My Noble Knight (18 page)

“Let us head back. We have a joust coming up.”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t go,” Layne complained.

Griffin sat on the straw mat, watching her pace the tent. “Carlton will tell us who is the victor.”

“I could have seen for myself if...” She whirled on him; the look on her face was like that of a trapped animal desperate for freedom beyond its cage. “Why couldn’t we go?”

“It’s best not to keep you in the forefront of Osmont’s mind. Let him think of other things. A fair joust, for one.”

“Osmont wasn’t jousting.”

“But he’s there,” Griffin said softly. “Layne. You being there or not being there is not going to affect the outcome. Relax.”

She frowned and paced again. Back and forth. There certainly wasn’t enough room to move, let alone get the pent up frustration out. “I don’t like Colin out there without protection.”

“And you think you can protect him?”

Layne stopped to stare at the ground. “Even you said that I have a good eye. Maybe I could see something everyone missed. Maybe ---”

“Maybe you would run out onto the field again.”

She rolled her eyes and looked up at the top of the pavilion. “I was not going to run out onto the field.”

“Because I had your arm.” Layne opened her mouth to protest, but Griffin continued, “You react with your heart, especially where it involves the ones you love. If you could control that initial reaction you would be a very dangerous opponent.”

Did he mean -? Could he actually mean -? “You mean on the field of honor?”

He stared at her for a long moment, a play of emotions moving through his eyes.

Her heart soared with hope, longing to hear the words of praise on his lips. Anticipation thrummed in her veins.

He looked down at the ground. Several pairs of torn breeches and a pile of tunics with various tears and rips in them lay scattered nearby. “Do you not have chores to do?”

There was a moment of silence in which her hope disintegrated. Of course he would never mean the field of honor. Not with her. No matter how good she was. She didn't belong on the field of honor. She looked at the clothing. “You meant as a mender of clothing,” she said with rich sarcasm. “Yes. Those other menders are very dangerous, too. I’m just terrified of them.” She scooped the clothing up in her arms.

“Where are you going?”

She glanced at him around the clothes. Her hair fell forward and she had to brush it back from her eyes. “I’m going outside to mend. You’d best accompany me. Those frightful menders might be there. I might need protection.” She ducked out of the tent.

“Layne!”

She looked over the slight rise toward the field of honor to see Carlton rushing toward them. Her heart twisted with dread and excitement. Eagerness rushed through her veins. Colin had to win. He had to!

“He lost. Colin was unhorsed.”

Lost. Her heart plummeted. That meant the Fletchers were out of the joust. The purse was no longer theirs to win. That meant only one thing. One of them had to win the Woodstock Tourney.

L
ayne sat in the tent
with her brothers. She watched them somberly as they all packed up to leave. No one said a word.

Griffin and Carlton were at the field of honor jousting their last joust. There was no doubt they would win.

Colin stared at a flask of ale he was packing.

Layne grimaced. She knew he was disappointed. “Colin ---”

“Don’t,” Colin ordered. “I was expecting to be jousting out there against Wolfe.”

“Sometimes even the best are unhorsed,” she told him gently. “This is not a perfect art. Things go wrong.”

“Nothing went wrong!”

“Obviously something went wrong if you were unhorsed. Did you check ---?”

“Everything,” Colin insisted. “There was no sign of tampering.”

He sounded disappointed. She wished she had been there to see what happened, what went wrong. “Then we’ll just have to win next time. At Woodstock.”

“You don’t understand,” Colin said. He leaned toward her. “We
have
to win at Woodstock. Or we won’t have enough for the farm. Father... we... won’t have a home for the winter. We need that purse.”

Layne shrugged. “Then we will win.”

“It’s as simple as that?” Frances mocked.

“Yes,” Layne insisted. “If I could knock Griffin from the horse, then so can either of you.”

“You said someone cut his stirrup leather,” Colin said, looking down at the flask in his hand.

“It doesn’t matter. You can do it. You just need to practice. A lot. I’ll sneak out later and meet you at the field of honor.” Colin looked at her and was about to protest, but she continued, “We’ll practice every moment we can. Every second we get. We
will
beat them. All of them.”

A grin curled Colin’s lips and he looked at the flask. “All right then. We’ll practice.”

“Of course, if you weren’t so lazy, you all would have been practicing already.”

“Really?” Frances demanded, rising and approaching her with a menacing gait.

“Is that so?” Colin demanded, tossing the flask at her.

She ducked and the flask sailed over her head, but Frances grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to the ground. He began to tickle her. She tried to fend off his hands, but peals of laughter issued from her.

“That is not how a lady is treated.”

Frances and Layne looked up to see Michael standing over them, a severe scowl on his brow.

“No?” Frances asked.

“You do not throw a lady to the ground and lay on top of her to tickle her.”

Layne shrugged. “He’s right, you know.”

Frances guffawed. “If I see one, I’ll be sure to treat her properly.”

Layne punched his arm.

A predatory look came over Frances’s face, dancing in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself from on top of Layne and approached Michael. “But there’s no rule against attacking your brother!” He leapt at Michael.

“Frances!” Colin called, sparing Michael who had turned to run. “Let’s pack up so we can leave first thing in the morning. That way we can practice later and ---”

A loud cheer came from the field of honor.

Layne led the way out of the tent, followed by the other three. She stared in the direction of the field. Nervousness churned her stomach. Then relief and a surge of happiness and pride settled her unease as cheers filled the air.

“Wolfe! Wolfe! Wolfe!”

“He won,” Frances whispered.

Her lips curled into a smile. “Yes he did.”

“How am I supposed to beat him?” Frances queried, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Stop it,” Colin ordered harshly.

“He’s amazing,” Layne whispered, remembering how expertly he jousted. But it wasn’t quiet enough. All of her brothers turned to her in disbelief. “He deserved to win this tournament!” she exclaimed. “You can’t deny that.”

Colin grit his teeth. He leaned in close to her. “We better think of something before the next tournament or all of us, Father included, are out on the street. And winter is coming.”

Winter. That cold biting monster was a death sentence with no home to shelter them. She looked at Michael. For all of them.

From across the field, she saw Griffin riding Adonis, coming toward his tent. Just the sight of him in full plate mail gave her a breathless anticipation. He was magnificent. Strong, confident and talented. The feel of his hot lips as they claimed hers burst to the forefront of her mind and she blushed. She looked down, hoping her brothers would not notice.

When he drew close to her, he said, “I go to the castle for the celebratory feast. You go help your brothers and Carlton pack.”

Disappointment flooded through her. She’d never been to a feast. Her brothers didn’t like mixing with the nobility. She stepped toward him. “I’d like to go with you to the feast.”

“No,” he said, dismounting Adonis. “I will meet you back at the pavilion later.” He led Adonis to his tent.

Layne scowled, watching him retreat to the Wolfe tent. She turned and was greeted by the confused and disapproving stares of Colin and Frances.

Frances shook his head in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

Layne opened her mouth to reply, but Colin cut her off, “Watch yourself, Layne. He might be amazing, but he is well out of your class.”

Layne glanced back at the white pavilion, but Griffin was gone.

Layne couldn’t help but keep thinking about the feast. Her brothers kept her well sheltered, never allowing her to attend even in the rare few times they had participated in them. But the fact that Griffin had been so abrupt and so commanding in his dismissal of her made her all the more determined that she would attend.

She helped her brothers pack their items as she had done at other tournaments. But as soon as they sent her out of the tent to start packing their horses, she snuck off, heading toward the castle. It was easy enough to sneak away. They wouldn’t be expecting her to do it. She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she just wanted a glimpse. Just a quick look.

She wasn’t foolish. She had taken her dagger, just in case. After the incident with Osmont, she knew she had to be more cautious. She was very careful to remain in the shadows, moving cautiously.

The castle came into view as she cleared the forest, its tall towers stretching high into the sky. The drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised, inviting visitors inside for the feast. She entered without incident and entered the Keep. It wasn’t hard to find the Great Hall. Harp music and drums sounded from an open large wooden double door. As she approached, she heard laughter and murmured talking.

The room was packed. Every table was filled. Peasants stood around the walls of the spacious room. She easily joined them, scanning the room for Griffin. Serving girls scurried amidst the tables, placing trays of bread. Often the hand of a seated man would roam over their bottoms but she could see they were very well versed in ignoring them.

Layne continued to look for Griffin in the crowded hall. Men shoved food into their mouths, laughing. Someone jostled her from behind and she glanced over her shoulder to see a peasant woman. The woman looked away from her with a mumbled apology. Layne turned back to the scene before her.

Musicians played in the space at the front of the Great Hall near the raised dais. Seated at the center of the dais was the lord of the castle. Lord Frederick, the host of the Norfolk tourney. The seat next to his was empty. That should have been Griffin’s spot. As the winner of the tournament, his seat would be in the place of honor next to the host. Where was he? She looked around the room. There was so much activity and so many knights and nobles. She craned her head this way and that, searching the room.

“There he is.”

A hand pointed from beside her. She glanced over to see Ethan standing next to her. She followed his direction, her heart beating madly in her chest. Griffin would be in the center of a group of men, speaking about his prowess, relating stories of his skill, basking in the glory of his victory. But what she saw was nothing she was prepared for.

Griffin stood in the center of a group of women. One beautiful blonde gazed at him in adoration and touched his arm in familiarity. At his other side, a brunette laughed and ran her hand along his chest.