My Victorious Knight

by O'Donnell, Laurel

  To her left perched her latest suitor, Baron Nicolas. He was much older than her, and he wasn’t at all interested in her, only in the wealth that came with her. His back was to her as he spoke to the man on the other side of him. Perspiration on the crown of his bald head reflected in the light from the torches behind the table.

  She closed her eyes and tried desperately not to clench her teeth. She was so disgusted Edward would consider Baron Nicolas as a suitor for her that she wanted to strangle her brother. Alas, an act like that would tarnish their esteemed family name forever.

  Again, she perused the crowd in the hall, wishing there were someone who could save her. Someone who could take her away from the ever-present pressure of finding a husband. She was under no pretense. She knew her place and understood what was expected of her. She had never embarrassed Edward or their father, and she wouldn’t do so now. She was the epitome of the proper noblewoman. She was a good sister and daughter. Even after their father had passed a year ago, she’d continued to run the castle and command the servants. She did her duty without complaint.

  Baron Nicolas wiped a hand across his forehead and flicked his sweat away. A drop landed on Elora’s lip. She sat for a moment, stunned. She tasted a twinge of salt and gagged.

  Trembling, she swiped at her lip and stood up quickly, her chair scraping back.

  Edward and Baron Nicolas turned to regard her.

  She tried to regain her composure but was shuddering with repulsion. She looked at the baron, a drop of perspiration falling from his bald head down the side of his face. She quickly glanced at Edward. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. I would never marry this perspiring… She wanted to say but knew better. Instead, she forced out, “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well.” She noticed Edward’s eyes narrow ever so slightly in disbelief. “I will retire for the night.”

  And vomit into my basin.

  Baron Nicolas rose and bowed slightly. “Feel well, my dear.”

  Edward nodded, granting her leave.

  Elora walked stiffly down the aisle of the Great Hall. Servants and knights bowed slightly to her. She nodded graciously to them, as was expected of her. She forced herself to walk, one foot before the next, and not run. She kept her expression blank. It was practiced and came easy. She marched out of the Great Hall through the double doors and into the hallway, turning a corner quickly.

  Finally away from Edward’s stare, she wiped her velvet sleeve across her lip again and again. It wasn’t the perspiration that bothered her. Everyone perspired. It was how the baron callously, with disregard, flung the beaded sweat onto her.

  She continued into the rounded stairway and up to the second floor. Servants rushed through the corridor, preparing rooms for the night. More gentle bows. Nod. Smile. She reached her room and opened the iron-bound wooden door. She closed it behind her as she entered, startling her ladies’ maid and friend, Sarah, who leapt up from her position beside the hearth.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Elora fell heavily onto the large bed positioned against one wall, draping an arm over her head. “Oh, Sarah!”

  Sarah moved to her side, gazing at her with sympathetic brown eyes. She pushed back a strand of brown hair from her brow and wiped her hands on her skirt to clean the soot of the hearth from them. “The baron was not everything you had hoped?”

  Elora grinned humorlessly. “It went as well as the others.”

  “Your brother won’t be happy.”

  Elora knew Sarah was right. Edward would not be happy she left, nor that she wasn’t fond of the baron. She pouted. “What am I to do, Sarah?”

  “You will have to pick someone,” Sarah answered, choosing her words carefully. “Eventually.”

  Elora sat up, resigned. “I know. And I am ready. I am. I just want…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering her thoughts. “You once told me about a kiss. The one with the miller’s son. Do you remember?”

  Sarah sat beside her on the bed as a secretive smile inched over her lips. “How could I forget? It was—”

  “Glorious. Exciting. Thrilling.” Elora seized Sarah’s hand. “You told me how wonderful it was. Do you remember?”

  Sarah nodded, her grin fading.

  Elora looked down, scanning the lines of her skirt as if they were bars in a jail cell. “I know the expectations of me. I know my duty.” She looked back at Sarah, leaning in to speak to her as if it were a secret. “But just once… just once I want to know what it is like to feel that kind of…”

  “Passion.”

  Elora nodded in agreement.

  A firm, insistent knock sounded on the door.

  Sarah quickly stood, cast Elora a supportive glance, and moved to the hearth.

  Elora took a deep breath to prepare herself and called, “Come.”

  The door swung open, and Edward entered. Tall, regal, commanding, and with a displeased frown marring his smooth brow.

  She folded her hands before her and straightened her back, awaiting his chastisement.

  He gently closed the door and approached. He marched; he didn’t walk. He moved with purpose, always. He kept his shoulders back, his chin lifted. He stopped before her. If she were one of his men, she would be quaking, but she knew Edward. “The baron is a good fit for you, Elora.”

  “He is twice my age,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Older than you, even.”

  Edward didn’t rise to the bait. “He can protect you and offer you a comfortable home.” It was the same argument as before. The same argument he’d used with the Duke of Normandy and Lord Roland. “You agreed to meet with him. You agreed to get to know him.”

  “He had no interest in me. He was too busy talking to Sir Geoffrey about the coming joust and the king’s ransom. I overheard him, mind you, as he never spoke to me. He dismissed me as readily as a child.” She lifted her chin. “It was insulting. I am Lady Elora of Kingston, sister of Lord Edward, daughter of Lord Hugh.”

  Edward inhaled. He sat beside her. “Politics and wagering are not suitable talk for a woman.”

  “I sat beside him,” she said, trying to keep her growing anger level. “If they were not topics for me, he should not have been speaking of them.”

  Edward bowed his head.

  Elora continued defiantly, “I speak to you of politics and wagers and war and any other items we deem worthy of our attention.”

  “Perhaps that was my mistake.”

  Elora tilted her head to study his expression. Even though he was a master at hiding his emotions, she knew him well enough to know he was serious. She placed a hand over his. “I know you are trying, Edward. I know you want me to be happy. But the men you have brought me are not the ones for me. I thought you knew me better.”

  Edward raised an imperious eyebrow. “Apparently not as well as I had hoped.”

  Elora grinned. “We’ll find someone.”

  He took her hand into his. “Promise me, Ellie. Promise me you will find someone by the end of Lord Yves’s Tournament.”

  Elora opened her mouth to protest, but then saw the desperation in his eyes.

  “There will be many eligible barons and dukes there,” Edward insisted. “Plenty for you to consider.”

  She knew she should be grateful Edward wanted her to be happy and didn’t simply betroth her to the first lord that came along offering spectacular riches. He wanted her to marry so he could look for a bride. As the older brother, he wanted to see her settled and happy first. It was selfish of her not to pick someone. “I shall do my best,” she assured him sincerely.

  Edward relented with a nod. “I gave Father my word that I would find a worthy husband for you. It is proving to be the hardest task of my life.”

  “There is someone out there for me. I just have to find him.”

  Edward’s eyebrows rose. “He is proving to be most elusive.”

  Elora grinned again. “He will emerge. I have faith.”

  “You have until the end of th
e tournament. Otherwise, I shall pick for you.”

  Chapter Three

  Near the town of Gracious Hill

  Julian reined in Storm and paused for a moment to look at the tall stone wall surrounding the town of Gracious Hill. The wooden gates were pushed open for entrance into the city. Beyond the massive barrier, Lord Yves, Baron de la Rose, and his Rose Citadel were housed.

  Julian had insisted on being early to the tournament grounds. He wanted to scout the field of honor and pick the perfect spot for his tent, a location where he could see the rest of the knights setting up. He urged Storm to the right, off the road, and toward the field.

  Gilbert’s wagon turned off the road and followed Julian’s horse. Julian looked this way and that for other knights, but the landscape before them was empty. They moved across the grass toward the field of honor. Julian slid from Storm, keeping the reins in his hand. He walked up to the field. It was huge, grassy, and sectioned off into three long jousting areas. To the side, a wooden house, open on the side facing the arena, had been erected where Lord Yves and the nobles would sit and watch the events. He led Storm across the field and stared at the stands, picturing the upper classes in their fine garments, cheering for him.

  In the back of his mind, he heard his father’s sneering voice, “Worthless. You’ll never amount to anything.” He had fought his father’s words for what felt like his entire life. His battle was physical as well as mental. A small part of him had doubted he would ever reach this point; a small part of him was terrified his father was right.

  As if to convince himself, Julian bent down and scooped a handful of dirt into his hand. He rubbed it, letting the gritty soil slide through his fingers. He felt prickles across the nape of his neck.

  His father had been wrong. He was finally here.

  Later in the day, Elora rode her mare beside Edward, leading a large group of knights and servants. Her bottom was sore from the days of riding from Kingston, and with each step closer to the tall gates of Gracious Hill, she breathed a sigh of relief. They were almost there. As they neared, a small breeze tickled the back of her neck, and she reached to rub her sticky skin, swinging her gaze toward the fields. Her eyebrows rose as she noticed a knight on horseback, charging toward a quintain. It was too early to see any other knights here, let alone one practicing for the joust.

  His lance struck the wooden man-like structure, and it spun. He ducked and successfully avoided the stick on the other end.

  Admiration stirred inside of her. It was difficult not to be hit by the spinning quintain. He must be a skilled jouster. Oddly, she couldn’t take her gaze from him. She moved her horse closer to Edward. “Who is that?”

  Edward followed her stare to the field and the lone knight. His eyes narrowed slightly. “It matters not. I will defeat him.”

  Elora couldn’t help looking back at the knight. His form was good. And the quintain had not struck him. But it didn’t hit Edward either when he practiced. Perhaps Edward was correct. Perhaps? Of course, Edward was correct. No one had beaten him in a joust.

  Still, there was something mesmerizing about that knight, something relentless and determined. He rounded his horse and charged the quintain again. She thought about warning Edward, but when she looked at her brother with his jaw angled and confident, his shoulders back and proud, she knew a warning from her would not be heeded. What did she know of knights and jousting?

  She stared straightforward at the approaching gates. She knew her place. But she couldn’t help one last curious look at the knight.

  He had stopped in the center of the field as if he owned it and stared straight at them. Tingles danced through Elora, and she imagined he was looking at her. For a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. A grin crossed her lips, and she had to bow her head so Edward would not see it.

  When they entered through the gates, a cheer rose from the villagers lining the street. Edward was one of the favorites to win the entire joust. He was a champion. Villagers called to him. Merchants cheered and made wagers at the side of the road. It wasn’t until they were almost to the citadel gates that Edward lifted a hand and waved to the crowd.

  Around them, women shouted their undying love. Townspeople cheered. Merchants hollered for his long life. He was used to the adoration.

  Elora again thought of the practicing knight in the field. He seemed more determined than Edward. She hoped Edward knew what he was up against.

  After situating Elora in her guest room at the citadel, Edward departed to set up camp in the field with the other knights, leaving Elora in Sarah’s care. Her chambers were large with a window covered in thick velvet curtains and a tapestry against the stone wall beside it. A hearth was next to the door, bathing the room with warmth from a small fire. Elora knew that even though it was summer, the nights could be chilly. A wide bed was positioned against the far wall, cozy mahogany blankets covering it.

  As it neared time for the feast, Sarah helped Elora don a beautiful red velvet gown tied in the front by a golden girdle. Sarah now stood behind her, plaiting her blonde hair into a braid at her back.

  “You’re quiet,” Sarah whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  Elora rolled her shoulders to ease the tension. “I feel like I’m being wrapped as a gift for a husband.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Elora rose and folded her hands before her, calling, “Come.”

  The door opened, and Edward entered. He glanced at Sarah, who dropped into a deep curtsey. “That will be all,” he said to Sarah.

  Sarah cast Elora a glance before leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

  Edward’s gaze swept over her. “You are ready for the feast?” he asked.

  Elora straightened slightly under his perusal. She nodded. “Have you set up camp?”

  He glanced at the fire and then the bed as if inspecting them to make sure they were adequate for her. “All is prepared.”

  She lifted a speculative eyebrow. “I suppose your friends have set up their camps around yours.”

  He turned to her and smiled. “It is good to see them.”

  She was glad he had a close group of friends to take his mind off the daily tasks of running the lands and castle. “I knew that was the reason we were attending this tourney.”

  Edward’s grin slipped. “I have to defend my status as undefeated.”

  “And all your friends being here had nothing to do with why we came,” she said dubiously.

  He scratched his cheek. “Perhaps slightly.”

  She hooked an arm through his. “I look forward to seeing them. Do you think they will recognize me?” It had been years since she had seen some of his friends.

  “With me at your side?” Edward escorted her to the door. “They will know you.”

  Together, they exited the room into the stone corridor. Richly colored tapestries lined the walls in testament to Lord Yves’s wealth. Torches were ensconced on the wall, lighting the way as they walked.

  Elora voiced her fear in a steady, light voice, “I suppose you have a line of potential suitors for me at the feast?”

  Edward’s eyebrows lifted. “Unless you have found a knight to wed.”

  “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. A knight materialized in my room, and I have sworn my heart to him.”

  Edward shook his head. “If it were only that easy. There are good, strong men here, Elora. I will be gravely disappointed if you do not pick one.”

  “Will they descend upon me like a favorite treat at the feast?”

  They turned a corner. “I should hope not. I would not like them nibbling on my sister.” He led the way into a spiral stairwell. “But many know you are looking for a husband.”

  As they emerged into a hallway at the bottom of the stairway, someone joined them. “Heading to the feast, Edward?”

  Elora barely recognized Edward’s best and longtime friend, Mace. She looked at him, summing him up in one quick sweep: amiable and a fighter. He had a scar that ran from h
is cheek to his jaw, and she recalled Edward telling her that he had been injured in a smaller tournament in France. His brown hair was long, falling over his shoulders. He was clothed in a simple beige tunic and leggings.

  He turned an intense gaze to Elora, and slowly, realization widened his eyes. “No!” he gasped. “This can’t be little Ellie!”

  She grinned in greeting. Mace had been kind to her throughout her childhood and had even shared some of his tales with her when she’d been young. She remembered him fondly as one of Edward’s friends that she liked the most.

  “God’s blood!” he exploded. “I remember when you were…” His eyes raked over her body. “Well, not a woman.”

  “Careful, Mace,” Edward warned. “That’s my sister.”

  Mace shoved Edward’s shoulder and laughed.

  She had not been at a tournament with Edward in years. When he went, she remained at the castle and took over his duties until his return. She had not seen Edward’s friends in a long time. It was a pleasure to see Edward so relaxed with Mace.

  They turned a corner in the corridor, heading toward the Great Hall. A roar of laughter rang out from a group of men standing before the tall double wooden doors. A servant girl scurried away from the midst of the group quickly.

  “Up to your old tricks, eh Osmont?” Mace called as they approached.

  Osmont. Dread sliced through Elora. How could she have forgotten he would be here? Unconsciously, she clenched her jaw and had to make a concerted effort to relax. Osmont’s hair was as black as his nature, and he wore a drooping mustache that fell to his chin. He was arrogant, boastful, and selfish.

  Yet, he was family. He was their cousin. He followed Edward around like a puppy, trying to emulate him.

  The group turned to them. Elora locked eyes with Osmont. While she knew Osmont, she didn’t know any of the men surrounding him. They watched her approach with dark looks. Her fingers grasped Edward’s arm tightly as shivers peppered her skin.