Hard Day's Knight

by Katie MacAlister

  “Please, Walker. We just want to have our chance,” Bliss said. “We have faith in you. We know you can do what you have to in order to give us that chance.”

  “Why does everyone want me to joust so badly?” Walker suddenly roared. Bits of dust drifted down from the ceiling, the swallows that lived in the rafters quickly vacating the noisy premises.

  “Maybe because you’re so good at it,” I said quietly.

  He spun around, his eyes spitting silver at me, his face working as he tried to contain his anger. “So good? So good? If I’m so bloody good, why did I almost kill the last man I jousted with?”

  The faint whisper of the swallows’ wings as they fled the stable was the only sound as Walker’s words cut deep into my heart. I didn’t even dare breathe; I just stared into his eyes, consumed by his pain. No wonder he refused to joust—it wasn’t his own injury he feared; it was the possibility of harming someone else. “I . . . I didn’t know.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said quietly, his voice as hard and cold as granite. He turned to look at Vandal and Butcher. “But they knew. They all knew.”

  “Walker,” I said, putting my hand on his arm, needing to touch him, needing for some reason to offer him whatever comfort I could.

  “No,” he said, and without another word, without a glance at any of the silent, frozen figures in the stable, he turned on his heel and walked out.

  Chapter Eight

  Where Walker went that night, I have no idea. One moment he was in the stable, his pain there for everyone to see; the next moment he had retreated within himself and walked out on his friends. No one saw where he disappeared to. He wasn’t at the Faire, he wasn’t hanging around other stables, he wasn’t drowning his sorrow in the beer hall, and he didn’t show up for dinner, which, honesty compels me to admit, was one of the grimmest affairs it’s been my misfortune to attend.

  “What are we going to do?” Bliss asked the silent group gathered around the grill, everyone with plates of chicken and salad in their laps, but no one with the appetite to eat. No one but Moth, who growled deep in his chest with happiness as I fed him tidbits of my chicken. “Should we tell the tourney steward that the Three Dog Knights are pulling out? Should we just go home?”

  “We might as well,” Vandal said, peering morosely into a large pewter stein of beer one of the sympathetic Ale Wenches had given him. “If Walker won’t joust, it’s all over for us.”

  “I never thought he’d come right out and refuse,” Bliss said, shaking her head.

  “Never expected him to give up without a fight,” Butcher agreed, also shaking his head. “I think we all understand why he hasn’t wanted to joust until now, but it’s been three years, and this is a different situation—this is our one chance at doing something really spectacular. For him to walk out on us . . . well, it’s just not like him.”

  “Well, I think he’s just the biggest poop in the whole world. If I’d known he was going to be so cruel and selfish when he was truly needed, I would never have encouraged you all to come to the tournament.” CJ was squished up against Butcher’s side, staring blankly at the plate on her lap.

  “He should be hung up by his toes. He should be drawn and quartered. If I knew where he was right now, I’d shoot him full of arrows. Not that anyone will see me shoot any arrows now . . .” Fenice, who was sitting at her brother’s feet, made a horrible gulping, trying-not-to-cry-in-front-of-everyone noise before throwing down her plate and running off to a nearby tent.

  “If I knew where he was right now, I’d be wearing testicle-shaped earrings,” CJ said, fingering the dagger strapped to her belt.

  “Right, I think now is the time for the voice of sanity to be heard.” I sucked the tip of my finger where Moth, in his anxiety to snatch a bit of chicken breast, accidentally bit me. At least I hoped it was an accident. I adjusted his horns and looked up to find everyone’s eyes on me. “Well, it’s obvious that someone has to reason with Walker. Yes, he is a man, so genetically he’s engineered to be dense about many things, but he’s not stupid. If someone explains calmly and rationally why he has to overcome his reticence to joust again, I’m sure he’ll agree to do it. All it takes is someone with tact.”

  They looked at each other for the count of three, then turned and smiled those damned sharky smiles at me.

  “Oh, no—” I started to say.

  “I nominate Pepper to convince Walker to joust,” my traitorous cousin said with a particularly evil smile at me. “Despite the fact that she has little to no tact, Walker likes her. She likes Walker. She can sway him.”

  “Hey!” I said, unable to decide if I was more outraged at CJ’s slur, or the idea that they could use me to manipulate Walker.

  “I second the nomination,” Bliss said.

  “All those in favor?” Butcher asked.

  “No!” I wailed.

  “Aye!” they all roared back.

  Butcher stood up and pulled me to my feet. “You are hereby unanimously voted as our designated representative. Your job is to convince Walker that he won’t injure anyone if he jousts.”

  “Just how badly did he hurt the last guy he went up against?” I asked.

  They all shook their heads sadly.

  “Good luck,” Butcher said solemnly.

  “Don’t let him say no,” Bliss counseled.

  “Tell him how much we’re counting on him,” Fenice pleaded.

  “Tell him how miserable my sister will make my life if we lose our house,” Vandal added with a bleak look at his twin.

  “And don’t come back until he says yes,” CJ said, giving me a little shove.

  “There’s no way Walker is going to listen to me,” I pointed out. “One of you should be talking to him. You’re his friends.”

  “And you’re the one who thinks he’s sexy and smells nice,” Butcher said, his eyes sad even though he smiled.

  “As his potential girlfriend, it’s your duty,” CJ said righteously. “Besides, you’re the one who discovered the plot against the Three Dog Knights.”

  “Anyone could see someone has it in for you guys, and . . . Oh, you big rat fink! You’ve been telling me for the last I don’t know how many days just how not right Walker is for me, and now you’re signing me up at the bridal registry and picking out the wedding cake? Ha! I laugh at you! Double ha with antlers on it!”

  “You can laugh all you want, as long as you do it,” she answered. “He’ll listen to you because he likes you.”

  “He doesn’t like me; he’s mean to me. He’s always arguing with me.”

  “That’s just his gruff exterior hiding his heart of gold,” Butcher said, putting his arm around CJ’s shoulders. “If he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t talk to you at all. That he argues with you means he likes you.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “That might be so, but your belief that my opinion holds any sway shows that you’re all quite, quite insane.” I gathered up my things, snapping the leash on Moth’s back. “And I might enjoy a good verbal tussle now and again with Walker, but that’s neither here nor there.”

  “The fact that you and Walker get your jollies by arguing isn’t anything to be ashamed of,” CJ said smoothly. “Just look at Hepburn and Tracy—they were known for their witty repartee. It’s true you guys aren’t really trading barbs of their quality, but still, whatever turns your crank.”

  I lifted my chin and gave her a long look. “If I see the men in the white coats, I’ll let them know you’re ready and waiting. Until then, good night.”

  “We’ll expect a full report in the morning,” CJ called after me as I strode off into the soft evening air. “It’s only everyone’s whole life riding on this, Pepper! Don’t screw it up!”

  I might not be the Incredibly Brainy Pepper, but I knew there was no way Walker would give me the time of day concerning something about which he was so vehement. Still, I figured that if I happened to run into him when I took Moth out to stretch his legs b
efore bed, it wouldn’t kill me to broach the subject with him.

  An hour and a half later, having searched the entire fairgrounds for a tall, dark, and handsomely furious Englishman, I staggered back to my tent with Moth, having done nothing more than avoided what looked like a Bacchanalian party at the Norwegians’ camp, and won the battle to remove an empty condom wrapper from Moth, who had chased after it in the mistaken belief that it was something he should kill.

  “It was a ridiculous idea to start with,” I complained as I dug through my bag looking for my nightgown. “Like he’s going to listen to anything I have to say? Oh, thank you, I really did so want kitty litter all over my sleeping bag!”

  Moth was busily excavating a hole to China in his litter box as I pulled out the dark red nightgown that had been my birthday present to myself back in the days when I was gainfully employed. I have a weakness for negligees, and this one was custom-made by a company in England, its long, sweeping lines, bare lace-up back, and appliquéd lace giving it a faintly flamenco flavor. I always felt like I should be doing the tango while wearing the gorgeous satin-and-chiffon creation. Too bad I would have to cover it up with a long T-shirt for brief runs to the nearest toilet.

  “Oh, well, the T-shirt isn’t the end of the world. It’s not like I have anyone to tango with,” I said sadly, sweeping kitty litter off the sleeping bag. “Walker is obviously not interested in me, Farrell is too stuck on himself, Vandal is too young, Butcher’s already taken, and the Norwegians are way too Viking. Guess that means it’s just you and me, baby.”

  Moth, who preferred to sleep in a shoe box two sizes too small, settled down in the box with his furry sides oozing over the edges, and gave me one of those enigmatic looks cats do so well. I switched off the camping light, resigning myself to another night spent in lonely solitude, lying awake for a long time before I fell asleep to the sounds of people laughing, singing, and generally having a good time outside the confines of my tent.

  The tiny travel clock cast just enough of a glow for me to see that it was a little after two in the morning when Moth decided he was a mite peckish, and he’d just have a quick bite of tent before settling back to sleep.

  “Cat, I swear to you by all that is holy, this had better be an emergency of ‘Timmy fell down the well and is going to drown in five seconds unless you save him’ importance, or else I will personally see to it that you wear those horns permanently.”

  I crawled out of the sleeping bag, too groggy and sleep fuzzed to get a grip on Moth before he managed to squeeze out the tiny opening at the bottom of the tent.

  “Oh, for God’s sake . . . fine!” I mumbled, shaking my fist at the gap in the zippered doorway. “Run around by yourself. Get trampled on or run over or picked up by vivisectionists; see if I care. You beastly cat, I’m going back to bed.”

  I curled up on top of the sleeping bag (it was still too warm to sleep covered with it), lying first on one side, then the other, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy ground. Then the pictures started forming in my head, pictures of Moth squashed flat by an unwary motorist, pictures of Moth choking on a bit of tent that I wasn’t there to remove from his maw, Moth being eaten by a dog, Moth being kicked by a horse, and the coup de grace, Moth being scooped up by an evil person who intended on subjecting him to all sorts of vile experiments.

  “This is ridiculous,” I growled as I scrabbled around the dark tent for my shoes. I couldn’t find the sandals I knew I had set out for the following day, and the T-shirt I used as a cover-up had evidently completely disappeared from the northern hemisphere, so it was that three minutes after Moth escaped from the tent, I was creeping through an eerily silent tent city clad in nothing but a lacy satin negligee and a pair of scrungy, horse-trodden-upon tennis shoes. With luck, no one would see me while out making a late-night trip to the bathroom. My apparel wasn’t X-rated, but I could do without the inevitable comments should someone get a gander of my choice of night wear.

  Above me, nightjars and owls sang their nocturnal songs, brief gusts of wind whisking away my soft cries of, “Moth! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! Num-nums!” as I swung my flashlight back and forth along the pathways of the tent city. Not even the sound of Moth’s favorite treats being shaken in their can brought him to me. I looked everywhere I could for the cat, feeling stupid and foolish and more than a little worried as I stumbled over chairs left sitting out, boxes of foodstuffs, coolers, tables, and the other normal detritus that was generated when a large group of people camp together.

  “Moth? Please, cat, I’m tired. I’ve had a long day. And my toes hurt. Come back and I’ll scratch your back for you.” I stood shaking the can of cat treats in a desultory manner, flashing the light around the yellow-and-white-striped tents. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white shape streak across the open ground toward the farthest tent. I shot the flashlight that way, and just caught the tip of Moth’s white tail disappearing into a vaguely familiar tent. “Aha! Got you now, you demonic imp in feline form.”

  The tent wasn’t a camping model, but was one of the ovals favored by Ren Faire people. I knew it must belong to a jouster, but which one I had no idea. The doorway didn’t zip or Velcro-close; it was simply a heavy panel of material that hung on rings before the split opening. I squatted down (feeling for some reason like it would be less of an invasion of privacy for whoever was in the tent if I was on my knees rather than if I were standing), turning off the flashlight so it wouldn’t wake up the occupant.

  “Mothikins,” I crooned in an almost soundless whisper as I crawled into the tent. I pried the lid off the cat treat container and shook a few of them out into my hand, waving them around hopefully so the aroma would entice Moth over to me. In one corner I could see a long, dark shape that was presumably the tent’s occupant, sound asleep. A white blob shimmered for a minute in the dense blackness inside the tent, then moved slowly toward a light patch to my left. I waved the treats toward Moth’s blobby shape as I crawled toward him, doing a little knee stumble as I ran into something hard and bulky. “Ow. Stay right where you are, you little darling. Pepper has something for you.”

  “I’m sure she does,” a deep, velvety voice spoke out of the blackness. “The question is, is she willing to share?”

  A camp light flicked on, the relatively bright light blinding me for a few seconds before I realized several things all at once: The blobby shape I’d seen moving was Moth, the tent was vaguely familiar because it belonged to the Three Dog Knights, and the voice came from a big, broad, nicely haired, muscular chest that I couldn’t help but noticing was bare of any covering.

  “Holy cow,” I breathed, my eyes bugging out just a bit as my brain processed the fact that it wasn’t just Walker’s chest that was bare—the rest of him was, too. From the long, narrow feet and the muscular calf that I was straddling to the thickly muscled line of his thighs, all the way up to a taut tummy, the aforementioned chest, and arms that looked like they were sculpted out of warm, living marble, every inch of Walker was bare. He was completely nude—except for the white and orange cat he wore across his groin. “You’re . . . uh . . . naked.”

  “Yes,” he drawled, not looking in the least bit like he minded lying stark naked, wearing only a cat draped across his middle, while I crawled around in his tent. “And you don’t appear to be wearing anything under that fancy nightdress, if you could be said to be actually wearing it.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I’m wearing it!”

  His eyebrows rose. “It looks to me as if you merely thought of covering yourself with cloth and decided instead that a bit of frothy nothingness would do the job as well. You don’t camp much, do you?”

  I glanced down and realized that, on my hands and knees as I was, he could see right down the opening of my negligee to my belly. “Gah!”

  “Indeed,” he said. I sat back on my heels, tugging the front of the negligee up as the conflicting urges to throw myself on that magnificent chest of his warred with the desire no
t to appear like Pepper the Wonder Tart. “Gah says it all, doesn’t it? Might I inquire as to what you wanted of me at this time of the night? Was it something in particular, or did you just have a desire to take a nocturnal stroll in a scanty bit of satin that was evidently created with the goal of exploding the eyeballs of any man who saw you in it?”

  “That was a compliment,” I said, working my way through the comment about me not actually wearing the negligee (which was an exaggeration, since I most definitely was wearing it, even if it didn’t cover up a whole lot of skin).

  “How very bright you are in the middle of the night,” he said dryly, his silvery-eyed gaze dropping a bit to consider my breasts, as concealed by a wisp of satin and lace.

  “You said something nice to me.” It was so unexpected, I figured I’d better make sure he meant to be nice.

  “Do you want more? How about this: The sight of those luscious curves of yours in red satin makes my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.”

  I poked him in his kneecap. It was a very nice kneecap, I took a moment to notice. Nicely rounded, but firm. It was sexy, too. A sexy, sexy kneecap. “You’re flirting with me!”

  “I’ve found it to be the gentlemanly thing to do when a woman calls upon me while I’m sleeping.”

  I eyed his cat-covered middle and wondered what it would take to pry Moth off his groin, and if I did manage that, whether the old wives’ tale about the size of men’s feet being proportionate to the size of other parts was true or not. One glance at the long length of Walker’s feet had me salivating.

  “Ahem.” I jerked my gaze up as he raised an ebony eyebrow.

  “Oh. Sorry. Um—what were we talking about?”

  “You accused me of flirting with you, something you seem to find amazing, and yet given our current situation, I felt it was entirely appropriate.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you’re flirting. And you shouldn’t be,” I said, crossing my arms under my breasts.

  There was a moment there when I thought Walker’s eyes were going to go cartoon and bulge right out of their sockets with an accompanying woobah! sound, but he managed to keep them in his head. “Oh, really?” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat again and dragged his gaze back up to my eyes. “Why shouldn’t I flirt with you?”