Elena looked forward to her daily romps in the field with Michael. He was the only one interested in having a bit of fun with her. All of her siblings were so much older and deeply involved in their studies or in courtly pomp and squalor. Michael often snuck off from his training to explore with her.
"No, you won't!" He tackled her back to the ground, tickling her ruthlessly.
"Mercy! Mercy!" Elena shouted between fits of giggles.
Michael rolled to the side, his arm came to rest over top his forehead.
"Do you see that cloud?" He pointed to a white fluffy confection in the sky.
"Aye."
"Looks like a knight, doesn't it?"
Elena squinted, looking at the outline of the cloud. "Hmm…" She could just barely make out the outline of a man. Perhaps the length of white reaching above him was a sword. The sight brought to mind thoughts of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She'd dreamt of those knights ever since the first time Michael told her the story.
"I'm going to be the greatest knight in all of Ireland. Mayhap even England, if my father ever takes us back home," he said in a soft, far away whisper.
Elena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to hide the worry from her features. If Michael and his family ever moved back to England she would be devastated. Even though he'd only been in Wexford for a few years, she cherished the time. Her life would be forever changed if he were not in it. It'd been nigh on four years since he'd come to foster at her family's castle.
Elena was born at Enniscorthy, which had been given to her father—an Irish lord—by King Richard II of England. Ireland was all she knew. It had never occurred to her that Michael could go back to England. Michael's father had been given lands near Wexford. Her heart jumped to her throat at the thought of him leaving or of her ever having to leave her childhood home.
"Do you think you will go back to England?" she asked nonchalantly, embarrassed by how much the thought distracted her.
Michael sighed, laying his hands under his head, stretching to his full length, a good six inches taller than she. "I don't know. The King of England has placed Father in charge of this holding. I suppose my brother will take his place when the time comes. I will be a mercenary knight, free to do as I please."
He smiled, turning on his side to stare at her. "What of you, princess? What shall you do?"
She chewed on her lip a moment. What would she do? Her sisters were already betrothed, the eldest married off. Elena was the only one who had yet to be bartered in a marriage contract. "I'm going to marry you," she said, nodding in his direction.
Michael's lip quirked up in that teasing way of his. "Is that a promise?"
Elena pressed her lips firmly together and narrowed her brows, hoping her reproachful look would remove his smirk. His smile only deepened bringing out the handsome cleft in his cheek. He wasn't taking her seriously. She had every intention of linking herself to him forever. To run through the fields and daydream with the clouds for the rest of her life with him. "Just you wait and see, Michael. You'll marry me."
"As you wish, princess." With that, he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the lips, before jumping up and running toward the keep.
The dreams of childhood, how wrong they'd been. All those years she'd worried that Michael would leave Ireland, when it had been her own departure she should have feared. Now look at the future she'd been dealt. Elena bit the inside of her cheek to keep her jaw from quivering. This was not the time to cry, nor the time to think on how things could have been.
Oh, but how she longed to let Michael embrace her, kiss her.
"My lady."
Those two simple words stroked along her insides, curling up and settling in the pit of her stomach. The way he'd leaned down and placed his soft lips against her wrist, sent her heart aflutter. His breath was heated, sensual, and the feather light kiss was over far too quickly. Her skin still tingled where his lips had been—her gloves now constrictive.
"Sir Devereux." She'd tried to remain as serene as she could, even though she really wanted to climb the railing, jump into his arms, and let him carry her away on his massive black horse. His eyes twinkled, and his lips curved slightly in the corners. Could he read her thoughts?
"I'd be honored if your ladyship would be so kind as to bestow a token on this noble knight?"
Elena had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting. Instead she'd smiled at Michael, and given him the scarf she'd purchased just for him.
With her eyes, she prayed she conveyed her hopes and well wishes for him. And prayed her husband hadn't noticed.
Loud hoots and hollers pulled Elena back to reality.
"Black Knight! Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!" the crowd cheered.
Elena dared not move, even though she wanted to scoot to the edge of her seat, or even stand to get a better view. Her gaze glued to Michael as his haughty mount prepared to take a turn. She dug one of her hands inside the many folds of her gown and crossed her fingers where it was out of view of her husband. Sir Michael Devereux was a force to be reckoned with, a well-trained knight, but even he could use a little luck. Or were her fingers crossed for herself?
Jousts today, swords tomorrow. The next two days would determine her future.
Black pawed the ground, and snorted, challenging the charger at the other end of the list field. The muscles of the mighty beast rippled between Michael's thighs. The mount seemed to say to the opposing horse, "You may have been bred for stamina and agility, but with my superior size and strength, my master will deliver a devastating blow to yours." As if in answer, the charger down the field raised its head and whinnied, followed by a loud snort.
The crowd laughed and shouted, their excitement rippling from one end to the other. "Huzzah! Huzzah! Black Knight! Huzzah!"
He was honored at the name the crowd had dubbed him, and while he'd been successful so far, he couldn't let it go to his head. That would be his downfall. A knight could never take his own prowess for granted. Fatality was often the reward for such arrogant thoughts, and he didn't plan on getting injured let alone dying. He eyed his opponent down the field. The knight looked as well as any other, could he have a trick up his sleeve? Best not to get into that mindset. He would take the man down, just as he had the four before him.
Michael looked once to the cheering crowd, raising his lance in answer to their cheers. The golden scarf caught the light as it swayed gently in the breeze. Taking the token from the tip of his lance, he stuffed it into the bracer on his lower arm. He dared not look in Elena's direction or he truly would be lost. His concentration was the only thing he had. He closed his eyes briefly as he was wont to do when he needed to find his center. The shouts of the crowd disappeared, and all he could hear was the beating of his heart and the heavy strong breaths of Black. He became one with the horse, one with the lance. Together they were the perfect tool, and he had but one goal—succeed.
He only half listened as Fletch once again shouted of Michael's family heraldry, his strengths, his victories and then the other knight's squire shouted about his master. He didn't want to focus on that, instead he studied his opponent. He sat his horse well; his armor was new, expensive. Either a wealthy knight himself or the son of one. Michael was proud to be both. His opponent's size was impressive, about the same size as himself. With the extra weight of Black and his own skill, he was almost sure he could easily throw his opponent from his horse. The hardest part to determine was how well-trained the other knight was. Perhaps with this one he might need to try a technique his master had taught him many years ago. All he had to do was—
It was time.
His opponent immediately took off, charging toward him. Michael didn't budge. Instead he counted, one, two, three, and then spurred Black onward. Thrusting his body forward, he leaned a little to the left and lifted his lance into place. As his opponent neared, he leaned back and then, at the last possible moment, he thrust his body forward. The man didn't even h
ave time to react before Michael was crashing into him.
Michael's lance shattered against the hard metal of the knight's armor. The shriek of grinding metal and the whistling of wood as it flew by split the air. Splinters rained down, landing in Black's mane and then onto the dirt below. The extra weight of his horse and his technique unseated the other knight in a flash. His opponent's body went backward, as he fell over the end of his horse. The man's foot stuck for a moment in the stirrup before he fell completely to the ground. The charger turned in a quick circle and side-stepped to avoid its master.
The crowd roared their approval, the sound deafening. The knight's squires rushed to the man's unconscious side, as Michael's squires jumped, whooped and hollered their way onto the field. They shouted and slapped Michael's thighs and Black's rump.
"Five down, nine to go," Michael said with no expression. There was no time to celebrate his victory, or that he'd just won the unconscious man's armor and horse. The tournament was proving to make him a rich man, but he would still consider himself poor if he were to lose what he'd really come for.
He walked Black to the prone knight just to make sure he hadn't killed him with the force of his blow. As he drew near the man, his gaze caught sight of his heraldry—Warwick. The son of a powerful earl. And a damn good knight. He'd heard of him before. Michael gloated for a moment on that note. Not only had Warwick most assuredly seen to his son's excellent training, he'd outfitted him well. Michael's victory over the fallen knight was one he should revel in. If ever he were in need of a right hand man, this man would be the one he'd likely choose.
The fallen knight came to and lifted his head slightly, shouting, "Good tactics, sir!"
Michael was impressed with Warwick's show of chivalry. "Thank you, my lord, for allowing me to display my skill. I am equally impressed with your horsemanship."
The knight rose up on elbow and thrust his hand out to Michael. "Sir Thomas Devlin, soon to be Earl of Warwick."
Michael gripped his outstretched hand and pulled Thomas to his feet. "Sir Michael Devereux, ever at your service."
Thomas gave him a lopsided smile, and patted him on the shoulder. "I just might take you up on that one day, Devereux." With that, he limped off the field, shoving the helping hands of his squires aside.
Joining his squires at the end of the list field, Michael remounted and prepared for the next joust. Jon handed him a jug of ale, and Michael downed its contents in two large swallows.
"My lord, might I say you are doing exceptionally well." Colin wore a triumphant smile.
Michael nodded, completely understanding the squire's need to bestow his excitement and compliments on his master. After all, he had once been an awestruck squire himself. If this were any other tourney he might indulge the squires in celebrating tonight, but as it was, there was no time for such things. Only time for taking care of what he wanted and needed. Taking care of Elena.
Michael continued to be undefeated. But he had to tire soon didn't he?
Elena frowned. He didn't look tired. He looked—exhilarated. How was that possible? He'd been jousting with knights for the better part of four hours.
Discreetly she stretched her shoulders back, the muscles long since bunched into knots from her stiff position. She'd come this far, she was not about to let a little thing like stiff, cramping muscles force her to leave the end of this leg.
Raelyn, handed her slices of apple and Elena absently munched as Michael continued to dominate the field. She dared not think about what this could mean. He would have won had he downed the most knights, but to down them all? Her husband was bound to be impressed with that, just as she herself was. It appeared his childhood dream of becoming a most revered knight had come true. Even if he didn't end up being so successful on the morrow, was there a chance that perhaps, Kent might offer him a position anyway?
Not one for chewing on her nails, she had the impulse to thrust her fingertips into her mouth. Perhaps her ladies knew her better than she thought, for each time she had the urge some little snack was thrust into her nervous fingers. Apples, cheese, crusts of bread, grapes. If they didn't stop soon, she'd be stuck in the chair, and not of her nerves doing.
At long last he defeated all fourteen knights. Elena sighed heavily. After hours of sitting stiffly, worry overcoming her, she would need a hot bath.
Kent nodded to her as Michael approached, removing his helm and gauntlets. She bristled inside, how she hated needing his permission to do anything. She well understood the duties of a lady to her noble husband, and had it been any other man she wouldn't have minded. But this cruel husband of hers was more than she could take.
"My lord, my lady," Michael said, bowing low. When he was again sitting straight upon his horse, he smiled broadly.
Elena's heart skipped a beat as she took in his sweaty form. Even looking so disheveled and well-worked she found him utterly devastating.
Elena couldn't help returning his infectious smile. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Even better was his personal nature. She knew him to be strong and fierce, but he was also chivalrous, especially with her. How she wished she didn't have to be so formal in giving him a prize for such an overwhelming feat, but if she were to stray from what her husband had told her to say, not only would she be punished, but so would Michael.
"Sir Devereux, we are most proud that you've competed fairly and shown your superior skill this afternoon. We bestow on you today, this golden horse and hope that you will dine with us for the evening meal." Her hand brushed his as he took the solid gold horse from her. Elena felt just that tiny touch as if he'd gripped her whole-heartedly. "We wish you luck with the remainder of the tournament. If you continue your winning streak, you may gain the ultimate prize—a position within Kent Castle as Captain of the Guard."
And much, much more.
Elena stepped from the bath her ladies prepared for her. Muscles relaxed, but mind whirling with thoughts. Her stomach tightened in anticipation. While she would be seated on the right of her husband, Michael would be seated to her right as was his honor for having won the feat. She wasn't sure she would be able to handle having him so close to her all through the meal. There was sure to be much celebrating and the meal could go on for hours.
Her maids, Mary and Beth, approached with a linen towel, assisting her to dry, before the other ladies stepped forward and helped her into her chemise.
"Which gown should you prefer this evening, my lady?" Raelyn held out her deep blue gown with silver trimming, and another of dark green with gold embroidered flowers.
"Blue shall do." She dare not say she preferred the plainer of the two gowns, hoping to go as much unnoticed as possible.
Raelyn pulled a linen chemise over Elena's head, and tied the laces in place over her breasts. Next came the tight stays she never went without.
"My lady, I don't know why you insist, if I may say, in wearing this contraption," Beth wheezed as she tugged Elena's stays into place.
"You know very well why," Elena said, only too aware of how odd it was indeed for her to wear them as the stiff thing wasn't in fashion at all. Those who did wear stays did it to accentuate a tiny waist and thrust their breasts high for all to see, but Elena had hers fashioned another way. The stays came up high, flattening her breasts, and did little to accentuate her waist at all. In fact, it was wholly unflattering, just as she hoped it would be. She appeared to have a square boyish figure, and it pleased her well to look as such. Her husband's men chased after her like boors trying to stake their claim enough as it was. What would happen if she did indeed show her ample breasts? They'd all be salivating at the mouth. She shuddered in disgust.
Deep sighs escaped all of her maid's mouths, for they did know exactly why, all of them having been victims to Kent's men's advances. Elena prayed there was some thread holding tight, however thin it may be, that kept her husband's men from going the last bit it would take to rape her completely. For now, they seemed to settle on groping, grab
bing, or brushing against her. A few forced kisses. Her mouth went dry; a bitter tang assaulted her tongue at the memories.
"Enough talk about it. I have to attend the eve meal," she said dully.
The ladies continued their work, brushing out her hair, and braiding it into a long rope down her back. Her gown in place, silver belt around her hips with her dining knife in its sheath, she folded her hands nervously as she gazed at the entryway of her tent. Now it was time to go.
She closed her eyes a moment, took a deep breath, held her head high. She squared her shoulders as her six companions formed a V behind her, and then left the tent. Boisterous noise came from the dining tent. Music, laughter, shouts, the clanking of jugs of ale, floated through its opening. While she'd prepared to attend the meal, the men had obviously imbibed on plenty.
As always, her ladies formed a circle around her as they entered. Elena did not know how she could ever repay these women. They took it upon themselves to protect her. The things they did had never been ordered or even suggested by her. When one of Kent's men reached out to grab Mary, Elena grasped his hand and glared at him. Not that it would do any good, but she'd rather have the wrath rained down on her. Poor Mary had already been through enough.
"I'd watch where my hands strayed, sir knight," Elena said.
The man leaned back, yanking his hand away and snickered. "I'd mind my tongue if I was you," he threatened.
Elena pressed her lips together and turned from the vile man, her ladies following in her wake as she continued to make her way to the dais. Her husband's eyes were on her, disapproving as ever. She would hear about her bold behavior later tonight. A chill swept through her, as she was sure it would not be pleasant. It never was.
Slowly she let her gaze drop and through her lashes she spied Michael already seated at the table on the dais. Elbow leaning on the arm of the chair, his head rested lazily in his hand as he studied her. For all his outward bored appearance, his eyes were sharp. He didn't miss a thing, and she wished at that moment she could hear his thoughts, see his reactions.
Knights of Valor Page 5