The Knight and the Dove (49 page)

The words were still ringing in Bracken’s ears some 20 minutes later when he went looking for Megan. She was just coming from her mother’s room, and they met in the wide passageway.

“Is your mother settled?”

“Yes, but she kept looking at me oddly. In truth, Bracken, I feel sad
for my parents that it has taken them so long to see Marigold’s true nature.”

Bracken only stared at her.

“Bracken, what is it?”

It was only right that she should know so that she could move with caution, but as with Vincent, Bracken had no desire to frighten her. He sighed very gently and reached to smooth her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Your father feels that Marigold is going mad and truly fears for you because of this.”

Megan stepped a little closer to her husband, and Bracken put his arms around her. Megan spoke with her cheek laid against his hard chest.

“You won’t let her hurt me, Bracken.” It was a statement.

“No, I won’t, but you need to walk with caution.”

“During the tourney?”

“Yes. I believe your father thinks she might try something.”

Megan tipped her head back. “I’ll make sure you or Arik are close by at all times.” Megan put her cheek back to Bracken’s broad chest, and a moment later felt him pulling off her wimple.

“Bracken!” she scolded and reached for his hand, but it was too late—her hair hung in a red mass down her back.

“I’ve told you many times,” Bracken said without apology as he held the wimple behind his back, “I want to see your hair.”

“But my mother is here,” Megan complained while attempting to smooth her unruly curls. “What will she say?”

“It matters not.” He was unperturbed. “Just remind her that she is at Hawkings Crest and can go without her wimple as well.”

Thirty-Five

M
EGAN HAD NOT ATTENTED
a tournament since she was a young girl, so the following days held a great many surprises for her. Competitions at the archery range and all swordplay would take place on the actual day of Megan’s birthday, and the following day would mark the wrestling matches and the javelin throw. The last day would end with a jousting competition.

The opening of the tourney started with a parade of the knights whose castles had answered the invitation. The men were in full pageantry dress as they paraded proudly onto the jousting field. The colors from six other keeps joined those of Hawkings Crest, Stone Lake, and White Hall, Joyce’s family home.

Megan was in the stands with all the other ladies. She watched proudly as Bracken, sitting atop Warrior and as the host of the games, rode proudly in front. Lyndon and Kendrick were just behind him. Megan’s pride grew as they circled the practice field that had been splendidly laid out for this occasion, and it tripled when she heard two older women talking behind her.

“My room is so comfortable and clean.”

“As is mine. So roomy.”

“Marcus and I had to share a room with four other couples at the last tourney we attended, and we did
not
get the bed.”

“Dreadful.”

“That isn’t the worst of it. The men in the room snored so loudly I hardly slept all night; Marcus was the worst.”

Megan heard both women laugh softly but she did not turn around. A swift shift of her eyes told her that her mother-in-law had heard as
well. Joyce reached for Megan’s hand and squeezed gently. Megan had all she could do not to laugh.

By the final day of the tournament, the knights of Hawkings Crest had more than proven their worth to all present. They had won the archery competition hands down, and Arik had taken on all comers, sometimes two at a time, in the wrestling. There was only one knight, a huge, bald-headed man, who caused Megan worry.

His name was Sir Rodney of Helt, and he’d beaten Bracken when they wrestled and nearly out thrown him in the javelin. Today it was time for the joust, a sport where a man could be accidentally killed, and Megan knew some very real fear as the men paraded in once again.

She managed a smile as the knights from Hawkings Crest were once again the first in line, but her heart was beating with trepidation. She calmed some when she saw Bracken headed her way. Horse and rider were in full armor, and Warrior pranced with anticipation. Bracken reined him in with a sharp word, and within moments he stood before the grandstands as though made of stone.

Megan stood and Bracken held out his halberd. She pulled the scarf free that hung from her waist and sported the Hawkings Crest colors, and then tied it onto the end of his lance. His head dipped in her direction, and his eyes twinkled. Megan beamed at him and thought her heart would explode with love.

She sat back down and tried to calm herself but it was all moving so fast that Bracken and Sir Rodney faced one another before she felt ready. Oddly enough, it was her mother who noticed the strain on her face, and in a gentle voice was able to calm her daughter’s fears.

“Your father says he’s not seen many knights with Bracken’s strength or power. Fear not, Megan.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Megan told her and was sharply reminded of a conversation with Bracken just the night before

“I’ll pray for you during the joust, Bracken,” she had told him.

“I have my armor and a strong horse, Megan,” he reassured her. “There is no need to pray.”

“I will pray anyway,” she had said. “The Scriptures say, ‘There is no king saved by the multitude of an host; a mighty man is not delivered
by much strength. A horse is a vain thing for safety; neither shall he deliver any by his great strength. Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy.’”

Bracken had looked at her in shock for many minutes before finally saying, “This is in the Holy Bible?”

“Yes, Bracken, in Psalm 33. I can show you.”

He shook his head. “There is no need. I believe you and beg your forgiveness for my arrogance. I would indeed desire your prayers.”

Calmness now covered Megan as she prayed for Bracken and each man participating. She knew that he might not come away whole, but the tourney was in God’s hands and Megan knew she would not find peace in any other place.

Megan paced the rug at the side of her bed and stopped every few seconds to stare in the direction of Bracken’s room. The light from the torch on the wall cast shadows on the floor, but Megan took little notice.

You could touch me,
had been Bracken’s words to her many days past, but Megan had not as yet made a move to do so. However, she was so proud of the way he’d beaten Sir Rodney of Helt that the desire to be with him was overwhelming her. Her only hesitation now was that he might already be asleep. A sudden thought came to mind, and Megan moved to light a candle. Once lit, she shielded the flame carefully with her hand and walked quietly into Bracken’s room.

As Megan hoped, he lay on his stomach. She also took note of the fact that his head was turned away from her. Because he was a light sleeper, she knew Bracken was aware of her presence, but he didn’t speak even when she set the candle down on the small table by the bed and climbed up to kneel beside him on the soft mattress.

Bracken’s heart was pounding in his chest as he felt Megan settle on the bed. He had known it would only be a matter of time before she came to him, but right now it felt like years since Bracken had begun his tender assault on her. The desire to roll over and sweep her into his arms was almost overpowering. He forced himself to exhale very slowly as her small hands reached to rub his bare back. He wanted desperately
to respond in such away that Megan would not be fearful, but would instead know just how welcome she was.

After a moment he simply said, “That’s nice.”

“I thought you might be sore.” Megan’s voice was a little breathless, and for the world Bracken would not have told her that his vassal had given him a complete rubdown.

“It’s kind of you, Megan.”

They were silent for a moment, and then Megan spoke quietly, her hands having no real effect on his muscles but tremendous results on his heart.

“I was proud of you today, Bracken. You fought so well that I had to confess my pride that you belonged to me.” She heard him chuckle and smiled as she continued to rub.

“Does one area of your back hurt more than another?” she asked solicitously.

“You’re doing fine,” Bracken told her, a smile in his voice.

They fell silent for a time; indeed, Bracken was nearly asleep when Megan spoke.

“I have news for you, Bracken.”

“Hmm?” Bracken murmured, thinking she could tell him the castle was under attack and he still wouldn’t be able to move.

“I am with child, Bracken.”

One second Megan was rubbing his back, and seemingly an instant later her head was on his pillow with Bracken bending over her, the candle held high so he could see her face.

“Is it true, Megan?” He felt as if he’d run for miles.

“Yes,” Megan said as she tried to see his face. “I waited to tell you because I felt a need to speak with Louisa. She confirmed my suspicions.”

“How long?”

“Just a month now. The baby won’t be born until December.” Bracken’s huge hand sought her stomach and spread over the fabric of her gown. Her abdomen was still flat, but it wasn’t hard to envision her swollen with his son. His eyes sought hers.

“Oh, Megan,” Bracken breathed. “Are you all right? Do you feel ill?”