Jordan again wondered. Just a prize. Not a woman, not a companion. A thing to be won. A trophy to hang on the mantel over a burning fireplace. A decoration to show off to one’s fellow warriors.

“Are you feeling all right, Jordan?” Evan asked, a scowl of concern shadowing his brow.

“Yes.” Jordan tried to muster a smile, but failed miserably.

“You seem troubled.”

“I... I’m just worried, Evan,” Jordan told him. She looked out across the meadow, where knights filled both sides of the field. A wide space remained open in the middle where the men were going to fight. One knight on the left side of the meadow was dressed in his ceremonial armor, with fancy etchings on the silver and an elaborate deer-like figure atop his helmet. His white steed pawed the ground in anticipation. Many others mirrored the elaborately adorned knight, all dressed in their best armor.

But there were others awaiting the tournament as well, others without so much obvious wealth. Some did not even have a horse. One knight was dressed in nothing fancier than brown leather armor, clutching a large ax. There were many more like him, their weapons just as deadly, the lethal intent in their eyes just as sharp and ferocious. And they had all come to win her. To fight, perhaps even to kill, for her.

The reality of what was happening flooded over her, a wave of dizziness splashing across her. Were all of these men willing to kill to claim her and her dowry? Was she worth dying for?

“Jordan?”

She looked at Evan and saw him staring in alarm at her. She tried to force a smile to her lips, but could not summon even the illusion of calmness. “There are so many men, Evan.”

Evan grinned at her. “Ha. Don’t be afraid, Jordan. I will be victorious today. There are none on this battlefield I fear. Lord Graves is a great warrior, but I have plans for him. I’ll put him into the ground he is so aptly named after.”

Suddenly, a trumpet sounded and Jordan turned her head to see her father climbing the stairs of the platform, a group of older men trailing behind him. He came to stand beside her, clasped her hand, and squeezed it briefly, smiling warmly at her before releasing her fingers. Then he turned and his gaze swept the field, taking in the assemblage of battle-ready combatants. A grin of satisfaction touched his lips. “Welcome to the tournament!” he called.

“Huzzah!” the gathered throng of warriors shouted, dozens of glistening weapons thrusting skyward. “Hail to Lord Ruvane!” filled the field. “Hail to Lady Jordan!”

The peasants surrounding the field erupted into gleeful shouts. “Huzzah!”

The crowd of onlookers was massive; it looked as if villeins from every neighboring village had gathered here today.

Jordan turned back to Evan to wish him luck, but he was gone, already moving into his place among the knights. She looked back to her father.

Lord Ruvane let the excited cheers fade away, let the crowd calm for a moment, before continuing. “I know the greatest warrior in all of England has come to visit us today. I know he is out there amongst you fine men.”

Again, the men erupted into excited cheers, all of them claiming to be that man.

Lord Ruvane turned to face Jordan, taking her hand into his. She smiled nervously at him and he smiled back. “This is how your mother and I met, Jordan. This is how our love began. This is where fate led us to bringing you into the world. You know you are my greatest joy. I only want a lifetime of happiness for you.”

“I know, Father,” Jordan said softly.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” he reassured her. “Today will be magical. Today will be a day you will treasure for the rest of your life, as I treasure the day your mother came into my life.”

Jordan nodded softly to her father.

Lord Ruvane released her hand again and turned to face the crowd of fighters anxiously awaiting the signal to begin. He nodded to Jordan.

Jordan hesitated, but only for a mere moment, suddenly wishing she could be with the children... or anywhere else. But the day was here and there was no turning back now, no way to deny what fate had in store for her.

She lifted a yellow cloth high in the air.

Beside her, the noblewoman gasped in anticipation. The sound of swords being drawn echoed through the field. Horses whinnied, their hooves clawing at the dirt. Men gripped their weapons tightly, shifted their shields, preparing to do battle.

And then there was utter stillness. Even the mutterings of the gathered crowd dwindled into whispers, then faded into complete silence.

For the first time, Jordan saw a knight she hadn’t noticed before. He was clad in black armor from head to foot and rode a magnificent black stallion. He clutched a mighty blade in one hand, an unadorned black shield in the other. His face was hidden beneath his black visor, but even from this distance Jordan could feel his gaze boring into her. A tingle of foreboding shot up her spine.

“Jordan,” her father whispered to her, pulling her thoughts away from the mysterious dark knight.

Jordan dropped the cloth, and the yard exploded with action as the two sides rushed at each other with a loud war cry that threatened to break open the sky and bring a crash of lightning to the meadow. The wooden platform rumbled and shook beneath Jordan’s feet as the armor-clad men raced to meet their opponents. The charges ended in an explosion of metal against metal as swords clashed and rising shields met striking axes.

Jordan couldn’t help the feeling of dread snaking through her body as the warriors battled. But even with her misgivings, the battle was tremendous and exciting to watch. All around her, the nobles screamed and yelled. The villeins standing around the fenced-off field cheered on their favorites, cursing as a favored knight fell but then quickly choosing another to encourage with shouts of support.

In the first minutes, many men fell and disappeared into the sea of armor. Jordan scanned the field for Evan, looking for the black dragon of the Vaughn crest amidst all the other family crests. A knight with a purple plume on his helmet crossed swords with a knight who had a large dent in his. A man with no armor and blood running over a large gash in his head was being helped from the field. Her gaze swept past them.

It stopped cold as she found the black-armored knight feverishly wielding his sword. The metal blade glinted hotly in the sunlight, striking down man after man. He was relentless in his attacks. Was he the Lord Graves whom Evan had mentioned? She didn’t know for sure. All she was certain of was that he was a magnificent fighter, his every strike efficient and deadly accurate.

Jordan forced her gaze past him to the other end of the field, continuing her search for Evan. But she couldn’t see him. For a moment, panic welled in her stomach. Had he been unhorsed already? What if he had been defeated? What if he had been hurt?

“Look at him fight,” the noblewoman beside her said.

Jordan pulled herself out of her growing panic. “Who?”

“Sir Evan.” The woman pointed across the field.

Jordan followed her direction. It took her only a moment to find Evan in his silver plate mail, slashing down every opponent he came into contact with. Relief surged through Jordan.

“He is a very competent fighter,” the woman said.

Jordan nodded her head, keeping her gaze on Evan, as if her will alone would help him win the battle.

***

By midday, over half of the men had been beaten and taken from the field. One man had been seriously injured when an ax-wielding opponent had sliced through his armor. Another had a crippling sword cut on the back of his thigh. Seven had been knocked unconscious.

Four had been killed.

Now the field was emptier, but the fighting continued.

Jordan’s nerves were clenched so tight she could not sit down. Her shoulders ached from the tension surging across them. She was clutching her skirts so hard her hands ached and her knuckles turned white. She was so worried for Evan. His thrusts and swings were not as hard nor as precise. He was tiring. But he was still one of the few men left on horseback.

Another man dressed in bronze armor drew Jordan’s gaze. He fought valiantly on the ground, disarming opponents with masterful strikes. He had lost his helm in the battle and his face was smeared with grime and dirt. Evan made his way toward the man, striking down one opponent as he spurred his horse forward. The bronze-armored man turned as he heard Evan’s charge. He raised his weapon to block the strike, but Evan’s blow was mighty, the speed of the horse adding extra power to his swing. Evan’s blade smashed his opponent’s sword back, sending the man’s own blade into his neck. He fell hard to the ground, blood spurting from his fatal wound.

Shock flared through Jordan. The move was horribly brutal, as well as unchivalrous. It was dishonorable for a knight on horseback to strike a man on the ground in a tournament.

Around the field, many onlookers hissed and booed at Evan, expressing their disapproval.

“That was cowardly,” the noblewoman muttered. She looked away from Evan, finding another knight to give favor to.

Evan swung his horse around, looking for another man, but the field was nearly empty, the tournament almost at an end. His gaze came to the last remaining rival on the field.

Jordan followed his gaze to find a man sitting on his horse at the opposite end of the field. It was the black-armored knight, the man with no tunic, no crest of allegiance to indicate who he was or where he had come from. He sat strangely still in his saddle. Then he dismounted and swatted his horse’s flank, sending it running to safety.

Jordan frowned.

“Take the challenge, Vaughn!” someone shouted nearby.

“Fight him with honor!” another voice cried.

Evan’s horse pranced nervously as Evan surveyed this final adversary. He turned to look at Jordan. Would he attack the black knight from horseback? Jordan found herself scowling fiercely, displeasure evident in her slanted eyebrows.

And then Evan dismounted, sending his animal galloping away. He stepped forward, raising his sword as he moved.

After a brief second, the black knight moved forward. He lifted his sword high in the air to meet Evan. The metal clanged loudly, sparks flying from their striking weapons with the force of their attack. Again and again their swords met, each blow quick and powerful. Both men appeared to have suddenly been re-energized by this final confrontation, their strength surging back into their bodies.

Who was he? Jordan wondered as the black knight deflected all of Evan’s attacks. He stood bravely against Evan, matching him skill for skill. Why did he wear no crest? Jordan’s heart pounded and her hands played nervously with her necklace. This black knight was the best Evan had come up against.