Hard Day's Knight

by Katie MacAlister

  “You what?” His head popped up over the top of Cassie’s back at my words. She had been munching happily out of a grain bucket, but at his unexpected, quick move she did a little sidestep that had her shifting toward me.

  “Got all six—Aiiiieeeeee! She’s on my foot, she’s on my foot, get off me, you damned brute of a horse!” I did a little one-footed dance of pain as Cassie stepped squarely onto my right foot. “I knew it! I just knew it! Horses hate me! They always step on me! Get off of me!”

  I threw myself at her rear quarters, slapping at her big horse butt in an attempt to push her off, tears pricking behind my eyes. My foot felt as though it were caught in a waffle iron, a red-hot waffle iron. “Off, off, off, you great big mean bully of a horse!”

  “Horses don’t like to be yelled at,” Walker said as he strolled around Cassie as if he had all the time in the world.

  “Don’t they? Well perhaps we can swap horse tips later, while I’m in the hospital having my foot amputated,” I snarled as he casually put his right hand on her hip, and reached down with his left to slide his hand down her back leg.

  When he got to the fetlock, all he said was, “Up,” and—blessed Saint Hippolytus—Cassie lifted her foot off of mine.

  “For someone who claims to have lots of experience with horses, you certainly don’t seem to know how to handle yourself around them,” Walker said as he watched me hobble over to a bale of hay before ripping my shoe off to see how many of my toes were broken. “The first thing any farrier learns is how to ask a horse to pick up its leg.”

  Fortunately my leather tennis shoes took most of the damage, leaving me with nothing more than a bruised foot. I wiggled my toes just to make sure they were intact. “It may have escaped your notice, but I am not a farrier.” I ground my teeth a bit as I crammed my foot back into the tennis shoe, then cursed luridly as the abused limb protested such a cavalier action.

  His eyebrows went up when I limped over to him, poking my finger into his chest as I snapped out, “And you can just wipe that ‘I’m a farrier; I know horses and you don’t’ look off your face, because this is all your fault.”

  “My fault—” he started to say.

  “Yes, yours!” Admittedly, I was speaking in a bit of a loud voice, but if anyone was deserving of the opportunity to yell at him, I was. “You, Mr. Horse Expert of 2005, purposely jumped up and startled Cassie so she’d stomp on my foot. And you can stop widening your eyes like you can’t believe what I’m saying, because I’m not buying your innocent act for one minute. You’ve had it in for me ever since you rescued me and I told you how sexy you were, and how nice you smelled, and for your information, that’s not at all how a real knight acts!”

  “Sexy? When did you tell me I was sexy? You never told me I was sexy, you daft woman. All you do is argue with me, and unless you’re into some very kinky things, arguing seldom serves as foreplay.”

  “You think not, huh?” I asked, confused by conflicting emotions. I wanted to be mad at him for the way he refused to challenge me, but with every passing second, my irritation morphed into something much more pleasant. Damn the man—he must have bathed in pheromones that morning, because just being close to him had every inch of me on alert, my body pleading with my brain for permission to do all sorts of wicked, unmentionable things to him. I took a step closer. “You’re just saying that because you can’t admit the truth to yourself. They have a word for that, you know—it’s called denial.”

  “Denial?” he snorted, his beautiful eyes flashing as he moved toward me, so close that my breasts were just a hairbreadth away from his chest. “I am most definitely not in denial. Denial about what?”

  “You’re jealous,” I said, breathing in the wonderfully spicy scent that I had just realized was Walker, and not an aftershave or soap. It was him, all him, and it went straight to my many and varied erogenous zones. “You’re jealous because Farrell kissed me first, and you wanted to do that because you rescued me, and therefore by rights I was yours. Not that I buy into that whole guy-owning-a-woman thing, but I admit that a little bit of possession is kind of sexy. However, you’re obviously too much in denial to admit that you want to kiss me.”

  His hands fisted at his sides as he ground out through clenched teeth, “I am not jealous. Farrell can kiss you until the sky falls down, for all I care. And as for denial, Miss Pepper whatever-your-last-name-is, if the shoe fits, wear it!”

  “Oh!” I gasped, little thrills of pleasure going through me when my chest brushed against his. “Are you implying that I want to kiss you?”

  “Yes,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest. We both stared down at where his forearms were pressed against my (now heaving) chest. I stared dumbly at the fine, dark hairs that were scattered along the muscles of his arms, knowing I should move back a step so my breasts weren’t rubbing on him, but for some reason—sunspots, Mercury in retrograde, acid rain (take your pick)—I was unable to move. “Go ahead, tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”

  “I’m not going to tell you that! I, at least, am honest with myself. I do want to kiss you, McPhail. I think I’ll just do it.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said, dropping his arms and leaning toward me. His breath fanned over my face, his eyes burning silver deep into my brain. “You don’t have the nerve.”

  “I do, too. Fine, try your reverse psychology. You win. I’m going to kiss you. Right now.”

  “Fine.”

  “So you’d better brace yourself. ’Cause I’m going to do it. Right now.”

  His eyes narrowed as my body—totally without asking me permission first, I’ll have you know—swayed against him. “Fine.”

  “Are you ready? Because I’m going to kiss you.”

  “Now,” he said, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke.

  “Yes, now. Right now. Right this second.” I swallowed hard, trying to put out the fire that had somehow started deep in my belly and was quickly spreading to surrounding environs. “Obviously you’re the kind of man who likes aggressive women, so that’s what I’m going to do: kiss you first. Because you want me to.”

  “I don’t like aggressive women,” he growled against my mouth, his eyes narrowed into brilliant slits of molten silver. His lips caressed mine in light butterfly touches that he would no doubt fool himself into thinking were unintentional, but I knew better. My entire body went up in flames as his lips touched mine again. “I don’t like them at all.”

  “What?” I breathed in his breath and just touched the edge of his lips. I knew he was talking about something, but just exactly what the subject was had escaped me. All I could think about was what an amazing effect just being near him had on me. I’d never felt so aroused in my life. “What don’t you like?”

  “I can’t remember,” he said, his lips parting just a little to swoop down on mine.

  “Walker, they’re calling for the first teams to—Oh, sorry.”

  Walker leaped backward at the sound of Butcher’s voice, careened into Cassie, and swore mightily as she lashed out with her back foot.

  I stood looking at those beautiful lips of his, my entire body one unending ache of unfulfilled desire, tears pricking again behind my eyes because I wanted to wail at what might have been if Butcher had interrupted us just a couple of minutes later.

  “I’m sorry,” Butcher apologized, his lips twitching as Walker rubbed the spot on his thigh where Cassie’s hoof had caught the edge of his leg. “I didn’t know you were . . . uh . . . busy.”

  “I’m not busy,” Walker snarled, giving me a heated look that stripped the breath from my lungs. “We were just . . . talking.”

  Both of Butcher’s eyebrows rose as Walker limped toward the stable door, disappearing into its depths. “Talking, eh?”

  “He was trying to make me kiss him,” I said loudly—loud enough for Walker to hear, if the lurid cursing coming from the stable was anything to go by. “He was using reverse psychology on me because he’s too stubborn to admit t
hat he wants to kiss me.”

  “Is he now?” Butcher asked, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully.

  “Ignore her! She’s mad with lust for me. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” came from the bowels of the stable.

  “I think he’s what CJ calls an alpha male. You know, leader-of-the-pack mentality, although with Walker, there’s some other things going on. Like the fact that he’s sexually frustrated. It’s clear he’s using his natural alpha maleness—not to mention his jealousy of Farrell—as a shield against admitting the fact that he has normal needs and desires, just like any other man.”

  “Sexually frustrated?”

  Both Butcher and I ignored the bellow coming from the stable.

  “That’s very . . . erm . . . understanding of you,” Butcher said.

  “It is, isn’t it? That’s because I’m a woman, and honest with myself. And I know how men think. Walker doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s deliberately making himself attractive to me, because then he would have to acknowledge the reason behind his desire to have me make the first move.”

  “I am not sexually frustrated!”

  “Ah, so he’s deliberately making himself attractive to you?” Butcher asked.

  I nodded, picking up the brush I’d dropped, and carefully stepping behind Cassie to finish brushing her other side. “Yes, he is.”

  “How is that?”

  “Oh, lots of ways,” I said, keeping a wary eye on Cassie as I used long, sweeping strokes to brush her side.

  “Give me some examples.”

  “She’s deranged, Butcher. Don’t listen to a word—Marley, dammit, open your mouth—she says, because she’s got it all backward.”

  “Examples?” I very carefully brushed under Cassie’s belly. Some horses are a bit ticklish there and apt to act up when belly brushed. “Well, for one, he smells nice.”

  “He does that on purpose, does he?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he does. Men don’t normally smell nice, you know. Either they’re overcologned or musky or sweaty or something. But Walker smells very nice, which of course he does because he knows women like it.”

  “He’s very clean,” Butcher agreed.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake . . . don’t encourage her, man!” Walker’s shout had Cassie jerking up her head. I edged away from her, leaning as far forward as I could to brush her while still being out of range of her hooves.

  “And then there’s his jaw. He’s got a very nice jaw.”

  “Manly,” Butcher said.

  “Yes, exactly, very manly. His beard stubble is very manly, too.”

  An unintelligible rumble came from the stable. I scooted down to finish the near side of Cassie’s rump, Butcher leaning comfortably against her as if he weren’t in the least bit worried about her kicking him. I thought for a moment, then said, “And then there’s his eyes. He has beautiful eyes, don’t you think? All that silver and black.”

  “Beautiful,” Butcher said, the corners of his mouth curving.

  We both looked at the stable at the profound swearing that emerged from it.

  “He could do with a bit more control,” I said thoughtfully. “But all in all, I think he’s pretty darn yummy.”

  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Butcher said, his eyes smiling at me.

  “Will you stop putting words in my mouth?” Walker emerged from the stable leading the huge black warhorse named Marley. I backed away from both of them, Marley’s size intimidating me almost as much as Walker’s glare. Unfortunately, the beastly man saw what I was doing, and couldn’t resist taunting me. “Oh, no, you’re not afraid of horses.”

  I stopped, raising my chin and giving him a look that was meant to scorch the hair right off his head, but which turned to amusement at the look of surprised agony on Walker’s face when Moth, evidently feeling abandoned, left his spot on the bench and swarmed up Walker’s back, using his leggings and long red-and-gold tunic as a ladder.

  “Can’t—ow!—you control your cat?” he snapped as Moth hit the summit of Mount Walker, settling himself down with a look of smug pleasure that only a cat could achieve.

  “He’s not mine,” I reminded him. “But I don’t imagine he’ll be a welcome addition to your team while you guys do the qualifying thing, so I’ll take him for you.”

  Walker muttered something that I thought it best not to hear as he ducked his head, allowing me to pluck Moth from his shoulders. I snapped on the cat’s leash, tucked him under my arm, and nodded to Butcher as he brought out the deep jousting saddle and plopped it on top of the saddle pad. “Good luck, Butcher. Break a lance, or whatever it is you say for luck. Walker?”

  Walker slid the saddle pad down onto Marley’s back before looking at me. “What is it now?”

  I was going to apologize for teasing him in front of Butcher, but the petulance in his voice grated on my still-humming nerves. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what I said.”

  Walker narrowed his eyes for a minute; then he nodded abruptly and picked up the big brown Paso saddle that he had used on Marley before.

  “I wouldn’t want you feeling obligated to finish that kiss you started,” I continued, sauntering slowly around Cassie’s rear with an extra dollop of hip action, just in case he was watching. “I like a man who can rise to any challenge, not run away whenever someone threatens him, and obviously you were very threatened by the fact that I was going to kiss you, so all in all, it’s really better that you are the type of man you are.”

  His silver-eyed glare truly was a thing of beauty to behold. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  I shrugged and headed toward the tent city, tossing over my shoulder, “Nothing other than that it’s clear you’re not interested in me after all. Sorry I bothered you. I wonder what Farrell is doing? Bet he’s an alpha male, too. He probably wouldn’t be threatened by someone wanting to kiss him.”

  There was a soft thump that was the saddle hitting the dirt, making Marley dance a little dance of objection. As I rounded the side of a nearby barn, Walker stormed over to the bale of hay, kicking it viciously while swearing up a blue streak.

  Chapter Six

  Moth garnered some interesting looks an hour later as we strolled into the big arena where the jousting was to be held. No one forbade him entrance, however, which was a big weight off my mind, since I had no idea what I would do if they told me cats weren’t allowed in the arena. I had him tucked under my arm as we navigated our way through the ground crews and horses waiting at the opening of the arena for their turn at the qualifying runs.

  “I heard you ran the rings successfully this morning.” Veronica stood smoking just outside the big double doors that led to the practice ring. She waved the smoke away, and smiled as I lugged Moth toward her.

  “Trust me, I owe my entire success to accident rather than any sort of skill,” I said, setting Moth down on a nearby stack of wooden fence railings. Veronica moved aside as one of the Norwegians rode in from the warm-up ring.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I’ve found through the classes I teach that there are some people who are just born to be jousters. You’ve obviously got the eye for it, and the requisite level of horsemanship.” She shrugged. “Why shouldn’t it be due to your skill and not an accident?”

  “Because yesterday was the first time I ever tried anything like that. I know it takes you guys years to learn how to joust.”

  “No, it takes us years to hone our skills so that we joust with a reasonable amount of success. Anyone can learn to hit a target while at a canter—it just takes practice to be able to do it every time.”

  Inside the arena the tinny voice of an announcer was calling the first round of jousters to the list, going through an explanation of what the qualifying rounds were. One of the Norwegian ground crew marched through the doors, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled to a man on a big bay in the practice ring.

  “I think they’re about to start,” I said, gr
abbing Moth and moving even further out of the way as the bay charged into the arena. “Shouldn’t we go in?”

  “In a moment. I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind. I have a spot for an alternate on my team—one of our members’ son is ill and she’s had to return home—and I thought you might like to have me put you down for the spot. You could train with us, and even do a spot of squiring if you’d like until you feel comfortable.” I started to shake my head. “There’s little chance you would have to compete, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Thank you, I’m very flattered that you’d even consider me for an alternate position, but I’ve only held a lance twice in my life. I have no doubt that almost everyone else here is infinitely more qualified than me to serve as an alternate.”

  She considered me while taking a long drag on her cigarette, allowing the smoke to curl out of her mouth before she blew it away from me. “I’ve never been one to appreciate modesty. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could do the job—with training, of course. If you’d like the position, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks,” I said again, hoisting Moth a little higher as I sidled around her toward the opening of the arena. “I appreciate your confidence, but I’m afraid it just wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Are you going to joust for Walker’s team? If you are, I’d better warn you—he has a very different training method than I do. He expects perfection from all his team members, and drills them mercilessly until he gets it. He expects the same sort of perfection outside the list, too.”

  Her cold green eyes took in the forest green Irish dress outfit that CJ had brought for me, saying it matched my eyes and would go far in bringing my dream man to his knees. Although I had to agree that the heavy boning in the bodice that made my waist look smaller than it was (not to mention gave me much more cleavage than I ever imagined possible) and the long, sweeping lines of the skirt that split to open over a fancy gold-worked chemise were flattering even to my sturdy figure, I doubted that the men of the Faire were in any danger of falling victim to whatever charms I could claim.