My Noble Knight (11 page)

“You know nothing of women, in particular my sister,” Frances ground out. “Why don’t you look at your own manhood before you degrade her.”

Colin leapt a log and raced to her side. He caught Frances around the shoulders. “Enough!”

“It was not my intent to degrade
her
,” Griffin said.

Frances lurched forward, but Colin held him back. He struggled to pull Frances away from the camp. Finally, Frances whirled and stormed toward the Fletcher tent.

Colin cast a glance over his shoulder at Griffin and then locked eyes with Layne.

Misery welled in her eyes. Frances had always been the hot headed one, the one always first to start a fight. She knew he would pace inside their tent with determined strides, muttering all sorts of vengeful plans against those who had wronged him.

Colin turned and hurried after Frances. Colin would see to him. He had a way of cooling Frances’s temper.

Layne watched them go until they disappeared into the Fletcher tent. She whirled on Griffin. “You had no right!”

Griffin straightened.

“You can ridicule me all you want in private. But not in front of my family. Frances is not responsible for the way I act.”

“Not responsible?” Griffin sputtered. “As your elder brother, he is very much responsible.”

Layne stepped up to him, glaring. “He can’t control me. Anymore then you can.” Her voice thickened. “I will not tolerate you belittling my brother.”

Griffin frowned as he stared at the fierce dedication in her eyes. He had wounded her in defending her. When he had returned for his sword, the first thing he saw had been a man with his arm around her neck. He had sprinted the rest of the way, thinking she was in trouble. A rock had settled in the pit of his stomach as he raced towards her. What if he didn’t reach her time?

As he neared, he realized it was her brother and his fear dissolved into rage. He would never treat a woman like Layne’s brother had, let alone his own sister!

Facing Layne’s anger and humiliation now, he realized he had been wrong and rash. He didn’t know what to say to her. He was trying to set an example for her, but he was failing.

She whirled. “Besides, I could have beaten him.”

He stepped closer. “And how could you have possibly done that?”

She straightened. “I would have pinched his ears and made him squeal. He hates when I do that.”

Griffin saw her smile, but he kept his mouth even. “So this tussle you had with your brother was a game?”

She nodded. “Of course.” She looked at him with an odd glance. “Didn’t you ever play games with your sister?”

Griffin nodded. “Chess. Dice games. But I never put her in such an undignified position as a headlock when she beat me at dice, I dare say.

She stared at him for a long moment. “Where is your sister now?”

“At home.” Waiting for father to find the right husband for her, he thought. But he chose not to share that fact for the moment.

“Weren’t you close to her?”

Griffin thought about Gwen. It was the first time in a long time he had thought of her. His younger sister had idolized their older brother, Richard, but she had barely given him a second glance. He was sure she loved him. He was just different than Richard. Not as accommodating.

His silence was enough answer for her. She nodded. “I wouldn’t have gone with you, either.” And she turned away and ducked into the tent.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. He had not asked Gwen to accompany him. It wouldn’t have been proper. She never would have come with him. Her life was in the castle, not wrestling at tournaments with her brother.

He bent to pick up his sword and caught his reflection in the blade. No, he had never been close to his family. Not to Gwen and not to his brother. Richard was the charmer, the fun one to be around. He had always been the responsible one, not Richard. Still, it had never been enough for his father. He had never been good enough for his father.

L
ayne leaned against the fence,
watching the entrance to the jousting field. Her brothers stood with her. Colin stood beside Frances who was next to her, and Michael hung over a rail on her other side.

The sun was hot and bright and she shielded her eyes as she stared at the entrance. She could barely control herself. Her foot nervously bounced and jiggled her leg. She continued to drum her fingers on the wooden fence. Something clenched tight in her gut and it took her a moment to realize she was nervous for Griffin. She shouldn’t be. Not after his performance with the quintain the other night. She grinned at the memory of his show of power and skill. He was skilled and stunning and… magnificent.

Carlton waited inside the field, near Griffin’s lances on his side of the field.

His opponent rode in. The black and red cross of his heraldry was emblazoned on his horse’s skirt. De la Noue should pose no problem for Griffin. Layne had seen him joust before. He was an arrogant lord who enjoyed the theatrics of participating in the jousts much more so than the physical contest. He believed himself better than he actually was and his arrogant boasting knew no bounds. True to form, he started mocking Griffin as soon as he reached his side of the field. “Looks like a good day to skin a Wolfe!”

Smatters of applause burst out around the crowd.

De la Noue rode around the field, bowing his head to the women who waved their favors at him.

Layne stood on the tips of her toes, swiveling her gaze back to the entrance of the field. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the top wooden plank of the fence in anticipation of Griffin’s arrival.

The energy in the crowd seemed to grow in expectation.

Griffin charged in on his white steed to wild cheers and applauses. Griffin was a favorite and most of the spectators were rooting for him. He didn’t pause or acknowledge anyone as he came to his side of the field where Carlton stood. Carlton handed Griffin his lance.

The two combatants settled their lances into position at their hips. Layne watched and waited. A trumpet sounded signaling the beginning of the joust!

Griffin reined his horse around and charged forward, lowering the lance.

Layne chewed delicately on her lower lip. Perfect form. Lance positioned correctly. She swiveled to de la Noue. His mastery of his horse was off. The horse balked once before he got him under control. Finally, he started forward, his lance held forward. Too far forward.

Layne tensed, preparing for the impact. De la Noue didn’t have a chance.

But in the last moment, Griffin raised his lance. De la Noue followed suit and the riders passed without striking. The crowd groaned and smatterings of discontented hisses erupted.

Layne stepped up on the lower plank of wood so she was leaning over the fence. Tingles raced along the nape of her neck. Something was wrong.

Griffin rode around to his side of the field where Carlton stood. He spoke to Carlton and then looked across the field at de la Noue. He held the lance upright and Adonis danced beneath him.

Trepidation spread through Layne. “Something’s wrong.”

Frances grunted. “The horse just balked. Nothing is wrong.”

Layne shook her head. “Look. His feet are not in the stirrups.”

Colin leaned forward so his arms were over the top plank of the fence.

“How can he possibly unhorse de la Noue without using the stirrups?” Frances demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

“He doesn’t need the stirrups for the impact,” Colin said.

Anxiety and nervousness filled Layne. The voices of her brothers became distant as she focused on Griffin. What had happened?

Griffin turned Adonis and spurred him with his heels. Adonis reared slightly and began racing down the field.

De la Noue charged down the field toward Griffin. His lance was steady and he seemed more confident this time.

Layne’s fingers curved against the wood and she leaned forward, willing Griffin’s victory.

The two horses galloped full speed down the field, dust rising in their wake. The crowd quieted as Griffin lowered his lance.

The impact was horrendous. A loud thud. Griffin’s lance struck de la Noue hard, sending him back and up over the rear of the horse. He was suspended for just a moment before falling to the ground on his bottom.

De la Noue’s lance struck Griffin hard and he was tossed backwards, over the end of the horse.

Layne gasped as he struck the earth. A cloud of dust rose about him. Visions of her joust with Griffin came back to her. He could be hurt! She moved instantly to duck beneath the fence.

Frances grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

Layne faltered.

Frances shook her. “You can’t go onto the field of honor!”

Layne swiveled her gaze from Griffin to Frances. Over his shoulder, she saw Colin glaring at her.

“He might be hurt.”

“Good,” Frances said.

Layne’s chest tightened in dread.

“Nay,” Michael cried, pointing into the field. “He’s getting up!”

Griffin pushed himself to a sitting position. He looked around the field and stood to his feet, calling for his sword. Carlton raced out, holding his weapon and handed it to Griffin. Griffin approached de la Noue who lay on his back and had not moved. He nudged de la Noue with his toe.

De la Noue lay still.

The crowd was silent as if holding its collective breath.

Griffin straightened, holding his sword before him. Again, he shoved de la Noue with his boot.

De la Noue moved, lifting his head.

Griffin put the sword tip beneath his neck. “Yield,” he ordered.

De la Noue lifted his hands in surrender.

Griffin lowered his weapon. He whistled and Adonis cantered over to him. As he sheathed his sword and mounted, the crowd roused and cheers began. A chant started to build. “Wolfe, Wolfe!”

Layne scowled. Colin shook his head. Frances muttered a curse.

Griffin held his right arm against his side, almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t spent the last days with him, she would never have noticed it. He
was
hurt!

He rode out of the field amidst cheers and Carlton jogged after him.

Layne whirled and dashed away from the field, running toward Griffin’s tent. He is hurt, her mind repeated. Just like my joust. Anguish filled her. Was this her fault? Was this…?

“Layne!” Colin called.

But she didn’t stop, she couldn’t. Griffin was hurt. She leapt a small ravine and sprinted across a field. Her breathing was loud in her ears; her worry ate away at the corners of her mind. The noise of the crowd grew distant as she moved closer to the tents.

She didn’t hear the horses thundering behind her until they were almost on her. She whirled and cringed as two horses rode by so close the riders could touch her. One of the horses bumped into her, sending her sliding to the ground. She landed amidst the pebbles and grass in the field.

She looked up to see horse hooves bearing down on her. She rolled out of their way and recognized one of the riders as he moved past, the sharp hooves of his horse only inches from her head. It was Simon Wellington, Daunger’s squire. She leapt to her feet and raced toward the cover the trees. If she could reach the trees, Simon and the other rider would have to come after her on foot. But as she ran, she realized she wouldn’t make the trees. They were too far away. She made a sharp turn just as the horses behind her roared past, unable to make the turn as quickly as she.

Another horse and rider stopped a few feet before her.

She came to a halt, her feet skidding in the grass.

Osmont sat on his steed, glaring at her. “Imagine my delight when I saw you running alone through the field. No one is here to protect you now. You shall pay for dishonoring the field of honor.”

She barely had time to turn when something slammed into the back of her head, sending her to the ground. For a long moment, she lay on the ground looking at the clouds through the tall blades of wild grass. Her world spun, swirling around the pinpoint of light in the sky as darkness hedged the edges of her vision.

She heard voices, but couldn’t understand the words. She saw boots come toward her through the grass. More talking. She could barely keep her eyes open. A thrumming sounded in her head.