Connie Mason (9 page)

“Only one of us can be declared champion, Sir Bastard,” Waldo said jeeringly, “and the battle between us will not be fought with blunted weapons. When we meet, come with well-honed weapons and prepare for bloodshed.” Wheeling his destrier, he rode away, leaving a stunned audience in his wake.

“Does he mean it, my lord?” Evan asked in a hushed voice. “ ’Tis not seemly.”

“Aye, seemly or not, Waldo meant it.”

“He intends to kill you, Drake,” Sir John said, voicing what the others feared to say.

“He will not kill me,” Drake vowed. “Nor will I kill him. But I
will
win.”

The jousting continued until it came down to two undefeated challengers: the Black Knight and Waldo of Eyre. A startled cry came from the spectators when they realized the swords and lances the two men carried were not blunted. The herald approached Waldo first, asking if he knew his weapons were not blunted. Drake saw Waldo nod. Then the herald approached Drake, asking the same question.

“ ’Tis not my choice,” Drake explained. “I am but complying with Waldo of Eyre’s request. He wanted to fight with honed weapons and I follow his lead.”

A buzz of excitement erupted from the spectators as Waldo and Drake took their places at either end of the tilt. Honed weapons were rarely used during tournaments, as they were mock battles and not meant to shed blood or take lives. The excitement grew as a hush fell over the crowd as they waited for the herald to give the signal.

When it came, a collective gasp broke the silence as the Black Knight and Waldo rode full tilt at one another. They met with jarring impact. Each lance found its mark but neither
man was unhorsed. They rode to opposite ends of the tilt, whirled, paused a moment, then made a second run for one another. This time Drake’s lance pierced Waldo’s shield, striking his armor. Waldo’s lance struck a glancing blow off Drake’s helm as Waldo went flying from his horse.

Drake ignored the wild cheers piercing the air. He knew full well Waldo was nowhere near being defeated. Waldo gained his feet and withdrew his sword. Drake dismounted and threw Zeus’s reins to Evan, who had run out on the jousting field to take charge of the destrier.

“Now we are on even footing, Sir Bastard,” Waldo taunted as he circled Drake.

Drake brandished his own sword, waiting for Waldo to make the first move. “We will never be on even footing, Waldo,” Drake said jeeringly. “I am the superior swordsman.”

Waldo roared a garbled reply and struck out blindly. Drake easily deflected the blow with his shield. The battle became deadlier as Waldo charged again and again, his bullish strength making up for his lack of finesse. Drake deflected each blow, retaliating with well-placed blows of his own, driving Waldo back each time he charged forward.

The opponents circled each other warily, looking for an opening as they assessed one another’s strengths and weaknesses. Their first heated encounter ended in a standoff. They had hacked away at one another with little effect.

“Bastard!” Waldo said in a hiss. “Eyre is mine. So is Raven. You will never have either of them.”

Drake had no idea why Waldo taunted him with Eyre, unless he knew something Drake did not. Had Basil told Waldo the truth about Drake’s birth? Did Waldo fear that Drake would try to wrest Eyre from him? His thoughts slid to a halt as Waldo attacked with renewed vigor. But Drake was up to the challenge.

The spectators went wild when Drake drew first blood. His sword had found a vulnerable spot in a seam where Waldo’s
breastplate joined the chain mail at his shoulder. But Waldo appeared undaunted by the superficial wound.

“Do you concede, Waldo of Eyre?” Drake asked. “I have drawn first blood.”

“Nay!” Waldo shouted.

The battle continued. The din of clashing steel and the hollow ring of blows upon shields were lost amid the rousing cheers and catcalls of the enthusiastic onlookers. This was a spectacle they had not anticipated. The thought of bloodshed both thrilled and appalled them at the same time.

White-faced, Raven watched the fierce battle being fought on the jousting field. When she saw that the weapons Drake and Waldo wielded were not blunted, she was seized with a sudden and unaccountable fear. She did not give a hoot what happened to Waldo: all her fear was for Drake, the Black Knight. She knew his reputation as a fierce warrior and an experienced swordsman was well deserved, but she also knew that Waldo was a canny fighter.

Though Drake had denied her request for help, and held her accountable for something for which she was blameless, she did not hate him. As a child she had loved Drake, and she still felt emotionally bound to him. Unfortunately Drake had never returned her tender feelings.

Raven’s silent musings skidded to a halt as the spectators leaped to their feet, cheering. She rose unsteadily, very much afraid of what she might see. Her breath escaped in a loud whoosh when she saw that Drake had drawn first blood. According to the rules, the battle could end there. Her heart nearly stopped when Waldo lunged at Drake, destroying her hopes of seeing an end to this vendetta anytime soon.

Raven knew precisely what had provoked Waldo’s ire and could not imagine what had driven Drake to display her veil upon his lance. She knew full well that Drake had intended it as an insult, and that Waldo would feel compelled to
retaliate. Had Drake known that his blatant insult would result in the use of real weapons instead of blunted ones? She doubted it.

Suddenly the mood of the crowd changed, as if everyone wanted to end this quickly, without further bloodshed. Raven watched with growing appreciation for Drake’s skill as he drove Waldo back, slashing relentlessly while successfully evading Waldo’s counterattacks. Raven knew the battering each man took must be bone-crushing, but both appeared oblivious to the pain.

The pummeling continued, though it was obvious now that the Black Knight’s skill far surpassed Waldo’s and that Drake had been merely toying with Waldo before vanquishing him. Then, before the spectators knew exactly how it happened, Waldo’s sword went flying through the air and Drake’s sword was pressed against a vulnerable place on Waldo’s throat, protected by neither helm nor breastplate.

The crowd was on its feet, declaring the Black Knight the champion. Then the herald stepped in to proclaim what the spectators already knew. The purse, the glory, and a chest full of gold and other property taken in ransom during the tourneys were the Black Knight’s to claim. Some knights would return home penniless and defeated, but the Black Knight had accumulated fabulous wealth for his coffers.

Waldo was forgotten as men and women streamed out onto the jousting field to congratulate Drake, but Raven held back. She did not wish to further provoke Waldo’s anger. She left the pavilion in a rush. She needed time alone to think, to plan a way to escape this odious marriage. Everyone would be at the banquet tonight. The hall would be crowded and noisy. Perhaps she could slip away after the meal and make her own way to Scotland. She did not know if she would be successful, but she was willing to try. One thing she did know: if she was still here on the morrow, she would be forced to wed Waldo of Eyre.

Drake searched the pavilion for Raven and caught a glimpse of her as she hurried away. He did not expect her to congratulate him, not after he had ignored her plea for help, but for some unexplained reason he wanted her to acknowledge his skill and accomplishments on the jousting field. Extricating himself from well-wishers, Drake returned to his tent. He considered taking his prizes and leaving immediately, but something compelled him to stay for the wedding tomorrow.

Claiming a foe’s property is a knight’s right
.

The banquet that night was held in Drake’s honor. As the champion, he was seated at the high table at Duff’s right. Raven sat at her brother’s left, and Waldo slouched beside Raven, his face dark and brooding. Visiting noblemen and their wives, who had been invited to sup with Drake at the high table, kept the conversation lively.

Drake made a concerted effort to ignore Raven, but despite his resolve, his gaze kept straying in her direction. He recalled how soft and pliable her body had felt beneath his, and how the fragrance of her woman’s place had intrigued him when he thrust his hand between her thighs. He wished now that he had taken her there on the floor of his tent and sated his raging lust. Perhaps then he would have purged her from his mind and body.

Duff leaned over to speak to him and he reluctantly pulled his thoughts into less dangerous territory.

“The feast tonight is naught compared to the wedding feast tomorrow,” Duff bragged. “Raven is my only sister now that Daria is dead, and Waldo my best friend. I have spared no expense. The day after they will travel to Eyre, and then I will be alone.”

“Do you not fear for Raven’s safety?” Drake asked with studied indifference. “ ’Tis my understanding that Daria’s death occurred under mysterious circumstances.”

Duff, as fair as Drake was dark, scowled. “ ’Tis naught but malicious gossip. Daria died from a stomach ailment. She was never very robust.”

“If I recall, Daria’s health was excellent,” Drake contradicted.

“ ’Twas a long time ago,” Duff said with a shrug. “You wanted Daria, did you not? Aye, I remember now. You were going to elope with Daria, but Father found out and banished you from the castle. Count yourself lucky, Drake. You would have earned neither glory nor fame with Daria as your wife.”

Drake’s hands curled into fists. It appalled him to think that Duff thought so little of Daria, that he was giving Raven to the same man who might be responsible for Daria’s death. He dared a glance at Raven and met her unswerving gaze. Their eyes met and clung, hers filled with desperation, his with cool reproach. Then she lowered her gaze to her trencher. Drake felt an unfamiliar stirring within him and silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. He plied his knife and spoon with diligence as he tried to forget the fiery challenge of Raven’s green eyes.

The long meal concluded and the entertainers were summoned. Raven rose from her chair and excused herself. Waldo leaped to his feet and spoke quietly to the squire standing behind his chair. The squire nodded and followed Raven from the hall. Both Drake and Duff looked askance at Waldo.

“I want to make certain my bride-to-be has a restful night, one without interference,” Waldo explained. His gaze rested on Drake when he spoke. “I have instructed my squire to stand guard outside Raven’s chamber until she emerges for the wedding.”

Duff stared at Waldo a moment, then nodded. “ ’Tis most thoughtful of you, Waldo. It pleases me to know my sister will be in good hands. Raven can be a bit difficult at times, but she will come around.”

“Aye,” Waldo agreed. “She will indeed come around. I will see to it.”

Drake’s eyes narrowed as he considered the various methods
Waldo might use to tame Raven, none of them particularly appetizing.

Raven paced her chamber in a rage. How dared Waldo place a guard at her door? How dared he treat her like a prisoner? They were not even married yet. How would he treat her when she was completely under his domination? Deciding to test Waldo’s control, she boldly flung open the door. The squire came to instant attention.

“How may I help you, my lady?”

“Please step aside. I wish to leave,” Raven said in her most authoritive voice.

“Sorry, my lady. Lord Waldo said you are not permitted to leave your chamber until Lord Duff arrives in the morning to escort you to the church. I am to admit no one but your maid.”

Raven slammed the door in the young man’s face, her anger explosive. Trapped. She was trapped in this chamber with no means of escape. No matter how much she abhorred the thought of becoming Waldo’s wife, she had exhausted all her options. Drake had been her last hope. She was doomed . . . doomed. Tomorrow the church bell might as well be tolling her death knell instead of announcing her wedding.

Drake was awake long before prime. He had not slept a wink the entire night. During the long, sleepless night he had searched his brain for an answer to Waldo’s long-standing hatred for him and could discover no real reason for it. Nothing made sense.

Drake’s mind turned to the wedding that would take place in a few hours. When the bell tolled sext, Duff would escort Raven to the church, where Waldo would be waiting to receive his bride. According to custom, the ceremony would take place on the church steps, conducted by the village priest. Afterward, both the invited guests and villagers would
partake of the feast. The guests would gather in the hall while the villagers and castle servants would be served from long tables set up in the inner bailey.

Drake bathed in the stream behind his tent and dressed with care. True to the Black Knight’s image, he chose a fitted black velvet tunic and black hose. Since the occasion called for a dash of color, the wide sleeves of Drake’s thigh-length tunic were lined in lime-yellow satin. Soft leather shoes with slightly pointed toes and silver buckles complemented his costume. As a final touch, Drake donned a hip-length cloak of purple velvet with an upstanding collar of vermilion cloth.