My Victorious Knight

by O'Donnell, Laurel

  Julian cantered Storm past Edward to his side of the field. He shook his arm again before reaching for the next lance. Gilbert handed it to him. Julian whirled Storm and spurred him, rushing down the list. He positioned his shield and held the lance upward at the ready until he closed on Edward, then lowered it and couched it beneath his arm.

  Elora quickly wiped a drop of rain from her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips.

  The knights met in a thunderous clash as the lances struck their opponents. A flurry of splintering spears rained down about them.

  Elora couldn’t take her stare from Julian. He grabbed and held his left arm. Even though his head was covered by his great helm, she knew he was in pain.

  Could Edward be aiming for Julian’s wounded arm on purpose? Why? He didn’t need to! He was an undefeated champion. Unless…

  …Unless he was afraid of Julian. Realization dawned on her, and she widened her eyes. Julian’s skill threatened him! Edward knew how good he was! Slowly, her mouth closed to a clenched jaw as anger fumed inside of her. Could it be that her brother was not the noble knight she thought he was? She had been in awe of him for years. Could it all have been a sham? Hitting Julian’s wounded arm once could be an accident, but twice was not.

  “Edward is aiming for his wounded arm on purpose,” she proclaimed.

  Mace glanced around quickly before looking back at her. “Lower your voice,” he commanded.

  “Julian is hurt! And Edward knows it!” She spun to Mace.

  His lips were pressed together, and his brow furrowed. “Edward wants to win. He will do everything in his power to remain a champion.”

  Elora snapped her glare to the field of honor, pinpointing Edward. She couldn’t believe how naïve she had been about him.

  “Julian would do the same,” Mace warned her.

  “No, he wouldn’t,” she answered vehemently. “He is honorable and chivalrous. Something I believed my brother to be.” Edward had preached to her about safety and righteousness when all he actually cared about was winning. Julian was so much more decent than Edward. He deserved to win! He deserved to be victorious!

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mace barked. “Edward is your family. He should be the one you want to win.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “I want the more skilled and admirable knight to win. Not just because he is family, but because he is honorable. I thought knights lived by a code of chivalry. But this… this is not chivalry. It is treachery.”

  “It is how you remain a champion.”

  Elora’s fists clenched. Her deceitful brother was no better than Osmont. She shook her head. As she glanced back at Julian, her heart ached. He believed her brother to be a worthy adversary, a skilled fighter. But the only skill Edward possessed was deceit.

  A boom of thunder ignited the sky, and some spectators ran for more cover.

  As Julian stopped Storm at his side of the field, the shield teetered in his grip. He could barely hold it, and it sagged sideways.

  “This has to stop,” Elora proclaimed, rushing forward to the fence. “He’s already hurt!” Large drops of rain pelted her.

  Mace shook his head. “He’s the only one who can stop this. He has to forfeit.”

  Chills of dread engulfed her. Her chest hurt. Julian would never give up.

  He turned Storm and started down the list. The final pass. The horses jerked forward, down the lists, the riders rhythmically moving with their animals. The steeds kicked up mud and water. The lances came down simultaneously.

  Elora clutched the fence so tightly, her knuckles burned. The rain increased, pounding a tempo of doom about her, soaking her clothing and hair, and drenching the stands.

  A spear of lightning struck a nearby tree with a sonic boom. Elora gasped and pulled back, covering her ears. People screamed and ran for cover.

  Julian’s horse tossed its head and reared. He yanked on the reins as Edward’s destrier balked near him. Julian pinwheeled the lance over his head and flung it aside, pulling on the reins, turning Storm so he wouldn’t fall. His steed reared up, banging into Edward’s, causing Edward’s horse to rear onto his back legs.

  Edward tried to gain control of the animal, but its back legs buckled, and the horse arced its body in a half-circle before crashing heavily like a tree to the ground, pinning Edward beneath him.

  Elora moved forward to the edge of the stands, her fingers curving over the wooden fence. The rain pelted her with hard, punishing drops.

  The horse squirmed, kicking its feet, and rocking until it finally stood up. Edward lay in the mud and water, painfully grasping his right leg. His squire dashed across the field to his area, sliding to his knees through the sludge. He leaned toward Edward’s helmet, listening, and then glanced at his leg. He frantically looked from side to side before hollering for a physician.

  “No,” Elora mumbled. Fear clasped her heart in a tight grip, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. Edward was hurt! She chided herself for thinking him immoral and deceitful. She mentally shook herself and dashed from the stands through the field. Mud soaked her slippers, sucking her feet down as if trying to prevent her from reaching Edward. She fought through the mud, forcing her legs to move, and dropped to her knees at Edward’s side.

  Through his helmet, his groans of agony resounded. He gripped his leg tightly.

  Across from Elora, his squire shouted for a physician again.

  A frenzied whinny sounded, and Elora glanced up to see Edward’s horse laying in the mud, its red rump cover so darkened by grimy mud that it was almost black. The horse tried to jerk upright but squealed and settled back.

  Elora wiped the water from her eyes and turned to Edward. She leaned toward him, easing his helmet from his head. “Edward,” she gasped.

  His teeth were clenched, and his eyes closed as he tossed his head from side to side. She touched his chest and leaned forward to speak to him, but he howled in pain, and she pulled back, curling her hands into her chest. Trembling, she sat in the mud, soaked through to the skin by the rain.

  When the physician came, he stood over Edward with a sweeping stare for only a second before urgently motioning for others in the stands.

  Elora glanced at Edward’s horse again. A man was inspecting the steed, running his hand along one of its legs. The horse kicked hard, letting out a low neigh. The man shook his head and stepped away from the animal. She knew enough about horses to know it was not a good sign if they were not on their feet. Another man approached the downed animal, drawing his sword.

  Elora turned away. She couldn’t look. It was Edward’s beloved, trusted steed.

  Frantic, Elora looked back at Edward. The horse must have broken its leg in the fall. It was always a death sentence for the animal. She glanced down at Edward’s injured leg as fear clawed through her. His strong destrier had to be put down because of his leg. What future would there be if Edward’s leg were broken? The thought sent immobilizing distress through her trembling body.

  Edward groaned. His face twisted in agony, his teeth barred, his eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to help him but was afraid to lay a hand on him. She was terrified of causing him any more pain.

  The agonized whinnies of Edward’s horse ceased suddenly as a soft rolling thunder filled the sky.

  Four men jogged with a gurney across the field to his side. Two men moved to Edward’s shoulders, two to his legs. They lifted him from the mud, and he screamed in agony.

  In her mind, Elora heard the horse’s cries. It couldn’t be saved. She was terrified Edward would meet a similar fate. They quickly placed him on the gurney.

  Elora stood on shaky legs as they rose and carried Edward off the field. She followed slowly, trembling, shaking.

  “Ellie!” a voice called.

  She turned to see Julian running to her across the field. She wanted to race to him and have his arms around her. But she hesitated. She remembered how he had pulled the reins, and his horse had slammed into Edward’s. It must have been on purp
ose; for the same reason Edward had hit Julian’s injured arm deliberately. To win. Elora was learning that apparently no act was too extreme in the name of victory.

  Anger and dread culminated inside her, turning into a whirling vortex of frenzied fear. “No!” she shouted, shaking. How could she not have seen that Edward was right about Julian? Julian had seduced her as a distraction to Edward. He would have done anything to win. How could she have been so wrong about Julian? “You wanted to win! You would do anything to win!”

  “What?” Julian stopped, confused, rain dripping from his brow.

  “You did this on purpose. You hurt Edward to win!”

  “You can’t possibly believe that.” He stepped toward her with his arms outstretched.

  Elora put up a hand to stop him, her voice catching in her throat. “No. Stay away.”

  “Elora,” he pleaded.

  She was grateful it was raining. She couldn’t tell if tears or rain moistened her cheeks. “I thought you were better than they were. I thought you were honorable and chivalrous. But you just wanted to win.”

  Julian straightened.

  “You got what you wanted. You are champion. Now stay away from my family and me,” she gasped a ragged breath and turned, racing across the field. She slipped once but righted herself and continued after Edward. She wiped at her eyes; her chest heaved. She felt betrayed and foolish. How could she not have seen? Julian was just like every other knight. He was not the man she wanted him to be, not the man she expected him to be. He was not a gallant knight.

  Julian was just like the rest of them.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Julian watched Elora trudge through the thick mud, his body and mind numb. The rain pelted him, dripping from every part of his body. Even the pain in his shoulder seemed a distant throbbing. How could she believe that of him? In his mind, he heard his father’s words. “You are worthless.” And he was if he couldn’t convince the woman he loved that he was honorable.

  Baldwin was right. He couldn’t win if he always thought of her. Defeating a champion and winning this tourney were his dreams. His destiny. It shouldn’t matter what Elora thought of him. He shouldn’t care about what others thought of him, especially some pampered, spoiled, rich, beautiful, lovely woman. His shoulders sagged.

  But it did matter. It always had.

  “Julian!”

  He didn’t want to look away from her. Even her retreating back was worth his full attention. Agony pierced his body as if an arrow had hit him. She thought of him the same way his father did.

  “Julian.” Gilbert stepped up beside him. “Come on. Off the field. Other jousts need to proceed.”

  Julian nodded and reluctantly followed Gilbert, casting one last look after Elora.

  “You’re the winner,” Gilbert said with restrained enthusiasm.

  Julian looked at him, shocked. That fact slowly dawned on him. He had won. He was an undefeated champion. He was one step closer to becoming the winner of the tourney.

  His arm burned where Edward had hit it twice, but that was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He didn’t feel like a champion.

  Many knights braved the deluge to stop by Julian’s tent and congratulate him. He was more popular than he had ever been, even more than after Elora had given him her favor. After all, he had defeated a knight considered undefeatable. He would be one of the knights jousting for the championship joust tomorrow. He greeted all the visiting knights with false bravado. He let them slap his back and grasp his arm tightly. He took their good intentions with a smile. But it was a smile he didn’t feel. A smile that didn’t reach his soul.

  After the congratulations, other questions began. How did he intend to win the championship joust on Thursday? Whose side was he fighting on in the melee? He couldn’t answer; it was almost as if his brain wouldn’t function. He had not thought past defeating Edward. It was all he had wanted, all he had desired. Until Ellie.

  Gilbert shooed them all out of the tent. Once they were gone, he looked at Julian. “What’s wrong with you? Were you hit in the head?”

  Julian sat heavily on his straw mattress. “No.” His gaze fell on Baldwin’s empty spot. Baldwin was right to leave. He was no champion.

  He felt something wet and soft in his hands and looked down. He was surprised to see he was holding the favor Elora had given him. It glistened like her tears and tore at his heart. “I thought you were better than they were,” her voice chimed in his head. He gritted his teeth, forcing the burning agony from his eyes. He ran his fingers over the fabric again and again. “She thought I caused Edward’s injury on purpose.”

  Gilbert stared at him.

  “She believes I reined Storm into Edward’s horse to win.” Devastation lay waste to his heart. His lips turned down in a heavy pout.

  Gilbert shook his head. “You can’t blame her for thinking so. That’s all she knows. Knights who break lances to win. Those nobles, knights or nay, use bribes and dirty tricks to win jousts. Look at her own brother.”

  Julian lifted a confused stare to Gilbert. “Edward jousted honorably.”

  “Are you certain? I saw how he hit your wounded arm. Twice. That was no accident.”

  Julian scowled and looked at the favor. “She should have known me better.”

  Gilbert bridled. “In three days’ time?”

  Julian stared down at the favor. She had been hurt. He had seen it in her glistening blue eyes and heard it in her trembling voice. His fist closed around the cloth. “Then I must prove it to her. I must make her see how honorable I am. I might not be noble, but I am honorable.”

  “Give her up, Julian,” Gilbert pleaded. “She is noble. She is not for you.”

  Julian shook his head sadly. “There were those that told me to give up the joust. That I was no good at it. But I persisted. And now, look at me.” He stood up. “I am not giving her up. I will not give her up. I love her.”

  Gilbert sighed softly. “What will you do?”

  Elora had insisted Edward be placed in her chambers, and in her bed, rather than in his tent at the campgrounds. Now, she sat quietly beside him, refusing to leave even though the physicians had told her he needed rest. He looked lost in the large bed, pillows around his head and under his wounded leg. A warm cover rested over him. He groaned, tossing his head and grimacing in pain. His brow was wet with perspiration. She dabbed at his forehead with a cloth and retook her chair. She clung to his hand tightly.

  He was all she had. Her only family.

  The shadows became long as the sun set. But it wasn’t until late that night Edward finally fell into a heavy slumber. Sleep eluded Elora. She released his hand and stood, moving in the darkness to the window. Far in the distance, campfires of the other knights sprinkled the landscape like twinkling stars. Julian was out there. The champion. The winner.

  Despondency swept through her barren soul like the winds in the desert. She had seen Julian’s deceit. He had backed his warhorse into Edward’s, causing Edward’s horse to stumble and fall. Her brother’s broken leg was Julian’s fault. Julian couldn’t unseat him, and his desire to win outweighed his honor. He had unhorsed Edward through treachery. She eased the shutters closed and bowed her head, turning away from the window. She had believed Julian to be magnificent and honorable. She had been so wrong.

  His desire to win at the cost of all else had been a trait worthy of someone as repugnant as Osmont, not a valiant knight.

  “Ellie.”

  Edward! He was awake. She rushed to his side, kneeling beside the bed. She took his hand into her own. “I’m here.”

  He squeezed her hand. “My leg…”

  “Is broken. But you’re alive. You’ll be well soon enough.”

  He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “What do the physicians say? Will I walk again?”

  Elora hesitated. They didn’t know if he would walk again. But he would certainly never joust or ride a horse. His leg was mangled beyond repair. “It doesn’t matter wh
at they say,” she whispered.

  “Doesn’t matter?” he asked with shock and tried to pull his hand free.

  She held it firmly. “You’ve never listened to others before. Who are you to listen if they say you will never walk?” She pushed the tremor in her voice down so he would not hear her uncertainty. “You are Edward of Kingston. You will walk if you want to.”

  The silence stretched through the surrounding darkness. Distant laughter floated in from the hallway. A log crackled in the fire of the hearth.

  “Edward,” she whispered desperately. “Say something.”

  “What am I to do?” he answered softly, brokenly.

  “Do?” she repeated as tears rushed into her eyes. “You shall get better. You shall recover.”

  “And then what? What if I can’t walk? What if I can’t ride.”

  “We’ll take one day at a time,” she offered.

  “My horse. He fell. Is he—”

  Elora answered quickly, avoiding the question. “As I said, we’ll take one day at a time.”

  Again, more silence. Elora’s hand constricted around Edward’s. Her stomach clenched. What was he thinking? What was going through his mind? She couldn’t stand to see her brother like this.

  “He defeated me.”

  Startled, she pulled back slightly. That was what he was thinking? About that accursed joust? “He cheated,” she snapped, knowing exactly who he spoke of.

  “Cheated?” he echoed, surprised.

  “I saw him,” she insisted. “I saw what Julian did. He couldn’t defeat you with a lance, so he rammed his horse into yours, and your horse fell on top of you.”

  Edward sighed softly. “Ellie.”

  “His horse hit yours and then yours fell onto you. If he had not turned Storm, if he had not hit his horse into yours–”

  “He was trying to get control of it.”

  Elora froze, replaying the incident in her mind. Julian’s steed had backed, and then he had yanked on the reins, sending Storm into Edward’s horse. “No. He was trying to win. Just as you were.”