My Noble Knight (33 page)

Frances emerged from the tent. He sat down heavily on the ground near the tent.

Layne continued to comb his steed, but she cast him furtive glances. “Shouldn’t you be preparing or something?”

“Preparing for what?” he asked bitterly. “How to fall?”

Layne dropped her hand. “Don’t say that. You can beat him, I know you can.”

“Do you really want me to?”

A twist of guilt stabbed her heart. “You have to.”

Frances ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Layne. I am. I just... I can’t do it.”

Layne sighed and sat beside him.

“And don’t go telling me I can. I’ve had enough from Colin.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can or not. You have to.”

“And how am I supposed to unhorse him? Colin was always the better jouster. He had the best chance. How can I…” He shook his head.

Layne knew deep down that he was right. Colin had always been their best chance at defeating Griffin. Frances was nowhere near as good as he was. But she was not about to speak that truth aloud. Not now. “You’ve gotten this far.”

“But I’ve never beaten Wolfe!”

“None of us have.”

“You did.”

More guilt settled about her shoulders. “That was hardly beating. You cut the stirrup leather.”

Frances shook his head. “You still had the courage to face him confidently. Not like me.”

Layne chuckled. “I don’t know if it was confidence or that I was just so excited to be jousting in a real joust.” She looked at him closely. The rings were dark under his eyes; strained tightness thinned his lips. The weight of everything was on his shoulders. She wished she could tell him it didn’t matter, but it did. “Are you afraid of him?”

“No!” Frances’s shoulders slumped. “Not of him. Of the fact that I simply can’t lose. This is our last chance. The very last and it’s all up to me. Me. What can I do against such a skilled knight?”

“You can beat him.” She knew her victory had been tainted, but she had to do something to get Frances’s hopes up. “I beat him.” The words tasted sour as she spoke them, but Frances needed to hear them.

Frances looked at her with a strange light in his eyes. Realization. Hope. “You did. You beat him. Tell me how to do it. Did you see a flaw in his jousting? There must be something I can use to defeat him.”

Layne was torn. She didn’t want to betray Griffin, but this was Frances and he was in such agony. Her brother was under so much pressure. Layne considered making something up. Just to give Frances hope. Just to give him a chance. But in the end, it could backfire. She sighed softly and plucked a blade of grass from the ground between her legs. “He corrected the only flaw I saw when he jousted against his brother.”

Frances dropped his head into his hands. “Then there’s no hope.”

“Stop it. You have to look at his style. Watch him. I found a way to unhorse him. You can, too.”

Frances looked at her, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “You did. You saw what no one else could. You beat him. Laynie, that’s it! You do it. You take my place!”

Layne’s mouth dropped. She shot to her feet, shaking her head. She spread her hands before her as if they could erase even the suggestion. “No. No. That’s how all of this started. I’ll not take your place.”

Frances grabbed her hand. “It’s the only way, Layne! You've got a better eye than anyone else! You can find the flaw! You have to! You have to do it.”

“No. No.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he held it tightly. Her heart twisted, her stomach clenched. Everything in her cried not to do this.

“Please. Layne. I can’t win. I can’t. But you can. You’re better than me. I knew it the day when Colin told me how good you were. You have to do this.”

Layne stopped struggling. Compliments from her brother. He must be telling the truth. Or he was that distressed. “Don’t ask me to do this. Don’t.”

“I can’t do it. You can. You can beat Wolfe.”

Layne’s heart twisted. Maybe she could. But she didn’t want to. He began to pull her inside of the tent.

“For the family. You owe it to the family.”

“It has been a glorious competition!” Richard’s voice rang through the jousting field. He addressed the amassed crowd from the berfrois. He was elegantly dressed in an immaculate blue houppelande.

Lords and ladies, merchants, knights and peasants had come to see the final joust, all congregating on the grassy plains around the field of honor. On the berfrois, Prince Edward sat with the most distinguished of the visiting lords and ladies. Jacquelyn sat straight as a board beside Richard, gazing out over the field. Next to her, Gwen sat, her chin held high.

“The best have made a long track to Woodstock --”

A thunderous cheer went up from the villagers.

“-- to participate in the greatest tourney to ever grace these great lands. The skill shown by our competing knights has been unequaled. Most have fallen, eliminated one by one, until only two remain. On this most excellent day I give you the final two competitors!”

A roar of approval erupted throughout the field.

Just one more victory, Griffin thought. That’s all it would take and he would be free of his bet with Richard. He would not have to be lord. He could be with Layne and they could make their fortune from jousting. The last thing he wanted to do was be away from her.

He stared down the field at Frances. His horse was still, his helm lowered.

Griffin reined Adonis into a circle. He seemed nervous, maybe detecting his own anxiety. Griffin looked at the berfrois. Richard, Gwen and Jacquelyn sat there. Where was Layne? Why wasn’t she there? And her brothers were strangely absent. Why weren’t they here to support Frances?

As Griffin rode Adonis alongside of Carlton, the boy handed Griffin the lance. He quickly turned the horse and spurred Adonis.

Frances charged toward him, his horse kicking up mud behind him. He lowered his lance, as did Griffin.

Griffin had him well targeted, directly aimed at his chest, but at the last moment Frances leaned away from Griffin’s lance, making him miss entirely.

Frances’s lance struck his shoulder firmly. The impact knocked him back, but it did not have enough force to knock him out of the saddle. He grimaced against the sudden pain jarring his shoulder. He tossed his lance aside and rode down the list. He hit him! Frances had actually landed a blow! Anger surged through Griffin, but he forced it down. It would only mar his judgment. He rounded Adonis at the end of the list and rode back to his side of the field.

As he passed Frances, he looked at him. Time slowed. Blue eyes shone at him through the visor. It was all he had time to register before he passed him.

Griffin rounded Adonis. He took a moment to stare at his opponent. Blue eyes. He reached for his lance...

...and froze. It couldn’t be. Blue eyes.

“M’lord,” Carlton called.

Griffin took the lance. His insides shuddered with uncertainty. He glanced at the berfrois again. The Fletchers were not in attendance. Griffin looked down the lists. Only Michael stood as squire. Griffin’s chest tightened in dread.

He looked down the field to see his opponent rushing toward him.

He spurred Adonis instinctively. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t! He lowered the lance. He had to see. He had to know. He threw his lance aside and pushed her lance away from him, staring as he rode past.

The crowd around him gasped.

She didn’t look at him.

He quickly rode Adonis around her side of the field, glaring at Michael. Michael wouldn’t meet his gaze as he passed and he turned to ride down the list. He slowed Adonis as he neared her. When she met his eyes, he knew. He would recognize those eyes anywhere. Layne! It was Layne! He reined Adonis so he was cantering next to her toward her side of the field. Why? Why was she doing this? Didn’t she know what could happen if she was discovered? Of course she knew! She had done this before. During the last joust with him. Didn't the dungeon or a fine hold any threat? Why was she doing this?

Griffin turned Adonis back to his side of the field.

The crowd around the field of honor mumbled with confusion.

He turned Adonis to look down the field to Layne. How could she do this?

How could he? God’s blood! How could he joust against her when he might seriously injure her? Didn’t she know? Didn’t she know that if she jousted him, he could harm her? And if he didn’t joust her, he would lose.

And he would spend a lifetime without her.

Griffin paced Adonis back and forth along his side of the field, staring at her. How could he joust her? He would never raise the lance to her. She could be hurt. Her image overlapped Colin’s in his mind. She was the one laying on the ground with the splintered lance in her leg. He grimaced. He couldn’t do it.

How could he not? If he didn’t win, he would have to take over as lord of the castle in Richard’s place. He would never see her again. An ache rose in his chest. He would never see her again. Yet, he couldn’t risk hurting her, killing her. He wouldn’t! It wasn’t worth it. He might not be able to see her, to be with her in the tourneys, but she would not be hurt.

She would at least be alive.

With a heavy heart, he took the lance from Carlton. For a long moment, he steadied Adonis with the lance in the upright position. He stared at her. Why would she force him to do this? It didn't matter. He would never hurt her.

He slowly lowered the lance to point it at the ground in forfeit.

L
ayne quickly rode Angel from
the silent, stunned field. She couldn’t be caught there. She rode hard back to the pavilion. Griffin had forfeit. And she knew why. Because he knew it was her. There could be no other explanation.

Colin met her outside the tent. “What happened?”

Layne dismounted and entered the tent, removing the helmet. Frances stood from where he was lounging on his mat. Colin entered the tent.

“Griffin forfeit,” Layne said with a heaviness she couldn’t hide.

There was a long moment of silence.

“You won,” Frances gasped.

Yes. She won. But she didn’t feel like she won. There was a heaviness in her chest. Griffin had forfeit.

“Hurry,” Colin said, lifting Layne’s arm. “Get this armor on Frances. They’ll be expecting him.” He began to unbuckle the armor.

Frances lifted her other arm and began to remove the armor. “You won,” he repeated, shocked.

“No,” Layne whispered. “Griffin forfeit.”

“We still get the purse.”

A lump rose in Layne’s throat, cutting off any words she could say. Tears rose in her eyes. Why would he forfeit? Why would he do that? He was jousting in front of his family, to win their respect. And now he had just thrown it all way. Because of her. She knew how much it meant to him to be the best. She locked eyes with Colin for a quick moment before she looked away.

“We won!” Frances hollered.

Then why did Layne feel like she lost?

As soon as the final stage in their deception was complete and they had gotten the armor on Frances, Layne dashed across the clearing to Griffin’s tent. She shoved the flap aside.

Griffin stood in the middle of the tent, in full armor, his back to her.