by Regan Walker
And if by some chance he won the tournament, she would die before agreeing to marry the cur.
The two knights were poised, their lances lowered as they awaited the signal to start. The contestants glared at each other, then Tristan lowered his visor.
They were ready.
Noelle squeezed her hands. The herald dropped the flag. Both riders charged forward.
Tristan’s lance caught Meleagant in the shoulder, knocking him backwards, but it did little damage. Both riders pulled their mounts to a halt, swung around, and prepared for the second round.
They charged at each other again. This time Meleagant’s lance hit Tristan’s helmet, knocking him sideways on his horse, the helmet wedged half on and half off his head. When Tristan’s horse reached the end of the field, Tristan fell to the ground, unable to keep his grip.
Noelle stood on tiptoe to see better. Several squires raced to help Tristan to his feet. He stood, wobbling a little, but his helmet was still stuck, so he raised his hand to forfeit the match.
Noelle let out her breath. At least her brother wasn’t hurt. It was a vicious hit, she thought as she watched the treacherous Meleagant leave the field to prepare for his next match.
The next match was Nicholas and Sir Gavin, who had just gotten into position when Meleagant rode back onto the field and spoke to Sir Gavin, who nodded and moved out of the way.
“What has happened?” Noelle asked the queen.
Guinevere shrugged and looked to her husband. King Arthur leaned over. “Meleagant is the senior knight, so he just pulled rank on Sir Gavin to joust Sir Nicholas,” Arthur explained.
Nicholas watched the two men. “So Meleagant wants my blood,” Nicholas said out of the comer of his mouth to Dirk.
“So it seems,” Dirk said with a nod.
“Well, I am ready for him. Nothing would suit me better than to see him lying facedown in the dirt.”
“He is sly and crafty, so be careful,” Dirk warned Nicholas and moved away.
Nicholas grasped the ash-wood spear from his squire and nestled it under one armpit. His gauntleted hand grasped the spear where it had been thinned down for a handhold. He held his knees firm against his mount, steadied his breathing, and focused on the opponent.
The flag dropped.
They spurred their horses and charged. The horses sounded like rumbling thunder as they sped across the field. Nicholas’s lance stuck Meleagant in the chest, shattering the lance and sending Meleagant sideways. However, he regained his balance before falling.
They readied themselves and charged again. This time Nicholas’s spear hit Meleagant’s shoulder, but did not unseat him.
“That is two points for ye,” Dirk said as Nicholas returned to the starting position. “Aim right in the center and unsaddle the cur this time. Look how his arm hangs—ye might have dislocated it.”
“That is exactly what I intend to do,” Nicholas said.
Peter ran to Meleagant, grabbing the horse’s bridle. “Are you hurt, sire?”
“Just a little bruised,” Meleagant said through clenched teeth as he straightened his breastplate.
“One more point, and Sir Nicholas wins,” Peter said.
“Don’t you not think I know that?” Meleagant snapped. “But Nicholas will not win. This time I will stop him.” He held his lance high. “I will come under him and throw him from his mount.”
“I do not know.” Peter shook his head. “He is fearfully strong,” Peter said, looking at Sir Nicholas over his shoulder.
“But I am craftier,” Meleagant sneered. “Loosen the coronal on my lance.”
“But, sire. It is illegal. They will stop you,” Peter pointed out.
“Not if they don’t see the spear until it is too late.”
Noelle watched the two men preparing to make their final round. All Nicholas had to do was strike Meleagant, and he would be the winner. Then he’d have his match with Sir Gavin. And now that she’d seen Nicholas in action, she had little worry about who the victor would be. Nicholas would finally be hers. She sighed, and a giddy feeling settled over her.
The two riders tucked their lances under their arms and crouched down low on their mounts. Meleagant lowered his spear and then adjusted it again just as the flag was lowered. Noelle wondered if he was getting too tired to hold the spear as she watched Meleagant. He dipped his lance again and Noelle thought she noticed something odd about the lance.
And then Meleagant charged. Dirt flew from his horse’s hooves.
Noelle’s eyes widened. Now she knew what she’d seen that was odd. The cur’s lance had lost its protection.
She jumped to her feet. “No, Nicholas! Meleagant’s lance is uncovered!”
At the sound of Noelle screaming, Nicholas turned his head. Then everything seemed to move as if time itself had slowed to nothing. Meleagant’s lance hit and stuck in the armor of Nicholas’s left chest.
Nicholas leaned to the left, grasping for the lance, struggling to pull it free. Unbalanced he fell from his horse.
Nicholas staggered to his feet, then slowly sank to his knees and collapsed.
The crowd came to their feet as one and for a moment, the spectators were deathly quiet. Everyone stared at the downed knight with a lance protruding from his body.
No one was moving. No one was trying to help Nicholas.
Noelle raced down the steps to the field. “Help him! Help him,” she screamed when no one moved
King Arthur shouted “Get Meleagant! He has broken the rules of the joust. He is escaping. And someone get help for Sir Nicholas.”
Several knights tore off after Meleagant, who raced across the list and out through the far side of the field.
A squire had just reached Nicholas as Noelle ran around the fence in the middle. She noticed that Guinevere, Carolyn, and Isabelle had followed her.
“I hope he is not hurt,” Guinevere said holding her skirts up out of the mud
Noelle could no longer find her voice as she raced across the field to Nicholas.
The page had just removed Nicholas’s helmet as she knelt down beside him. Sir Gavin grasped the lance and jerked it free from Nicholas’s chest. Blood seeped through the hole.
“We must get this armor off,” Noelle said. “Nicholas,” she said. “Nicholas, you must awaken.” He did not answer. She pushed the hair, damp from sweat, from his face. “Please talk to me, Nicholas.”
“It is snowing,” Guinevere said. “We must get Sir Nicholas off the frozen field.”
Noelle looked up to see the white, fluffy flakes coming down.
Dirk had just removed Nicholas’s breastplate. His tunic was soaked with blood where his heart was located. Noelle took her scarf, folded it, and placed it over the wound. She pressed hard on Nicholas’s chest, trying to stop the bleeding. “Take him to his tent,” she ordered the men who had gathered around. “The wound is serious. We must hurry or my lord will bleed to death.”
“Dirk, keep pressure on his chest,” Noelle hissed. She looked at Sir Gavin. “We must find Merlin.”
“I am off to do your bidding, milady.” Sir Gavin ran for his horse.
Noelle clambered to her feet as they carried Nicholas off the field. Tears poured from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, and all but blinded her.
The snowflakes coated her hair, and she remembered Nicholas’s dream of snow. His words came back to her, producing a chill much colder than the falling snow. She felt the cold hands of fear.
“He will be all right, you will see,” Guinevere said, placing a hand on Noelle’s shoulder.
“Aye, milady,” Isabelle said. “You can make him well again.”
Noelle turned eyes brimming with tears toward her friends and whispered, “Nay, I cannot. Nicholas is dying.”
Chapter 18
They carried Nicholas toward his pavilion.
Noelle followed with Guinevere, Isabelle, and Carolyn. Noelle was truly frightened. She’d never felt so cold and empty before. She had to hold her han
ds to keep them from shaking.
“What did you mean, he is dying?” Guinevere asked.
“It was a dream Nicholas had,” Noelle said. “When we were lost in the forest, he told me about this recurring dream of him dying in the snow.”
“But you can save him,” Isabelle said. “You have taken care of everybody, and you have saved him before.”
“I hope you are right,” Noelle said. “But the last time was so minor compared to this. I don’t know if my knowledge is enough for a wound so grave.”
The snow fell faster, obscuring everything but Guinevere, Noelle’s ladies, and the litter carrying Nicholas. They walked faster toward the tent, through the big, beautiful flakes. But instead of seeing the beauty as Noelle normally did all she could think of were Nicholas’s words. . . .
I dreamed I lay upon a field dying and I could see the white, fluffy flakes falling. They landed upon my face, but I could not lift my hands to remove them. It was a helpless feeling.
Noelle knew not how, but she was going to save Nicholas. His dream would not come true.
Once inside the tent, the men placed Nicholas on his cot then stepped back, and Noelle pushed her way to him. She ripped open his tunic, removed the bloody cloth. Quickly, she tore his tunic in strips. Then she folded them, placed the fabric over his wound and applied pressure with her hands. Dirk stirred the small fire in the pit behind her to provide much-needed warmth. Noelle didn’t hear her ladies. Evidently they had remained outside to give them more room.
Noelle wrapped her fingers around Nicholas’s wrist, pressing against the veins. His pulse was not strong at all. “Please, Nicholas, look at me,” she pleaded. The tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice.
“You must fight to live,” Noelle begged Nicholas. “You must live for me.”
She had to convince him that he had to struggle to stay alive, for Noelle didn’t know what to do next. Panic like she’d never known welled in her throat and threatened to engulf her. She shut her eyes and lifted her face to heaven. Merlin, please come to me. I cannot do this alone. If you can hear me, please hurry.
When she opened her eyes and gazed down at the wound, her hand and cloth were covered in Nicholas’s blood. Nicholas was losing too much blood and she was helpless to stop the flow. It was as if his very existence was slipping from her.
Hot tears poured down her face. She reached up to brush them away and left her cheek smeared with sticky blood. She cared naught. “Do not leave me, Nicholas.”
“Can ye do something for him, lass?” Dirk asked, and Noelle looked up to see that the brawny Scot’s cheeks were wet with tears.
“We are losing him, Dirk. We must find Merlin. Only Merlin can help Nicholas now. The wound is fatal.” She glanced at Dirk and saw that he’d gone completely pale. And at that moment, she could see how much he loved Nicholas, too.
“I will get Merlin,” Dirk stated firmly. “One way or the other ... he will be here.”
Nicholas knew he was dying.
It was not a bad feeling, really, he thought abstractly. Rather pleasant. Warm and soft.
At least the pain was starting to leave his body as the blood seeped from his chest. How in the hell had he gotten back into his tent? And then he remembered. He could not believe he’d let Meleagant best him. Oh, how Nicholas wished he could have gotten his hands on Meleagant and run him through. Of course, Nicholas had been stupid enough to trust the Black Knight. He should have known that Meleagant would do nothing the fair way. Perhaps if Noelle hadn’t screamed, Nicholas would have seen the spearhead and avoided death.
It was too late now.
Vaguely, he could hear someone talking to him. What was she saying? He just needed to concentrate more.
Noelle looked down at him. Her flaxen hair had come loose and hung around her shoulders, tumbling down her back. Her green eyes sparkled like rare gems, her thick lashes were spiked with tears. There was a red smear across her cheek. Why was she crying? And what was she saying?
She was begging him not to die. Did she think he wanted to die?
Hell, no! Nicholas would not let the warm softness seduce him. He was a fighter. He was determined to fight death to the very end just so he could be close to Noelle a few moments longer. He didn’t want to leave her.
He had known there was something special about her from the very first time he had found her at the lake spying on him. He remembered her falling from behind the bush she’d hidden in, and his heart warmed. A little too late he realized how much he loved this woman who held his hand. She was a stubborn one, but with time, he probably could have taught her to obey. And if the stars were right, to hold her tongue. He wanted to smile over that thought, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all, no matter how hard he tried.
Oh my love, Nicholas sighed. If only we had more time together. We couldn’t have had children, for I would not wish the possibility of my mother’s madness on anyone, but we could have loved, and I would have tried to make you happy. You must understand, Noelle, for I cannot speak, and I do not have much longer. I can feel my life ebbing away no matter how much I fight it—I grow weak.
But know this, until the end of time I will love you as much as any man could love a woman.
Please do not weep, my love. If only I could speak to you and make you understand how very much I love you.
If only . . . Nicholas felt strange. He could feel himself coming out of his body. . . .
Nicholas’s eyes were open. But he acted as if he couldn’t see her. Noelle waved her hand in front of his face, hoping he would blink or something, but she received no response.
He was dying.
Noelle could feel him leaving her, no matter how much she begged him to live.
“NO!” she screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that sent chills up everyone’s back. “Please, Nicholas!” Tears choked her voice. “I love you. Please fight harder. I know you can do it.”
A commotion sounded behind her as Sir Gavin entered the tent, followed by Dirk. Noelle’s spirit sank. They had not found Merlin. Oh God, no! Merlin had been her one last hope.
“Just a moment,” someone called from outside the tent. Then Matilda pushed Merlin through the flaps.
“Matilda had heard what happened and she went for Merlin,” Dirk explained. Then he stepped back and stood with Sir Gavin and Matilda.
Merlin immediately went to Noelle and knelt down beside her. “You are sure he is the one you sought?” he said softly with eyes filled with wisdom hundreds of years old.
Noelle nodded her head as the tears tumbled down. “But he is leaving me. You must help him live. I will do anything. Please, Merlin.”
“Would you give him up?”
Noelle glanced sharply at Merlin, completely shocked by his words. She looked back at Nicholas, her gaze lingering on his face, and then she answered, “If I have to, aye.”
“That is what I needed to know. Now stand back.”
Matilda helped Noelle to her feet and placed her arm around her, cradling Noelle’s head. As if through the fog of a dream, Noelle noticed that Nicholas’s sticky blood still dripped from her fingers. Her gown, once white, was splotched with bright red stains. Despair wrapped around her and threatened to squeeze the very life from her, but she no longer cared. All she had ever dreamed about lay before her dying, and she cared not to live.
“It is not his time,” Matilda said in a motherly voice to Noelle. “He is too good to die.”
Noelle wrapped her arms around the old woman, and they stood there watching Merlin and praying for a miracle.
Merlin sat on the small bed. He shook his head his white hair falling around his face. He lifted one twisted and gnarled hand and shoved his hair over his shoulder. Then he pulled up his long sleeves and placed his hand over Nicholas’s heart.
Merlin began to chant.
Nothing happened.
Noelle was breathing so rapidly she was feeling faint, but Matilda held her up.
And then the strangest
thing happened. As the chanting grew louder and louder, something akin to a whirlwind began to spin in the top of the tent. It looked very much like bright stars as it spun faster and faster, all the while getting lower and lower and colder and colder.
Soon the whirling stars were swirling around Nicholas and Merlin, until Noelle could see neither. It was as if they were lost in a blizzard that encompassed only them.
Noelle couldn’t believe her eyes as she stared and prayed. Her tears had been dried by a gust of wind colder than anything she had ever experienced. The wind swept in through the tent and knocked it from around them. Matilda and Noelle clung to each other to keep from being swept away with the tent.
The snow came down harder, settling upon Nicholas and Merlin until they were completely blanketed in white. Noelle blinked and realized that the snow had only fallen on the cot.
Then an eerie quiet settled over them.
No one in the tent had moved; many had ceased to breathe in the last few minutes as they all gaped at the sight before them.
Merlin shook the snow from his body and raised his hands above him, his long fingers pointed toward heaven; then he shouted, “Fire of the dragon!” before leaning down and breathing fire into Nicholas’s mouth.
Nothing happened.
Noelle looked around her. Sir Gavin, Tristan, and Dirk had tears in their eyes. Everything was for nothing.
It was too late.
She had lost Nicholas.
She had lost everything.
And then a miracle happened . . . .
Nicholas bolted straight up, knocking Merlin to the ground. The hole in his chest was completely gone. In its place was a mark that looked like the dragon’s breath.
“God’s tooth, why do I not have any clothes on out here in the snow?” Nicholas bellowed. “It is cold.”
Noelle ran to Nicholas. He took her in his arms as he tried to soothe her. “You have been crying. Who has caused these tears?”