by Regan Walker
A horn blew, signaling the time for washing of hands. Servants entered with ewers, basins, and towels for each guest.
Trying to ignore Nicholas as much as possible, Noelle washed and dried her hands. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach ... she ignored that, too.
She didn’t acknowledge that he’d sat down.
A trencher had already been placed before her and would hold the roasted fish that she’d share with Sir Gavin.
King Arthur rose. Silence immediately spread over the room. Once it was quiet, he said grace. Noelle bowed her head dutifully, but couldn’t help peeking at Nicholas. The moment she did, she wished she hadn’t because his eyes were open and he was watching her. He smiled broadly at her for being caught.
She snapped her eyelids shut. Drat the man! Must he always have the upper hand?
After grace the servants started filing into the room, one behind the other. Their trays brimmed with roasted mutton sprinkled with fresh herbs and several dishes of peas and beans.
The pantler paused beside her to place bread and butter before her.
Sir Gavin sliced the fish and Noelle realized she was very hungry as she placed the first succulent bite in her mouth with the tip of her knife. She would like some mutton, and decided she’d try that next. She hadn’t eaten since early morning, which would explain the butterflies in her stomach, she thought as she reached for another bite of fish.
“I like a lady with an appetite,” Sir Gavin said.
“I do like to eat,” Noelle admitted.
“Have you met Sir Lancelot?” Isabelle asked Noelle.
“Nay.”
“I am Lancelot of the Lake, milady,” Lancelot said with a slight nod of his head. “Welcome to Camelot.”
“It is nice to meet you,” Noelle said. “And Isabelle, this is Sir Gavin.” Noelle nodded toward Sir Gavin. “Isabelle is one of my ladies-in-waiting.”
“And who—” Isabelle looked directly at Nicholas, but she couldn’t seem to get the rest of the words out.
“I am Nicholas, and on your other side, milady, sits my first in command, Dirk Johnstone.”
Isabelle looked at Dirk. “What part of Scotland do you hail from?”
“From the borders, lass. It is God’s land,” Dirk replied as he stabbed a hunk of white fish with the tip of his knife and offered Isabelle a slice.
“Now that we have made the introductions, I have a question,” Noelle said. “Is it true that Meleagant has been ransacking villages again?”
Dirk spoke first. “A gentle lass such as yourself shouldn’t be worrying of such matters.”
Noelle smiled at his kind words, but before she could reply, Lancelot commented. “Meleagant has burned several villages,” Sir Lancelot paused, “but we will rout him out before long.”
“He has threatened Cranborne as well,” Noelle said.
“He will cease his threats after our marriage,” Sir Gavin said with confidence.
So that was the reason she wished to be married, Nicholas thought. “When you marry one knight, fair lady, you get all of us,” Nicholas said from beside her.
Noelle felt shivers run all over her, and she found she wanted to turn and talk to Nicholas instead of Sir Gavin. No matter how much she ignored him, she was well aware that he sat next to her. Damn his soul. Why couldn’t he have been a peasant as she’d first thought?
Noelle turned to Nicholas. “It is a comfort to know.”
He smiled at her and in that moment a connection was made between them. It was as if he climbed into her head and was reading all her thoughts. She felt her cheeks heat, and it took extreme willpower not to touch him.
“Tell us, Nicholas. Have you changed your mind about Lady Clarisse?” Gavin spoke, breaking the magical spell.
Nicholas frowned at the mention of the woman.
Sir Gavin continued, “She has been staring at you all night.”
Noelle glanced at Gavin, and he pointed to a woman at the other end of the table who was, indeed, staring at Nicholas. She was pretty with dark hair and eyes, and Noelle wondered what kind of relationship they had had.
Nicholas sighed impatiently. Finally, he turned and looked in the woman’s direction and nodded.
She smiled.
Nicholas didn’t. He turned back to Gavin. “You have always possessed the knack for bringing up things I care not to discuss. The lady is of no interest to me.”
“You see, milady ... Sir Gavin leaned over to talk to Noelle, “ladies seem to find Sir Nicholas and Sir Lancelot most irresistible. I, myself, don’t see this.”
“ ’Twould be hard for me to choose,” Isabelle admitted.
Noelle laughed “Isabelle has never been reticent.”
“Well, milady,” Isabelle placed her hand on Lancelot’s arm, “if you were not spoken for, could you resist these fine knights?”
Noelle gave Isabelle a murderous look.
“What do you have to say, milady?” Nicholas prodded from beside her.
Noelle was strangely flattered by his interest. “Even though you are both fine knights, I am afraid I would have little interest. I would leave you for the other maidens,” she said sweetly, knowing that wasn’t the answer he’d expected.
Nicholas said for her ears only, “Oh, really? I believe I would like to challenge that statement.”
“Well said, milady,” Sir Gavin complimented. “We have one lady who can resist your charms.”
“Miracles still happen.” Nicholas smiled at his jest just as the others laughed. “Such as you wanting to wed when you told me several months ago it was the furthest thing from your mind.”
“I hadn’t met Lady Noelle at that time,” Sir Gavin countered. “Could one blame me for changing my mind?”
“Nay,” Nicholas conceded just as fresh fruit and almond pudding was served.
Noelle thought Sir Gavin’s statement was strange, considering they had just met.
“Is it true that King Arthur was merely a page before he was king?” Isabelle asked, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have heard many stories.”
Noelle wondered why she couldn’t have been more outgoing, like Isabelle. There was never a lull in the conversation when she was in the room. On second thought, no one was like Isabelle.
“I can recite the tale as Merlin told it to me,” Sir Lancelot offered.
Noelle took a sip of wine and placed her chalice on the table. “Where is Merlin? I have not seen him,” she said.
“He was here two days ago, milady, but has gone to visit the ladies of the lake. I’m sure he will be back soon.”
“I am sorry I interrupted,” Noelle said. “Please tell us the story—I would love to hear the truth.”
Sir Lancelot sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his middle. “When King Uther died, the realm of Britain was without a king. The barons and lords began to quarrel over who their next leader should be. Wars broke out. Neighbor fought against neighbor. All but forgotten were the sowing and harvesting of crops, and soon famine gripped the land. Everyone was hungry.
“The Archbishop of Canterbury summoned Merlin, knowing that Merlin was the wisest man in all of England.
“The archbishop bade Merlin to find England a king, one who was a wise leader and could defend the country from its enemies.
“Merlin simply smiled and said he had such a king who was of Uther Pendragon’s own royal blood.
“The archbishop asked how this could be? So Merlin told how he had taken Uther’s child when he was first born so that the child might be safe.”
“Merlin actually took the king’s son?” Isabelle asked.
“More to the point, Merlin can foresee the future, so he took the child to protect him,” Lancelot explained.
“But what would make them accept one king?” Noelle asked as she reached for the grapes.
“That is what the archbishop asked. How will the lesser kings, who feel themselves worthy, accept such a leader?
“Merlin said he woul
d use his magic to create a test. The person who passed the test would show all the world that he was the rightful overlord of England.”
“What did he do?” Noelle interrupted again and then said, “I’m sorry, go ahead with the story.”
“Merlin placed a huge white marble stone at the gates of the greatest church in London. Upon the marble block stood an iron anvil. Thrust into the anvil, almost to its hilt, was a sword. The hilt had precious stones encrusted in the gold. The blade was of Damascus steel. Upon the stone in gold letters were these words: ‘Whoso draweth out this sword from the anvil is the rightful king of Britain.’ ”
Lancelot paused, taking a sip of wine from his gold goblet. Noelle and Isabelle were captivated by the story.
“Go on. Don’t stop there,” Isabelle pleaded.
“Aye, I’m enjoying your story,” Noelle said.
“Nicholas, would you like to finish the tale?” Lancelot said. “Since your father was there.”
Drat, Noelle thought. Now she’d have to look at Nicholas. But her fascination with the story was greater than her desire to ignore Nicholas. “Please,” she finally said.
“Let me see . . .” Nicholas replaced his cup on the table. “It was this time of year. The archbishop called all the nobles together in London so that each could try to remove the sword. It just so happens that there was to be the greatest tournament ever held.”
“Just like the one we’ll have on Christmas Eve,” Noelle said.
“It is so.” Nicholas nodded. “Among the noblemen who came for the tournament was a middle-aged knight, highly born, named Sir Ector of Bonnemaison. His fame was great. He never broke his word to peasant or prince, and he never betrayed a confidence, so that is why Merlin trusted him to rear Arthur.
“Arthur was only eighteen. He was page to his brother, Kay, who was going to joust in his first tournament, which means Arthur was busy sharpening swords and making sure all of Kay’s equipment was readied.
“On the day of the tournament, Kay fought hard. When Kay rode back to his pavilion, Arthur came running with a goblet of wine for his brother. Sir Kay told Arthur to go and fetch a sword from their father’s pavilion with due haste. Arthur ran. But upon entering the tent he could find no sword, and he panicked. He couldn’t let his brother down. Kay would look like a coward. Then, Arthur remembered the sword in the stone.
“When Arthur arrived there was no one in the courtyard, for everyone was at the tournament. All he saw was the marble stone and the shining sword sticking out of the anvil. Without further hesitation, Arthur climbed upon the stone and placed his hand on the hilt of the sword. The fit was perfect as his fingers curled around the gold. He pulled strongly and the sword came smoothly forth from the anvil.
“He ran with all speed and handed Sir Kay the sword. Kay paled upon seeing the gold sword, for he knew what it was and what it meant.
“Sir Kay, knowing how young his brother was, told him not to say anything about the sword. And Arthur agreed.”
“It was dishonest,” Noelle interjected, realizing that she was so intrigued with the yarn Nicholas was spinning and with the man who was telling the story that if he leaned over and kissed her this very minute, she would have offered very little resistance. She rested her chin upon her hand as she gazed, trancelike, at him.
“Aye, it was dishonest, indeed. However, Kay thought Arthur was too young and Sir Kay was more experienced. So in his mind, he sought to protect his brother.”
“I see,” Noelle nodded. “So what happened?”
“Sir Hector, upon hearing the tale that Kay told, looked at his son with much doubt. He placed his arm around his elder son and said, ‘As you know, the rightful King of England is the only one who can pull the sword from the anvil, so if you have truly drawn the sword out then you should be able to thrust it back again.’ ”
Noelle giggled. “The rat has been caught in his own trap.”
Nicholas gave her a heartwarming smile and then continued. “Kay decided to brazen it out, and still he said nothing. Upon reaching the stone, Sir Kay put the sword-point to the anvil and bore down with all his weight.
“Nothing happened. So Kay turned to his father and complained that the task was impossible. Finally, Arthur spoke up and asked if he could try. When his father asked why, Arthur told him he was the one who had pulled the sword from the stone in the first place. Not only did Arthur shove the sword back into the anvil but he pulled it out again. Arthur was truly the rightful king.”
Noelle glanced at the head of the table where Arthur was just rising, the sword by his side. “So is that the sword?” she asked.
Sir Lancelot answered this time. “Nay. The sword from the stone was broken in battle. Merlin took Arthur to get the sword he now carries, which is called Excalibur, but whence it came from I cannot say. Only Merlin and Arthur know. As long as Arthur carries Excalibur no harm can befall him.”
“Thank you for the telling of the story,” Noelle said softly, then realized she was staring at Nicholas with longing. That would not do. “It made for a pleasurable dinner tale,” Noelle said, coming quickly to her feet. “I bid thee good night.”
Nicholas and Sir Gavin rose and watched the lady retreat. “You chose wisely, Gavin,” Nicholas said, a tightness forming in his throat.
“Truth be told, my friend, I did not choose at all. Arthur chose for me, but he did choose well.”
“There will be a hunt after we set up our pavilions tomorrow. With this crisp air the hunt should prove fruitful.” Nicholas placed his chalice on the table and refilled it. It was strange. Would Arthur be choosing Nicholas’s wife someday? Not bloody likely.
“On the morrow,” Sir Gavin said, raising his own goblet.
“Tomorrow.” Nicholas hoisted his chalice in salute. There wasn’t enough wine in the hall to dull the ache inside him tonight, for the Lady Noelle would prey on his mind.
Damn his wager! Damn it to hell!
Chapter 4
The next morning Noelle rose early from her feather bed, pulled back the linen hangings, and tied them back to the bedpost. She wouldn’t admit to herself or anyone else that her lack of sleep was because of a knight—not the knight she should have been thinking of, but the wrong one.
The one with the golden eyes.
The one who needed no one.
Wrapping a blanket around her, she shuffled over to the fireplace. Noelle sighed and she could actually see her breath in the cold room. Clearly, not enough wood had been stacked in the hearth last night. She reached for an iron poker and stirred up the embers until they were cherry-red. Letting the blanket slip to the floor, she retrieved several logs and threw them into the hearth. She knew she could call a servant, but this was quicker, and since they had always been short-staffed at Cranborne, she had built a fire many times. Besides, if she complained to the steward, someone might be reprimanded for letting the fire go out. She didn’t want to cause anyone to be punished for something she considered trivial.
Snatching up the blanket, she went to the window to see what kind of day it would be. Noelle was excited to be included in putting together the festive decorations. Gathering greenery and tying ribbons would be a welcome change from the everyday routine she’d been accustomed to at Cranborne Castle. She glanced out the window and saw that the sky was gray and overcast, and again she thought of snow, but more than likely it would rain.
Down below, the bailey was coming to life as the merchants returned to their stalls where they sold vegetables, cloth, and whatever was needed. The soldiers’ barracks were to the right, the stable to her left. In front of the stable, under a small shed, a smith was hammering on a horseshoe. The clang of the hammer hitting the anvil was much louder than the roosters crowing as they announced daybreak.
A dog started to bark and several others joined in the chorus, barking at the knights walking across the courtyard. The lymas were not making as much of a fuss as the greyhounds, who were jumping all around the men, begging for attention. Th
e lymas, like true bloodhounds, had their noses to the ground, picking up the scents of those who had traveled before them.
The knights were heading for the stables. Evidently they were going to the field to begin the day’s training.
Noelle recognized Tristan walking next to Sir Gavin and his page. She was glad that her brother had finally been granted his wish to train with the knights he so admired. It had been his dream since they were children, but when their father had died unexpectedly, John, the oldest, couldn’t run the castle without Tristan’s help. So Tristan’s dreams had been put aside just as he was now asking her to do.
Of course, her dreams were just that . . . dreams. She had no other offers of marriage. And she hated to admit that Sir Gavin was very nice, and pleasant to look upon. Any other woman would be thrilled to have him smile upon her . . . Still . . . She sighed. Something was missing.
Nicholas strolled into Noelle’s line of vision, and her gaze followed him. It was hard not to, for his shoulders were massive and broad, his arms bulged with muscle, and he was taller than most of the other knights. He turned her way slightly, and Noelle could see his hard face. It was a warrior’s face and showed very little emotion.
Suddenly, he thrust his arm, clad in a special glove that covered his hand and wrist, up over his head. In the blink of an eye, a bird swept down from out of the sky so quickly that Noelle jumped back from the window.
Repositioning herself, she saw that a falcon had come to rest on Nicholas’s arm. The bird’s wings flapped several times, then Nicholas reached into a small sack and took out some food. He fed the bird something red, which Noelle assumed was some type of meat.
Noelle recalled the day at the lake. A falcon had been near Nicholas then, too, flying above his head. She knew little about the hunting birds except that they were the favorite pastime of the kings.
Nicholas fed the bird pieces of meat, and when he was finished, he stroked its head so gently that Noelle smiled. Who would have thought that a man so big and strong could be gentle with something so small? A deliciously wicked thought ran through her head, and the heat from her thoughts warmed her body much better than any fire could. She really mustn’t have such wicked thoughts, Noelle reminded herself. ‘Twas indecent. Yet, something about Nicholas the Dragon intrigued her. Would he be gentle with her?