My Noble Knight (12 page)

And then, she heard a voice. A familiar voice. A boy’s voice. No. Her head ached. She tried to lift it.

Someone knelt beside her. Calling her name. Michael. He bent down to look into her eyes. Worry furrowed his brow as he shook her shoulder.

Concern willed her fading vision away. She mumbled something, or at least she thought she did. “Run, Michael.” She pushed her palms against the dirt, preparing to lift herself up.

Michael stood. “She is hurt!” he proclaimed. “You hurt my sister!”

“Out of the way, boy,” a voice ordered. “She needs to learn her place.”

Michael! Michael! her mind screamed. Layne pushed over and lifted herself to her knees. She stared down at her fingers curled into the grass. “Michael," she gasped. The world tilted, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing the spinning to stop. She had to help Michael.

“It’s all right, Laynie,” Michael whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

When Layne opened her eyes, tears blurred her vision. Drops of crimson splashed the back of her hand. No, it wasn’t tears. It was blood. Where was it coming from? “Michael,” she called again, firmly. “Go. Go and get Griffin. Run. Run.”

“No. I won’t leave you.”

“Get out of the way, boy.”

And suddenly Michael was shoved out of her vision. Layne looked up to see Osmont coming toward her. She lifted her hand, but his kick connected with her side, spinning her onto her back.

“No! Leave her alone!” Michael stood in front of her again, his arms splayed.

Layne was surprised at how blue the sky was. How could it be that blue when it was raining blood? She looked at Michael. “Please,” she whispered. But her voice was weak. Beyond Michael, she could see two more figures. Simon’s face was twisted with disgust and pleasure. She didn’t know the other man. Why would he want to hurt her? Her head hurt, pounding like a horribly loud drum. She moved her hand, clutching her fingers around the grass at her side. It was smooth and she could almost feel each individual stalk.

“Boy, I won’t tell you again.”

Layne grit her teeth. Michael. She turned onto her side, bumping into his leg. She grimaced as the earth moved, rolling beneath her. She clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t let Michael do this alone. She wouldn’t let them hurt Michael.

Michael looked over his shoulder. He locked eyes with her for a long moment.

Layne read desperation and then resolve in his young eyes. No. Oh God, no. She knew that look. When Frances was picking on him and Michael was going to do something rash, something stupid like attack him, he wore that same look. She pushed herself to a sitting position and reached for him. “No, Michael.”

Michael either didn’t hear her, or didn’t listen to her. He drew his dagger. “Stay away from her or I’ll cut you all down.”

Her fingers closed too late over empty air as Michael lunged forward, swinging his tiny dagger.

Osmont cackled in laughter and stepped forward, reaching for Michael. “Boys shouldn’t play with men’s toys.”

Michael was quick and ducked out of reach, swiping his dagger. He cut Osmont’s arm.

Osmont pulled back, clutching his arm. He looked down at his wrist where a line of red had appeared. He grit his teeth in disbelief. “You insolent cur!” He yanked his sword free of its sheath and raised it.

Michael put up his dagger.

Layne lunged forward and her fingers wrapped around Michael’s tunic as Osmont brought his sword down.

“Nooo!” Layne screamed.

G
riffin’s jaw clenched as Carlton
dabbed at his wound. It was the same cut he had received from Layne during their joust. It had reopened. It wasn’t serious, but it was a painful nuisance. He was so furious that his hands clenched tight on his thighs. Unhorsed! For a second time! By a knight he considered to be far inferior.

Something made the skin at the nape of his neck prickle. He rose away from Carlton’s ministrations and moved to the flap, pushing it out of the way to gaze into the forest around their camp. The sun dipped behind a cloud in that instant. Silence stretched across the camp.

Unhorsed for a second time. It was unthinkable.

Adonis’s ears flicked in his direction and Griffin walked over to his steed. He patted him gently. The horse nickered nervously. Griffin wondered if the horse was feeling his own unease or if he heard something else.

“Nooo!” The echo rent the air.

Layne! Griffin swung himself onto Adonis, spurring him. Panic tightened his chest. Where was she? Adonis rode forward, toward where Griffin believed the cry had come from.

“Michael!”

He swung his head to the side, toward the clearing beside the tents in front of the field of honor. He jerked the reins to the side and spurred Adonis between the trees.

It wasn’t fast enough. His heart beat with dread and foreboding. It would never be fast enough. Layne’s anguish-filled cry tore through his soul.

As Adonis burst from the trees into the clearing, Griffin took in the sight. Michael sat on the ground, his arm against his chest. Layne smothered him like a blanket and Osmont loomed over the two of them, his sword stained with blood.

Layne whirled to face Osmont as Griffin charged closer. Her lips were curled back in a feral snarl, baring her teeth. She grabbed something from the ground.

Adonis reached them and Griffin slid to the ground between Osmont and Layne.

At first, her gaze was wild and blank and centered on Osmont. But when Griffin went to her, blocking her view of Osmont, and took her head into his hands to force her to look at him, she focused on him.

Tears rose in her clear blue eyes and her lower lip pouted. “Michael,” she gasped.

Griffin turned to the boy who had not moved from the ground. He was hunched over, his complexion so pale that at first Griffin thought him to be dead. He dropped his hands from Layne and turned to Michael, but something caught his attention. Staining his own hand was dark red liquid. He looked back at Layne as she dropped to her knees at Michael’s side. Blood caked her hair on one side of her head, running over her tunic.

Rage erupted inside of Griffin. “Layne,” he called through a tight voice. When she looked at him, Griffin realized the blow must have come from the back. He snarled, caught between concern and overwhelming fury. “Are you all right?” He held up his hand to show her the blood.

She nodded, the movement of her head barely perceptible. But it was enough for him. He spun on Osmont.

Osmont spit on the ground, sheathing his weapon. “The boy cut me. I had every right –”

Griffin lunged at Osmont, catching his tunic in a clenched fist. He raised his other hand and delivered a solid blow with so much power the knight was launched backward. But Griffin held him firmly and pulled him back for another blow. And another. His anger spewed forth like molten lava fury. He hit him again.

Osmont raised his hands, trying to deflect the blows. Griffin punched him in the stomach. When Osmont lowered his hands to protect his torso, he hit his face again. Osmont tried to pull free, but Griffin’s fingers tightened around his tunic. He shoved his face close to Osmont’s. “I told you she is under my protection,” he growled savagely before landing another blow square in Osmont’s face. His nose crunched and Osmont let out a wail of pain.

Hands grabbed at Griffin, pulling him off of Osmont.

Griffin lunged forward to attack again as the hands held him back and that was when Osmont threw the only blow that landed to Griffin’s jaw.

The hands pulled him back.

“Enough, Wolfe,” a voice called.

All Griffin wanted was to smash Osmont’s face in. He dared to hurt Layne! Layne. He glanced at her as the hands pulled him back from Osmont.

She sat on the ground beside Michael, her large eyes staring, her lovely lips parted in shock.

Some semblance of rationality returned beneath the blazing inferno of his rage; he saw a crowd had formed around them. Layne’s brothers, Colin and Frances, held him back from Osmont, along with three other knights.

Griffin yanked his arms free from their hold and straightened. His calm demeanor managed to return despite the churning fury in his gut. He looked at Osmont’s bloodied and bruised face. It wasn’t enough. “Stay away from her,” he announced and turned, presenting his back to Osmont. He wished he would attack him. He hoped he would jump him. He'd like nothing better than to continue his assault.

Layne sat beside Michael, her arm around her brother’s shoulders, but her eyes were on Griffin. Worry filled them and Griffin didn’t know if it was for him or her brother.

“You’re out of your bloody mind! She needs to be punished!” Osmont declared. He wiped angrily at his bloody and battered nose. “It should be a warning to other commoners. No women dares dress as a knight and comes away clean.”

Griffin whirled on Osmont, his teeth clenched, his eyes narrowed. “She paid her dues. You are not to declare her punishment!”

“You’re growing soft, Wolfe,” Osmont growled.

Griffin took a step toward him and Osmont cringed away. “Hurt her again and I will kill you.”

A murmur spread through the crowd of onlookers.

“Keep it on the field,” Colin advised.

“This woman is under my protection!” Griffin announced. “No man shall harm her.”

Colin and Frances exchanged glances of surprise.

Griffin walked over to Layne and Michael. Colin and Frances followed.

Osmont grumbled and backed away.

Griffin stood over them. Michael held his right hand crushed tightly beneath his left arm. Blood stained the side of his tunic.

Colin gingerly lifted Michael’s left arm to inspect the wound. As soon as he did, blood spurted from the injury. Osmont had cut off two of Michael’s fingers.

Layne glanced up at Griffin. She pressed her lips together tightly so as not to cry or gasp.

Griffin laid a hand on her shoulder for support.

“It should be cauterized,” Frances said.

“Let’s get back to the tent,” Colin advised. “Frances, go for a physician.”

Immediately, Frances rose and dashed off.

“Keep him warm,” Griffin advised.

Colin nodded. He glanced at Layne. “Can you make it back?”

“I’ll make sure she gets to the pavilion,” Griffin said.

Colin lifted his tunic over his head and pressed it to Michael’s hand, effectively shielding it from the boy’s view and slowing the loss of blood. He put his hand around Michael’s shoulders and helped him to stand. Layne stood, supporting Michael on the opposite side. The boy wobbled, but Colin held him firmly. Slowly, they made their way toward the tent.

Griffin watched them for a moment, then looked at Layne. His gaze swept her. She looked all right, but head wounds were tricky. He had seen a man get bashed in the head and seem fine and then be dead hours later. His stomach clenched tight.

The crowd around them began to disperse. Osmont was gone.

Griffin put a hand on her arm. Just the touch soothed his concern. “Layne?”

She looked at him and launched herself into his arms, letting the torrent of her sorrow out. Her body shook with sobs as he held her. “It was my fault,” she whispered. “I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen.”

The agony in her voice twisted his heart and he tightened his hold on her. “Your brother is a fighter. He’ll be fine.”

Her hands balled to fists in his tunic and her tiny body trembled.

Griffin lifted her in his arms. He was concerned with her head wound and wanted a physician to look at it immediately, but right then it seemed more important to hold her.

Layne sat on Frances’s mat, watching the physician tend Michael’s hand. She was so proud of her brother for defending her. He had acted as bravely and honorably as any knight she had ever seen.

Michael stared at his wounded hand, blankets draped around his hunched shoulders. He did not look at her and that worried Layne above all else. Osmont had taken one and half of his fingers with his savage blow.

Colin stood to one side of Michael, Frances to the other, watching the physician work.

It must have hurt like the devil, but Michael had only cried out when they cauterized his wound. Now, his body stiffened as the physicians turned his hand, inspecting, but he was so brave that Layne felt proud of him.