Mace sighed. He nodded, glanced at Gilbert, and ducked beneath the flap to enter. Elora stood in the opening, staring at Julian, and praying Mace could help him.
Julian looked up as Mace approached and then swiveled his gaze to Elora standing by the tent entrance. His blue eyes softened tenderly, but they were still tinged with anguish. “You should go,” he said to her in a rush.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t leave him.
The brown-haired man shrugged and moved out of Mace’s way. Mace laid a hand on Julian’s left shoulder, probing it gently. “It’s swollen.”
“Hurts like the devil,” Julian growled and bowed his head again.
“It will get worse.”
Elora clenched her fists in anxiety. She shifted from foot to foot, not knowing how to comfort Julian or take his pain away. She wasn’t even sure her presence aided him. She just knew she couldn’t leave him.
“Stand up,” Mace ordered.
Shocked, Julian looked up at Mace towering over him. He glanced at Baldwin, who shrugged in acquiescence.
Julian stood, keeping his left arm immobile, pressed close to his body. He was taller than Mace.
Light shone in from the entrance where Gilbert held the tent flap up to see inside. Sunlight from the open flap washed over Julian’s muscled arms and torso, casting light on his injured shoulder.
Immediately, Elora saw a protrusion of what looked like bone beneath his skin at the shoulder. It was just like the injury Edward had. She gasped. If she recognized the injury, Mace must, too!
Mace cast a glance at Elora, grinning in reassurance, before addressing Julian, “Do you still want to joust?”
“What kind of question is that?” Julian demanded. “Of course. More than anything.”
“We should wait for the physician,” Baldwin advised. “They’ll be here shortly.”
Mace nodded slowly in agreement and licked his lips. “And they might be able to help you. But they might not. You can’t joust like this, can you?”
Julian gritted his teeth. “I can joust,” he insisted.
Mace’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But you’d lose. Do you want that?”
“We will wait for the physician,” Baldwin insisted.
Mace shrugged and turned to leave. “If that’s what you want.”
“Wait!” Julian called. When Mace paused and looked over his shoulder at him, he continued, “What can you do? What is wrong with my shoulder?”
“Wrong?” Mace asked, his hands on his hips. “You were hit hard with a lance.”
“Can you fix it?”
“No,” Baldwin gasped. “He is a knight, not a physician.”
“’Tis true. I am not a physician. But I have seen similar injuries.”
“He helped Edward,” Elora offered, stepping into the tent. Behind her, Gilbert held the flap open. “Mace can help you, Julian.”
“He already has. He gave me lances.” Julian glanced from Elora to Mace. His lips pursed, and he agreed with a nod. “I trust you. What can you do?”
Baldwin sighed heavily and bowed his head in disapproval.
Elora stepped up to Julian, placing a comforting hand on his good arm.
“Edward and I were in a tourney at Castle Blackstone,” Mace explained. “Edward was injured in the joust, much the same as you are.”
Julian grimaced and clenched his teeth. “What can you do?” he asked impatiently.
“Stand as straight as you can.”
Julian did, but his left shoulder hung lower than his right.
“As you can see, Edward is fully recovered.” Mace circled Julian, eyeing his torso and his shoulders. “Your injury looks similar. But, as I said, I am no physician. I can try to help you if you’d like. Or you can wait for the physician.”
“Do what you must.”
“Julian!” Baldwin hissed.
“Do it,” Julian commanded.
Mace stood before him for a moment, eyeing him speculatively. He put his hand over his left shoulder, so it curved to the back. “This will hurt.”
“It already does.”
Mace paused, glancing at Elora once, and then suddenly yanked Julian’s shoulder forward as hard as he could. He quickly backed up, pulling Elora away from Julian.
Julian clenched his jaw and tilted his head back, a guttural growl escaping. His entire body tensed, hands curled into fists, teeth bared.
Elora felt his agony as though it were her own. Her stomach tightened; her heart missed a beat. She darted around Mace to Julian, but Mace caught her arm.
“Give him a second,” he warned her.
Julian groaned and clutched his arm to his side, walking in a circle.
Mace chuckled. “I admire his restraint. He’d be swearing to heaven above if you weren’t here.”
Elora dashed forward swiftly before Mace could stop her. She stepped in front of Julian, placing both of her hands on each side of his face. He was warm, but not burning. “Julian,” she whispered.
Julian opened his eyes and looked at her. His deep blue orbs were wild and filled with pain. His teeth were tight, but he managed to say, “I’m well.”
She stroked his cheek with her thumb, moving it over his stubbled skin, trying to soothe him. He was anything but well. He leaned his head forward to rest it against her forehead and closed his eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering, “You’ll be well. You’ll feel better.” Her fingers massaged his nape in soothing circles.
After a long moment, Julian pulled his forehead from hers and straightened. He opened his eyes. Gingerly, he lifted his arm. He winced but was able to lift it until it was perpendicular to his shoulder.
“It’s sore, but you can move it,” Mace explained. “I’d give it a day before you attempt to joust again.”
Julian turned to Elora. He rubbed his shoulder, but his gaze was locked on her.
Elora inhaled a trembling breath of relief. His stare was so intense that she felt as though they were the only people in the tent—nay, in the world. The connection was undeniable. Her entire being yearned to kiss him again, to touch him and reassure herself he was better. She swallowed heavily.
He grinned at her as if he knew what she felt.
Her body ached in response, and she blushed from head to toe, glancing at the ground and touching her heated cheeks.
“We should go, Lady Elora,” Mace suggested. “Before Edward becomes suspicious.”
He was right, but Elora didn’t want to leave Julian. “Are you certain you’re better?”
Julian nodded, gently rotating his shoulder. “I am.” He looked at Mace. “Thank you for the use of your lances.”
Mace smiled. “I wouldn’t have missed that joust. You were mad to go against Osmont without a shield.”
“I was not going to lose to him.” He glanced at Elora again. “I made a promise.”
Elora’s lips quivered with delight. He had honored that promise, and she had been delighted to see Osmont in the dirt.
He took a step closer to her, capturing her hand and squeezing it. “I’m glad you came,” he murmured softly.
His words warmed her and eased her worried mind.
Julian leaned forward. “I am hoping you will still meet me,” he whispered into her ear. “For our picnic.”
She pulled back to look into his eyes. He had honored his vow. She intended to reward him. She nodded quickly.
Mace cupped Elora’s elbow, guiding her to the tent flap and called, “Watch your back. Osmont has quite a temper.”
Chapter Eighteen
Julian watched Elora exit. The tent flap closed behind her, and an ache rose in his chest. He missed her already. And yet, there was something Baldwin had said to him that he couldn’t get out of his head. The thought poisoned his mind, rotting the corners like an open wound. “Be very careful what you tell her,” Baldwin had warned.
He had told her Osmont’s weakness was his right shoulder. And yet, when he jousted, Osmont left that shoulder comple
tely unguarded. Why?
He pushed the thought from his mind. That was hardly as important as finding out who had destroyed his lances.
As Elora and Mace walked back to the citadel on the trodden grass path, Elora’s mind volleyed from Julian’s injury to his broken lances. Someone did not want him to win the joust. Her fists clenched. She knew exactly who that person was. She privately fumed.
“Are you well?” Mace asked.
She snapped out of her reverie and looked at him. His brown eyes were lined with concern. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been quiet and frowning the entire walk. I didn’t think I was bad company.”
Elora sighed, lowering her gaze to watch her slippered feet take steps over the grass. “No. No, you’re not. I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking.”
“Always a dangerous thing.”
She grinned and looked up at him. The pale scar running from his cheek to his jaw contrasted sharply to his tanned skin. “It was very nice and honorable of you to loan Julian some lances.”
“I live to serve.” He bowed playfully, his brown hair swaying over his shoulders.
“Hmmm.” She stared at him thoughtfully. “You live to sow chaos.”
His mouth dropped, and he put a hand over his heart. “You wound me!”
“I know you. Still, you have shown remarkable courtesy. In both loaning Julian lances and in helping with his injury.”
Mace took a deep breath. “I loathe seeing anyone in need. Especially a fellow knight.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Truthfully, I like him. He surprises at every turn.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” She grinned, thinking of Julian’s strength of character, his determination to win, his warm touch, and his… She heard laughter and turned her head to see a group of men walking toward the fields. She spotted Osmont among them in a bright green tunic. Her entire being tightened with rage. Osmont. He had to be the one who had sabotaged Julian’s lances. There was no other knight who was so dishonorable. If Julian had forfeited, Osmont would have won.
She picked up her skirts and stalked to her cousin; her hot gaze seared into him. She stepped before them, halting their progress. “A word, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Osmont glanced at his friends. “I’ll meet you there.”
They nodded and continued toward the field of honor.
Mace remained out of hearing range as he waited for Elora.
She leaned forward, demanding, “How could you have destroyed Sir Julian’s lances?”
Osmont’s dark brows lifted, and he pulled back slightly. “I am offended you think so lowly of me. I thought it was your brother.”
Her mouth dropped as she inhaled quickly. “How dare you. Edward is a respected, undefeated champion. He would have no reason. But you would. Sir Julian already defeated you. You were afraid he would do so again.”
Osmont’s tiny eyes narrowed. “I wish I had thought of it. But I did not.”
Elora squinted suspiciously. “I don’t believe you.”
Osmont shrugged. “I tell you, it was not me. But I do have to wonder at your intense defense of Sir Julian. It seems… strange being that you are Edward’s sister. Your loyalties should lie with your brother.” His glare moved over her face, and his eyebrow rose. “At least to protect him from the truth.”
Elora straightened, and her lips tightened. “I did everything you asked. It is not my fault that you couldn’t use the information to win.”
Osmont’s nostrils flared in anger, and he looked around to see if anyone were near enough to hear before leaning in and whispering scathingly, “I have to wonder if you gave me the correct information.”
Lord, she hated Osmont, but she knew enough to be cautious of him. She was glad she spoke to him with Mace close by, who would rush to her assistance if need be. “And now you are calling me a liar. After you enlisted my aid to help you win. Something an honorable knight would never have done.”
He shoved closer to her, seizing her wrist tightly. “Do not ever mock my knightly virtues.”
Elora yanked at her arm, but Osmont held it firmly in a painful grip. “You have no knightly virtues. You follow Edward around, hoping for his attention. Didn’t you get enough attention from Julian’s father?”
Osmont pulled her closer, hovering over her like a menacing storm cloud. Drops of spittle rained from his mouth. “You don’t know what you are speaking of.”
“Oh, but I do,” she hissed. “Julian told me how his father took a liking to you and trained you instead of him.”
“Julian is weak. He’s always been weak.”
“And yet, he beat you. What does that make you?”
Osmont bared his teeth and seized her shoulders. “You should be careful about how you speak to me. I can still tell Edward the truth.”
“Tell Edward what?” Mace asked, approaching them.
Osmont released her immediately, a fake good-natured chuckle issuing from his throat. “Lady Elora and I were just speaking of old times.” He looked back at her. “Isn’t that right?”
Elora hesitated. She knew she should rush to Edward and confess everything about Julian, including how Osmont had discovered her and Julian in the stairway. She should tell Edward how Osmont had demanded she uncover Julian’s strategy to beat him. Then Osmont would hold nothing over her. But she couldn’t do that. If she did, Edward would never allow her to see Julian again.
“Yes. We were just speaking.” She rubbed her tender wrist where Osmont’s fingers had gripped her.
Mace stared at Elora for a long moment, as if he weren’t quite convinced. Then he nodded and offered her his arm. She lay a hand on it, and they turned away without a backward glance.
After a few steps, Mace glanced over his shoulder at Osmont and then at Elora. “Whatever you were speaking of looked heated. Perchance Julian is not the only one who should watch his back.”
Elora took a deep breath. Mace was right. Osmont was becoming dangerous. She couldn’t keep the truth from Edward much longer.
A man wearing a fitted green bliaut intercepted them, the long hem trailing in the dirt. “Pardons. I saw the entire thing, m’lady. Are you well?”
She studied him. He was much older than her. His jaw was square and clean-shaven; his gray hair hung in strands to his shoulders. She nodded. “Thank you.”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Luther of Eaton, Sir Julian’s father.”
Chapter Nineteen
Julian charged down the list atop Storm without a saddle to practice controlling his horse with his legs. That would give his shoulder time to rest and satisfy Baldwin. The wind blew Julian’s hair back from his face as he leaned forward slightly. Even though his arm felt better, he knew he had to take it easy. He needed to be in full form on the morrow for his joust against Edward.
“Concentrate!” Baldwin called from his position at the side of the practice field.
Gilbert had remained at the tent to guard the weapons.
Julian turned Storm by using just his weight and his legs. He moved his body in rhythm with his horse. As they galloped down the field again, his gaze shifted to the citadel in the distance. Its towers loomed high over the fields like a stone mountain. Elora was inside somewhere.
“Julian!” Baldwin called.
Julian reined Storm to a stop before Baldwin.
“You need to concentrate. You are not thinking of winning.” Baldwin pointed to the citadel. “You are thinking of her! You can’t win like this.”
Julian sighed. He was thinking of Elora and the plan he had for their picnic.
“Again!” Baldwin commanded.
“Sir Julian!” Adam, the young town’s boy Julian had befriended, raced through the field to Baldwin’s side. He was gasping for breath. “Sir Julian!”
Julian grinned. “Is it ready?”
Adam nodded, his eyes wide and full of excitement.
Julian glanced toward the stone walls of Gracious Hill
. Tingles of eagerness raced up his spine. The picnic was ready. He was so grateful to Adam and Heather, the leather maker’s wife. He couldn’t wait to see the picnic area. Or Elora’s reaction to it. He reached down for Adam’s hand.
“Julian!” Baldwin stated fiercely. “You can’t just go riding off. You have to practice. You have an important joust on the morrow.”
“I’ll be back,” Julian promised as he pulled Adam up onto Storm and situated the boy in front of him. He spurred Storm forward, hearing the echoes of Baldwin’s muttered curses fade behind him.
He rode through the open gates and into the town. Shopkeepers were calling out to passing patrons. A cart of colorful fabric was positioned against one building. Merchants haggled over the pricing for their wares.
Adam guided Julian down streets, pointing the way until they came to the leather maker’s home. Julian stopped Storm and helped Adam down. Then he dismounted and entered the house.
Julian halted, stunned. He stared at the room, and a smile slowly inched over his face. They had pushed the table against the wall. Strung white flowers looped from one side of the room to the other. Threaded white blossoms dangled over each wall. Julian smiled. Candles lit the room with warm light.
Martin, the leather maker, was busy in town. Heather was stirring a black pot over a small, warm fire. She cast him a glance, and a secretive grin slid over her lips before she turned back to mixing.
“What do ya think?” Adam asked, standing beside him.
Julian ruffled the boy’s brown hair. “Well done,” he murmured. “Well done, indeed.”
He scanned the table. Beautiful white flowers laid on top of it. Two chairs were pushed against it. He let out a slow breath, puffing out his cheeks. It was remarkable, but what if Elora didn’t like it? He had thought since she was a noble, she might enjoy this more than sitting on a blanket on the ground. He wiped his palms on his tunic. He couldn’t recall a time when he had been more nervous. Even facing an opponent with a sharp sword did not make his stomach flip like this. He placed his hands on his hips.
He looked down at Adam. The boy stood beside him with his hands on his hips, an imitation of Julian. He couldn’t have organized this without the child... And Heather and Martin. And Adam’s mother, who had turned out to be one of the cooks in the castle. He owed them all a debt of gratitude.
My Victorious Knight Page 12