My Noble Knight (27 page)

“No,” Griffin said softly, the small word tore from his soul. He couldn’t let her do it.

Gwen turned to him.

“He has won all the tournaments he has been in. Surely I could not have unhorsed him. Me, a mere woman.”

“No,” Griffin said louder. This drew the attention of Layne and Richard. He looked at Layne. “Tell him the truth, Layne. I did not know you were a woman until after you had unhorsed me.”

She shook her head slightly, silently begging him not to continue.

“You are no mere woman. You are extremely skilled in the art of jousting and swordplay.” He watched her eyes widen in surprise, but he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to say everything he couldn’t say before. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he missed her. “You can decipher a weakness quicker than I have ever seen. The reason you unhorsed me was nothing short of skill and talent. You know more about weapons than some men know. And you are a brilliant rider.”

The table around him was completely silent.

“Your excitement and enthusiasm for the sport is unsurpassed and… I have been a fool for not realizing it earlier.” He shook his head. “You belong on the field of honor more than at a celebration for men who are not your equal.”

Layne covered her mouth with her fingers.

“But she is not a knight,” Osmont shouted and stood from a nearby table. “She should never have been on the field of honor! The day she took up arms against you, she defiled the field.”

Griffin rose, his fists clenched. “Just because a man has not been knighted, does not mean he… or she… is any less honorable.” He pointed at Layne. “She never hit someone from behind! She has more courage and proper upbringing than you have shown your entire life!”

“Well said!” Ethan agreed, raising his mug from down the table and drinking it deeply.

“You know the rules,” Osmont growled. He turned to the assembly who had grown quiet, listening to the exchange. “She was not a knight when she took to the field and jousted against Wolfe. She should never have been there.”

Layne stood. “I paid my dues. The matter has been settled. It is not your right or your place to interfere. No matter how much you disagree.”

Griffin cast her a fleeting glance. She was beautiful, brave and courageous. He knew she was exactly the woman he wanted to present to his family.

“You dare to speak to me with such disrespect?” Osmont snarled.

“Contempt, disrespect, abhorrence. Call it what you will. What you did to Michael, to me, is unforgivable. Only a coward would hit a woman from behind. Only a coward would take a child’s fingers in anger. You are --”

Osmont lunged forward.

Griffin moved instantly to protect her, but the sound of swords being drawn echoed through the room.

Before Osmont was anywhere near Layne, Colin, Frances and the guards nearby had all drawn their weapons.

O
smont came up short, snarling
like an animal.

Layne lifted her chin, staring him in the eye.

Beside her, Richard lounged lazily in his chair. “It’s disrespectful to insult my guests, Sir Osmont. You will apologize immediately or be removed from the Keep.”

Osmont spit on the ground. “I’d rather be trampled by a hundred horses.”

Richard leaned forward. “Careful, Osmont. That can be arranged.”

Osmont glanced at Layne and then at Griffin. “This isn’t over, Wolfe.”

Richard rose slowly. “It is over, Osmont. Whatever is left will be settled on the field of honor. You are to never mention this incident again.”

Osmont clenched his teeth, bowed slightly and whirled, storming from the room.

Layne knew it was a small victory, but she felt joyful nonetheless. She looked at Michael who stood beside Griffin. She couldn’t help but notice the bandage wrapped around his hand that rested over the dagger tucked in his belt. She wiggled her eyebrows, but kept herself from grinning.

“You all right, Layne?” Colin asked.

Layne nodded, but turned to watch Osmont walk out of the Great Hall. She might be all right, but it was Colin she was worried about. He jousted Osmont on the morrow.

Layne walked across the grassy field with her brothers and Ethan, back to their tent. She hated the dress. It was cumbersome and she had to pick her legs up high to step through the tall stalks. Her dress got caught on something and she turned.

“I’ll help you,” Ethan said. As he fought the twigs that grabbed her skirt, she looked back at the castle as if she were called. Standing on the walkway, silhouetted in the moonlight, was Griffin. She was sure it was him. She would recognize him anywhere. Her heart hammered in her chest. He had defended her this night. The things he had said...

Ethan pulled the skirt free.

“Bet you couldn’t win a sword fight in that!” Michael said and raced toward their tent.

She would not take that bet. She looked back up at the castle.

Ethan followed her gaze. He laughed low in his throat. “It must have been a shock to see you like this.”

“Maybe for him.”

“For all of us!” Frances called.

She laughed in mocking reply. But she knew she would do anything to catch his eye again. Even dress in one of these awful dresses.

Colin’s horse danced nervously beneath him, but he steadied him with a firm hand. Osmont sat stiffly across the field, his horse unmoving, his gaze locked on Colin.

Colin’s gaze shifted to the berfrois. Frances stood with his arms crossed beside Richard who watched with shrewd eyes. Layne was beside him, clasping her hands before her. He could not let his family down. He could not lose.

He pranced Sprite, his steed, back and forth, trying to ease his nerves. When he was ready, he approached Michael who handed him his lance. He spurred his steed forward, down the field, bringing his lance down to point directly at Osmont. He rode his horse, becoming one with the animal, feeling the rhythm, knowing when it was time to strike. Colin leaned forward, preparing for the hit.

He heard Osmont’s cry as the lance struck his shoulder, glancing off his armor; but it did not break. It was a brief moment of victory for in the next second, Osmont’s lance landed a brutal blow in the side and Colin reeled, teetering. He grimaced as pain speared through his body. His hands tightened around the reins and he clamped his legs around his horse to keep from plummeting to the ground.

His horse circled from the pressure on the reins and reared slightly, but Colin held on and pulled himself upright.

As he centered himself in the saddle, the ringing in his ears cleared enough for him to hear the cry of the spectators around him. He spurred his horse down the length of the field more out of habit than anything else. His head was reeling. He reached Michael and looked down at him. His lips moved, but Colin couldn’t hear what he was saying. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The fogginess and disorientation lingered. He had to win. He couldn’t let them down. He grit his teeth and reached down for the lance Michael lifted to him.

His breath came to him, muffled inside his helmet. He heard his heart beating in his ears. He lifted his gaze to Osmont. The cocky bastard was prancing at the other end, pounding his chest and lifting his hands to the crowd.

Colin waited a moment for Osmont to reach for his lance before jerking the reins and spurring his horse down the field. He lowered his lance, couching it and clamped his arm down over it tightly.

Sprite charged down the field, and Colin lowered his lance. It struck true, right in Osmont’s chest. The lance splintered and Colin wind milled it over his head, riding past Osmont.

Osmont completely missed Colin. The arrogant knight teetered and the crowd seemed to sway with him.

Colin rode to his side of the field, and turned to watch.

Osmont clutched the reins, steering his horse in a circle until he adjusted himself in the saddle. He turned to look at Colin, lifting his visor so Colin could see his snarled grimace.

Colin cocked a grin. Served him right for being overly confident. And for hurting Layne. Colin reached for the next lance. He spurred Sprite, rushing toward Osmont.

Osmont raced toward him, dust kicking up in his horse’s wake.

Colin lowered his lance, aiming for Osmont’s stomach. He had to win this joust… The thought came unbidden and distracted his focus for the fraction of a second.

He felt the impact against his stomach. His breath was knocked from him as he was lifted up and flew back out of the saddle. He dropped hard to the ground. Pain exploded through his body, and for a moment he saw patches of blinding white in his vision which slowly transformed to a blue sky and thick white clouds.

Damn it. He sat up, pulling his helmet off his head.

Down the field, Osmont threw up his visor and watched him with a wicked grin on his lips. He lifted his hands in the air. The crowd around the field erupted in a thunderous cheer.

Colin began to stand, but a burning pain flared through his right leg and he sat back, clutching his thigh. When he glanced at it, he saw a piece of wood resting on the top of his thigh. It looked like it was just laying there. Strange. He touched the wooden splinter and a searing agony flared from the wood into his leg.

The white piece of lance was not on his leg, but lodged in his leg just behind his cuisses. He grimaced.

Michael reached his side. “You all right, Colin?” He followed his brother’s gaze down to his leg.

Layne’s hands flew to her cheeks. No! Michael knelt at Colin’s side. Her younger brother twisted and looked at them, locking eyes with her. She saw the fear and concern on his young face.

She jerked forward, but a hand grabbed her arm. “No, Layne.”

She struggled against Griffin’s hold, not taking her gaze from Colin. Frances leapt from the berfrois and dashed across the field to Colin’s side. “He’s my brother!” she whispered harshly.

Griffin tightened his grip. “You can’t go out there.”

For a moment, concern for her brother overrode the logic in his voice. She tried to pull her arm free of his hold. Colin was still on the ground. Frances made it to his side and spoke to Michael.

Griffin spun her to look at him. “Layne. You can’t go out there. When they bring him off the field, we’ll go to him.”