One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (22 page)

The Grey Knight threw his head back, and gave a sharp bark of laughter which was muffled by his helm. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, amusement ringing in his voice. “But that would make things too easy for you, and my mission in life is to keep you miserable. I’ve decided to keep you miserable a little while longer.”

The laughter set Jonathan’s teeth on edge. Rage filled his heart and it took possession of him, compelling him to run. He thundered at the knight, his sword held high, wanting so badly to strike down the man who caused him and others so much pain and suffering.

But the Grey Knight, expecting Jonathan’s move, turned his mount to the other direction and rode away toward the trees, his metallic laughter filling the air. “You shall see me again,” he shouted over his shoulder.

The crowd was silent, too stunned to react to the events that played out before their eyes.

In his fury, Jonathan ignored the pain shooting through his shoulder, but now as the Grey Knight disappeared into the trees, the pain throbbed unbearably, and he fell to the ground. Albert and Gareth raced over to help him up and lead him off the field.

“What happened out there, sire?” Gareth asked.

“God’s bones,” Jonathan muttered under his breath as every step seemed to jar his injury. “Was it not obvious? Not only did the bastard strike my mount, but he managed to injure me as well.”

“I thought the lance broke off on your shield, sire,” Albert said in surprise. His face paled when his eyes focused on Jonathan’s shoulder. The plate of armor that protected the vulnerable area was askew. “You are bleeding.”

Jonathan glanced at his shoulder. “The force of the fall damaged my armor,” he said, “and I fell onto the large splinters on the ground.”

Albert took his uninjured arm and wrapped it around his own shoulders, supporting the weight of his master.

“Our suspicions were correct,” Jonathan continued, glancing at Gareth. “‘Twas the Grey Knight that was matched to me.”

Gareth furrowed his eyebrows. “I felt so sure we found the bastard…” He shook his head as if to clear the memory of the youth that they had confronted the night before. “I have already sent four men ahead of me,” he said. “I needed to know that you were all right before I join them in the search.”

“I’ll survive,” Jonathan said. He moved his shoulder, testing it, and winced at the blinding pain that shot across his shoulder. “Just get that bastard before he slips away from us again.”

CHAPTER 20

When Rowena saw Jonathan hurt, her heart stopped.

She flew out of her seat, wrenching free from Ava’s grip, ignoring her protests. And by the time Rowena made it down to the lists, past the crowd surrounding Jonathan, he was already being led away by a large knight and his young squire. She flinched when she saw his face twist in agony. Something inexplicable inside her wanted to reach out to him and wipe away the pain etched there.

From where she stood, she could see the blood seeping out from his unprotected shoulder. Whoever the Challenger was, he intended to hurt or even kill Jonathan.

The idea of seeing Jonathan dead made her feel unsettled.

As she watched him leaning on the squire, she experienced a sudden flash of inspiration. Maybe there was something she could do after all, she thought, remembering the healing balm that Ava mixed just the other day. Jonathan was in pain — that much was obvious — and if she brought him something to take away that pain, would he not appreciate it?

With her mind made up, she returned to her seat just as the crowd dispersed back to their respective places, and the field was once again being prepared for the next round of jousting.

Ava kept her medicine beside her pallet. There was no disputing that her foul smelling herbal medicine worked. Hundreds of injuries sustained by the garrison were cured by the salve. However Ava was very protective of her concoctions and only gave it to people who exhausted their own remedies. How was she going to get the medicine to Jonathan without Ava knowing of her plans?

Then as if Ava knew that Rowena was thinking of her, she looked up. “I need to return to the castle,” Rowena said.

Ava gestured to the empty seat beside her, indicating for her to sit down. But when Rowena didn’t make a move to sit, she frowned. “Can you not wait until after this match?” she asked. “I understand that Sir Jared will be jousting next.” The unmistakable lean figure of her father’s commander rode his horse across the field. He had a yellow scarf tied to his wooden lance.

Rowena shook her head. “I just came to let you know where I am going. You do not have to accompany me as I will not be long.”

Ava’s face filled with indecision, and she looked from Rowena to Jared, who was in place, waiting for the signal to charge. “You will only be there for a short while?” she asked hopefully. “You are certain that you will be all right if I do not accompany you, child? While you were making your way back, Sir Jared came to request a favor from me. ‘Twould be terribly rude for me to leave just before he begins his joust.”

Rowena nodded her agreement. “Then stay here and allow Sir Jared to champion you. I do not need you to come with me. There was a time when you had to accompany me everywhere, but I am a full grown woman now and can take care of myself. Besides, I am not going far. I shall be back before you know it.”

The trumpet blasted and Sir Jared spurred his mount into a full charge against his opponent, drowning out the spectators’ cheerful chatter.

“Oh!” Ava breathed. She sat a bit straighter and folded her hands over her chest as if to slow down the pacing of her heart. She seemed to have forgotten that she had spoken with Rowena just a moment ago.

Rowena slipped away from the grandstand without Ava noticing.

***

Rowena shaded her eyes and looked up at the sun, checking to see how much time she had left. She told the truth when she said she wouldn’t take long. She rode swiftly to the castle. And the fact that she knew where Ava kept her basket of potions and ointments allowed her to get back to the tournament grounds in record time. All she planned to do was to pop into Jonathan’s tent and hand him the salve. He would thank her for it, and she could then make her way back to the grandstand. No one would notice she was missing, not when there was so much action happening in the lists, she reasoned.

But with each step, she became doubtful about the wisdom of seeking Jonathan out. He had the surgeon and the assistance of his squire. What would he need her for? But she owed it to him, a voice inside her argued. Just yesterday, wasn’t Jonathan comforting her when she was overwrought with distress and grief?

And how could she ignore the look of surprised pain that cross over his rugged face just before he collapsed to the ground? Even though the Hawk led a life of brutality and his heroic battles under King Edward were sung far and wide, he was still a man, a man who could bleed and feel pain as much as the next person.

And then there was the fact that she went through enough trouble to get the small bottle she now held in her hand…

She propelled forward, quickening her pace lest she change her mind. The least she could do for him was to offer her help. If he didn’t need it, then she would just leave.

With renewed determination, she walked into the cluster of pavilions. There were several dozen of them set up in the area and to her great relief, she found Jonathan’s tent without much effort. It was slightly off to the right, and the flag fixed atop the structure, with the familiar image of the fierce hawk, left no doubt as to whom the tent belonged.

As Rowena got closer, she could hear Jonathan’s deep baritone voice coming through the thick canvas walls.

She looked over her shoulders one last time to make sure that no one saw her and then pushing aside the heavy canvas flap, she went inside.

Then just as the canvas flap snapped back into place, Jonathan surged to his feet, and in one fluid motion, picked up the sword that lay at his side. Albert watched Jonathan with open mouthed awe, his hand stilled in the act of shining armor.

Rowena meanwhile took a staggering step back. Jonathan’s stance was as aggressive as the hawk he was named after. He showed no outward signs that he was weakened by injury. It was easy to see how he could incite fear in men. But when his dark eyes met hers, his brows furrowed as if she was not who he was expecting. He relaxed his grip on the sword and thrust it into the ground.

“What are you doing here, my lady?” he asked.

Her breath came out in a rush. “You do not look very hurt,” she said. A slight frown appeared on her face and she felt a sense of disappointment to find him so robust. He smiled ruefully at her expression, but then grimaced when he brought a hand to his shoulder and discovered fresh blood there.

His eyes narrowed at her when he noticed that she clutched something in her hand. “So you have come to finish the job?” he asked.

Rowena flushed. “Nay,” she said. “I have come to help you, not harm you.” She opened her hand and showed him the amber colored bottle. “‘Tis a special ointment that my nursemaid mixed a few days ago. Everyone from the garrison to the villagers use it. She swears that it wards off the evil that causes infection. And I have witnessed miraculous cures because of it.” She held it out to him, intending for him to take it from her so she could be on her way. “I thought it might prove useful for you.”

“Indeed,” he said. He made no move to take the bottle from her although his eyes roved from the top of her head, moving downward, and lingering for a moment on her breasts before continuing his full perusal of her.

She could sense the heat from his eyes, and even though her body began to tingle and flush, it was near impossible for her to tear her eyes away from the man standing in front of her.

He had gotten rid of his arming doublet and wore a close hugging hose that clung to his hips and muscular thighs.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry. Unable to look him in his face, she chose instead to put her focus on his broad, sculpted torso. But that proved a terrible mistake. She felt a strong urge to reach out and run her hand over him, touching the smooth skin on his rippling chest and muscular arms.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked.

She looked up and saw amusement dancing in his eyes.

If it was possible, she could feel her face heat up even more. She quickly lowered her eyes, horrified that she was caught staring. “‘Twas a mistake to come here,” she said, her voice faint.

“Leave us,” Jonathan said to the squire. Albert nodded, and ducked out of the pavilion as if the canvas structure was on fire.

With the departure of the squire, an awkward silence hung in the air. He studied her for a long moment, watching her nervously chew her bottom lip. “I believed that you were more injured than you are,” she said at last. Her grip on the bottle tightened. “It seems that you do not need this salve after all, and I was wrong to come here and disturb you.”

“Nay, don’t leave,” he said, his voice turning harsh. When he saw her stiffen, he lowered his tone, softening it. “I may have need of your magic salve after all. In truth, my shoulder pains me.”

He tilted his shoulder for her to see, and she drew in a sharp breath. The wound was horrendous.

“How —”

“I fell on some wooden fragments,” he said interrupting her before she could form her question. She seemed frozen on the spot, staring at the wound with disbelief. It was obvious that his quick reactions to her sudden appearance caused the wound to bleed again.

He raised one eyebrow. “You came to help me, did you not?”

Once again, she extended her arm and offered him the bottle. “You will need to apply a small amount,” she said.

“Then I will need your assistance,” he said, making no attempt to move. Instead he was gazing at her with a warm light in his eyes.

She swallowed. “I —”

“Please,” he said. “‘Twould help me greatly if you would apply it on me.”

He looked at her expectantly, his expression soft.

She gestured to the makeshift pallet near his feet. “It might help if you lie down, sire,” she said in a shaky voice. “‘Twill make it easier to spread the balm.”

Once again, Rowena forced her legs to move forward, each step becoming more difficult as if her legs somehow become entangled in heavy chains. And even when she stood before him, every instinct warned her of danger, telling her to flee while she could still think coherently.

But he didn’t pounce on her as she feared. Instead he complied with her request without argument and lay down on his back. She bent over his injured shoulder, and shook her head as she inspected the wound. “The skin has broken from the stitching,” she said. “I will need to clean the wound again before I cover it with the ointment.”

“My squire has a clean cloth and fresh water over there,” he said, indicating to the table near the pallet.

She moved to get the water and cloth. Then taking the cloth, she placed it into the basin, wringing it out before washing the blood from his shoulder. Next, she dipped her fingers in the small bottle and smeared the oily substance along the wound.

He hissed.

Startled, she jerked back her hand. “Does it hurt, sire?” she asked, confusion and concern filling her voice. Perhaps she took the wrong vial, she thought frantically. Now he must be convinced that she came to finish him off after all. Sniffing the bottle, she breathed in the familiar sharp scent of Ava’s herbal mixture. “I do not recall anyone feeling pain after the application of this liniment,” she said in a rush. “If anything, the ointment is supposed to numb the wound, and knights tell us all the time that they experience no pain after the application.”

“‘Tis not the wound that pains me,” Jonathan said in a gruff voice. It was something far more physical although that wasn’t something he could tell a maiden. But what kind of maiden would go to a knight’s tent without a chaperone?

At the gentle stroke of her fingers, he felt like groaning from the sheer pleasure of her touch. He tried in desperation to focus on something else, but the heady smell of her lavender perfume filled his senses, wreaking havoc on his control. And as much as he tried to restrain himself, his desire for her, which had been temporarily forgotten, became more intense, more obvious. Was it because he hadn’t been with a woman for so long? He shifted uncomfortably on the pallet and brought up one knee, acutely aware of his mounting arousal.