My Victorious Knight

by O'Donnell, Laurel

  Elora quickly looked back at Edward. His lips thinned. He would want to speak with her. He would want an explanation of how she knew Julian. She swiftly searched for Julian, her only refuge in the coming storm. She expected him to be riding from the field. Instead, she saw him trotting his steed toward the stands.

  She wrapped her arms around her hips as dread clawed her insides. What could she say to Julian without first speaking to Edward? Without explaining to Edward? She quickly weaved her way through the spectators from the stands, having to gather her blue velvet skirts to move faster. She made it to the grass when Edward’s commanding voice called, “Elora.”

  She paused, collecting herself, and turned to face him, fearful he would see through her calm demeanor.

  “I shall escort you back to the citadel,” he said, following her. “I assume that is where you are going.”

  “Of course,” she agreed, quite aware every eye was upon her. Some nobles even leaned around the wooden gate to observe the interaction.

  “Ellie?”

  The tone of Julian’s voice sent wonderful shivers through her. She turned slowly to find him atop his chestnut steed. Every time she saw him, it was like a breath of fresh air, as if seeing a brilliant surprise. A smile crept across her face.

  “Julian.” The sigh escaped her lips. For just a moment, she had forgotten herself. She had forgotten Edward stood behind her. She had forgotten her peers watched with judging eyes. She quickly composed herself. “I congratulate you on your win.”

  “I told you I would win,” he said softly.

  And so, he had. His confidence was daunting.

  “Thank you for your favor,” he said with a gentle grin.

  Edward stepped up close behind her.

  Julian’s brow furrowed until his eyes widened in recognition. “Sir Edward, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. But with all due respect, I believe you are crowding the lady.”

  Elora bowed her head to keep Edward from seeing the grin. Julian was protecting her from her own brother!

  Edward straightened. “You should exit the field so the next joust can proceed.” His voice was low and dangerous.

  Elora’s smile vanished.

  Julian nodded. “I will, certainly. As soon as you move away from the lady.”

  Elora ran a nervous hand over her cheek and opened her mouth to reply, but Edward cut her off.

  “She is my sister and is under my protection,” Edward said in clipped tones.

  Julian’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped somewhat before he quickly snapped it shut. He glanced at Elora. “I see.” He bowed slightly from atop his horse. “My apologies.”

  Elora’s heart broke. Now, he knew who she was. He would speak to her differently, with more courtesy and… He wouldn’t make her laugh any longer. He would be as stoic and boring as the rest of her suitors. She scoffed. Even if that were the case, Edward would never allow her to see him again!

  She had been silly, believing she could keep her identity a secret from Julian. Slowly, she felt the crowd growing around them as more of Edward’s friends congregated around her brother for support and curiosity.

  Elora stared at Julian, a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. He didn’t know what he had gotten involved in. Nay, what she had gotten him involved with. The complicated intricacies of politics and siding with the right men.

  “Julian!” Gilbert called, racing toward him across the field. “This way!”

  Still, Julian hesitated, locking gazes with her.

  Elora’s heart pounded until she thought it would burst from her chest. What could she say to him? Devastation swept through her like a cloud of dust. She wrung her hands. Her name dictated that she remained aloof, in control. She felt excited, distraught, elated, frustrated—every emotion but in control.

  “I would like to call on you later,” Julian said. “Perhaps dine with you.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She would love to dine with him. She began to nod.

  “Lady Elora dines with me,” Edward said firmly.

  “Hmm,” Julian murmured, his gaze quickly sweeping over Edward. “I meant no disrespect.” He glanced at Elora. “It was a pleasure seeing you. And again, thank you for your favor.” He pulled the reins of his horse toward Gilbert.

  Elora felt a tidal wave of desperation drowning her, sweeping her away. She didn’t want to lose him. She wanted to call after him, to talk to him, to say… something. But Edward stood at her side. She would have to explain everything to him. Her freedom would be curtailed; she was certain. Would this be the last time she saw Julian?

  “Sir Julian!” The words exploded from her lips.

  He stopped his steed and pivoted in the saddle to look at her.

  Magnificent. His chainmail armor covered his strong, muscular body. His dark hair was plastered to his head with sweat. But it was his eyes that captured her breath. They twinkled in the sunlight.

  “Congratulations on your win,” she said, containing her sadness.

  He inclined his head before trotting his horse away.

  She let out a small sigh she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Then she turned to Edward. His dark frown did not bode well for her. Not at all.

  “Osmont,” Edward called. When their cousin pushed his way through the surrounding crowd, Edward continued, “See Lady Elora back to the castle. I will catch up in a moment.”

  Elora glanced at Osmont, then at Edward. She lifted her chin, picked up her skirts, and marched right by Osmont’s outstretched arm.

  Edward watched his sister walk by the wooden stands toward the citadel with Osmont behind her. He crossed his arms and made his way to the side of the stands, away from the large crowd. Mace followed him as did another friend, Sir Thomas. Thomas was a thin man with long red hair who carried a sword almost as big as he was. They were his most trusted friends. He glared after Julian, watching him exit the field of honor. “Find out who this Sir Julian is.”

  Mace glanced after Julian. “We know he is a spectacular jouster. He beat me and Garrett.”

  “Sir Julian beat Osmont in his first tournament,” Thomas added.

  Edward’s lips tightened. “Why have we not heard of him?”

  “Osmont would never tell us about him. His pride was too wounded when he was unhorsed by him,” Thomas explained.

  “Mace,” Edward said, “go. Befriend him. Find out more about him.”

  “What of Elora?” Mace asked.

  Edward’s jaw clenched tight. “I will deal with her.”

  Mace sighed softly and shook his head before moving along the stands toward where Julian had exited the field of honor.

  “I expect word will travel of this Sir Julian,” Thomas said.

  Edward scowled as he watched Julian dismount across the field in the grassy area. A group of knights had surrounded him, congratulating him on his accomplishment. Most likely, they were trying to secure his loyalty for the upcoming melee after the jousts were over.

  “Apparently, word already has.” That was disturbing, but not as much as Elora giving him her favor. How did she know Sir Julian? When had she met his adversary? Edward aimed to find out.

  Chapter Eleven

  After navigating through the crowd of knights giving their congratulations, Julian finally managed to make his way back to his camp. Some of the knights he recognized and a few he didn’t. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his lips. He was proving to be a skilled jouster, and others were noticing. Yet, something inside of him was calling for caution.

  As he and Gilbert approached their camp, Julian saw a horse he didn’t recognize standing outside his tent. He glanced questioningly at Gilbert as he dismounted, his chainmail coat clinking with the movement. Something was amiss. He could sense it. “Where’s Baldwin?”

  Gilbert shrugged and took Storm’s reins.

  Did this horse belong to another knight coming to commend him? Julian composed himself, taking a deep breath as he brushed the tent flap aside and
stepped inside. He came to an abrupt halt.

  Inside, Baldwin waited near the side of the tent wall near his straw mattress, his arms crossed, and his brow furrowed harshly. “You have a visitor.”

  Across from him in the center of the small tent, Lord Luther stood with his hands on his hips. His face was clean-shaven, and his gray hair fell to the shoulders of his impeccable knee-length outer tunic.

  Julian’s gaze swung back to Baldwin. “Are you all right?”

  Luther laughed softly. “What do you think I would do to him?”

  Baldwin grumbled in contempt and brushed by Julian to leave the tent.

  Luther grimaced as he followed Baldwin’s departure with his eyes. “He only stole my son.”

  “A son you wanted nothing to do with,” Julian corrected with animosity.

  “That’s not true!” Luther exclaimed, sighing in resignation.

  Julian didn’t believe him. His jaw clenched. “The last thing you said to me was, ‘you’ll never be a worthy knight.’”

  Luther shook his head. “I was only trying to encourage you.”

  “You had a poor way of showing that. What do you want?”

  “Can a father not come by to congratulate his son on his victories?”

  Ah! He was here because he’d seen Julian win the joust. And now, he was afraid Julian would beat Osmont, his favored knight, in front of all these knights and nobles.

  Julian answered bitingly, “Not when that father had nothing to do with those victories.”

  Luther placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, son.”

  “Where is Osmont?” Julian asked accusingly.

  Luther’s hand dropped, and he was silent for a moment before he took a deep breath. “You’ve always been jealous of him.”

  “You made it clear he was the son you wanted. The son you could be proud of. You told me that. What did you say? Ah! ‘Not blood, better.’ I believe you said he was everything I was not.”

  “You misunderstood me.”

  “I think not. I remember the day clearly in my mind. Every detail. The sun was shining. It was hot. I remember because you made me practice with the quintain again and again. I was exhausted. My horse was frothing. And then came Osmont. Not tired, not run into the ground. And you told him to show me how a real knight jousted.” Julian shook his head in disgust. “Of course, he defeated me. And you reminded me.” Julian’s jaw clenched; his lips twitched with fury. “You reminded me of how worthless I was.”

  “I knew it would push you to do better.”

  “It only pushed me away from you.” Julian faced him. “I haven’t seen you in years. What. Do. You. Want?”

  Lord Luther sighed. “I am old. My lands need a lord when I am gone. My lineage needs to continue.” He looked at Julian. “I want my heir back.”

  Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t believe that was the real reason Luther was here. And Julian wanted to hurt his father, as his father had hurt him. “Even an heir as worthless as I am?” He shook his head. “I am not your heir any longer. I have no intention of ever claiming heirship to you or your lands. You made it clear long ago I was not the son you wanted. So be it. Good day… Lord Luther.”

  Julian stalked out; his fists clenched tight. He was trembling with anger. He ground his teeth. He almost collided with Baldwin as he emerged from the tent. Baldwin’s gray mustache drooped around his lips even more than usual, emphasizing his deep frown.

  Julian couldn’t… He couldn’t speak to him at the moment. He grabbed Storm’s reins, swung himself up into the saddle, and spurred the steed across the grass.

  Elora paced the room of the castle, wringing her hands. With each step, her red velvet dress swooshed around her legs. She was breathing rapid gulps of air and fanning herself.

  Sarah stood near the window, watching her. “It will be all right. Simply tell your brother the truth.”

  Elora glanced at Sarah, her mouth agape. “Tell him we snuck out of the castle and were almost swept up in the brawl in the town?” She shook her head. “You know Edward. He would be furious.”

  Sarah scratched her head in thought. “Tell him you met Sir Julian after the feast?”

  Elora rubbed the middle of her forehead. “I don’t like lying to him.” She knew she should tell him the truth, even if he locked her in her room for the duration of the tournament. She sat on the bed, her shoulders sagging. “You are a very bad influence on me.”

  Sarah grinned and shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

  A firm knock came at the door, quickly sobering them.

  Elora straightened, biting her lower lip nervously.

  Sarah walked across the room and opened the door. Edward brushed by her like a dark storm cloud. Sarah quietly closed the door and moved to a corner of the room where she began mending one of Elora’s dresses.

  Elora took a breath as Edward stopped before her, his hands on his hips.

  He stared down at her with a crease of displeasure in his brow. It was the same look their father had bestowed upon her often.

  She firmly met his disapproving gaze.

  Edward inhaled deeply as if to compose himself, before demanding, “Tell me of him.”

  “I don’t know much. He is Sir Julian of Helmsley.”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you meet him?”

  “You are treating me as though I did something wrong. What have I done?”

  “You gave him your favor.” He turned and threw his hands up in the air. “Elora, think of how this looks.” He whirled on her, his lips clenching together tightly. “We know nothing of this knight, this man. You must see the ramifications of what you have done. How others will view this. Lord!” He ran his hand through his hair. “We are searching for a husband for you. You should only have given your favor to a prospective suitor.”

  She bowed her head, guilt weighing heavy on her shoulders.

  He inhaled, his chest expanding, and let it out slowly. “You must not see this knight again.”

  “Edward!” she protested, partly because he was telling her what to do and partly because she fully intended to see Julian again—if he would see her.

  “Our family name, our place in society, dictates a wealthy husband. A man with a name as distinguished as our own.”

  “You dictate that. No one else.”

  “That is what Father wanted. He wanted someone who could care for you. Someone with lands and wealth. Someone with a title equal or greater than our own.”

  “But that is not what I want.”

  “Elora. Our family name means everything.”

  “I am not disgracing our family name. Julian is one man. One knight.”

  “A title-less knight!” Edward inhaled deeply, calming himself. “Title is important, aye. But it is so much more. It means favor with the king, lands, wealth, security, a favorable bloodline. Elora, I would not see you struggle through your life with a penniless knight. I want what is best for you.”

  “Is it best for you or for me?”

  Edward reared back, shocked.

  “Is that why you have not betrothed me to one of your friends? To Mace? Or Thomas? Because they have no title nor lands?”

  Edward sighed. “I know them too well. You would not be happy with them.”

  “Do you know me so well? How do you know who I would be happy with? Just last fortnight, you wanted to saddle me with an old man who only wanted our wealth!” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Why wouldn’t I be happy with Sir Julian? You know nothing about him.”

  “Ellie,” he said softly. “I know that he is poor. That is all I need to know.”

  She fought against the onslaught of tears rushing into her eyes. She rallied against the unfairness of it all. His reasoning was solid, but her heart wanted to be near Julian, to hear his laughter, to feel his touch again.

  “You must not see him.”

  Elora was tired of arguing with Edward. He would not change his mind. He would not be convinced that Julian could
be a prospective suitor. He was doing what he thought best for her. And she knew, deep down, that perhaps he was right. It was what Father would have wanted for her. Still, her doubt and longing fought against the rationale. She bowed her head and turned away from him, resigned.

  “I have a knight that I would like you to meet at the feast tonight.”

  “Of course,” she whispered in response, even though she didn’t want to meet any lord or knight or baron or king. She didn’t care. He would betroth her to someone she didn’t know and would never love.

  “Elora,” Edward called softly, kneeling before her, taking her hand into his own. “You’ll see. We’ll look back at this moment, and you will understand.”

  Elora did not meet his gaze as her lower lip trembled.

  Edward stared at her for a long moment before he leaned in and brushed a kiss to her forehead. Then he rose and headed for the door.

  Elora lifted her blurring gaze to watch his retreating back. She twisted her hands in her lap, frustrated at the thought of never seeing Julian again. When the door closed, she met Sarah’s stare across the room.

  Sarah’s brow wrinkled with sympathy, and a weak smile touched her lips.

  Elora blinked rapidly to banish the tears. She had gotten what she wanted. A kiss. One wonderful, passionate kiss to remember always. She inhaled a shaky breath.

  The problem was one kiss wasn’t enough. She wanted to see Julian again, but she couldn’t.

  Chapter Twelve

  Julian lounged against the wooden stands studying the field of honor, watching the collision of lance against shield as the knights jousted on horseback. For as long as he could remember, all he ever wanted was to be the best. To be the undefeated champion. His father had laughed at him. “You’ll never be a skilled knight! You can’t even hold a sword!” His father’s hurtful, hateful words echoed in his memory. Now, his father had come to congratulate him on his victories. Julian grimaced. That could not be his father’s real purpose. There had to be some underlying reason for his visit. More mockery? No. His father could no longer criticize him as he used to. Did his father finally see his potential?