A Knight's Temptation

by Lana Williams

  “She’s been brave considering all she’s been through,” Chanse offered.

  “Aye.”

  “She’s beautiful with her long blonde hair and blue eyes. Stunning, in fact.”

  Braden scowled, wondering if his brother was setting a trap. But thus far, he’d only stated the truth. How could Braden disagree with that? “Aye.”

  Chanse drew to a halt again. “Then what the hell are you waiting for? She’s your wife. You’d be crazed not to do all in your power to keep her as such.”

  Braden ran a hand over his eyes, wishing he could smooth his thoughts into some semblance of logic. “We’re very different, she and I.”

  “Oh?”

  “She hates English knights.”

  “So did Lady Sophia, yet she found it in her heart to love Garrick.”

  “Ilisa intends to take her vows come autumn.”

  “Already noted. But have you asked why she wishes to do so? Or if that is still where her heart lies? Plans often change.”

  “I’ve thought of doing so, but how can I compete with her devotion to God?”

  “Valid point. Do you care for her?”

  Braden nearly squirmed at the question as he knew what Chanse would ask next. “Aye.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  He looked at Chanse in surprise. That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

  “You’ve always been slow to trust others, and for good reason,” Chanse said with a casual lift of one shoulder. “You must guard your secret closely.”

  Chanse wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

  Did he trust Ilisa? That was not a question to be taken lightly.

  But yet the answer came easily. Aye.

  He might be a healer, but Ilisa was the one healing him by easing his mistrust of others and giving him hope for a future. In truth, there was more to what he felt than simple hope.

  “Once you know that, you’ll have your answer as to what to do,” Chanse advised. “Hard to believe that my brother is a married man.” He held up his hand before Braden could protest. “At least for the moment.”

  “Aye. For now.”

  “Wish me luck. I’ll be going to the lists soon. There’s a competition to win.”

  “You have no need for luck with your skill.”

  “Care to place a wager?”

  Braden laughed as he waved off his brother and continued toward the baker’s.

  After breaking his fast with Ilisa, Braden watched from the side of the lists where the jousting would soon begin. The competitors had gathered on the opposite side, their steeds restless, stomping the ground and jerking the reins, as anxious to get started as their riders.

  Chanse was among them, easily visible. His response to the truth about the marriage had given Braden much to think upon. Nothing could be decided while they remained at Lord Graham’s. When they returned to Berwick, he would better understand what he felt for her. He needed to know if she intended to take her vows before he shared the extent of his feelings as he would not stand between her and God.

  Meanwhile, he needed to find a way to make certain nothing further happened between him and Ilisa until they left this place.

  “Is he any good?” Sir Niall asked, coming to stand next to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

  Braden had yet to speak with the older man, other than exchanging the normal pleasantries but had learned a little about the knight.

  Niall had a holding in the northern Lowlands. Considering its location, Braden guessed the man’s loyalty would be to Scotland and mayhap sided with Graham’s ideas. How to test that assumption?

  “Jousting is one of his strong suits.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be sure to place a wager on him.”

  Braden chuckled. “Chanse will be pleased to hear that. He’ll make even more of an effort to win.”

  “Then I shall tell him myself when he comes off the lists from his practice pass,” Niall said with a smile. “He has a fine horse under him.”

  Braden debated, wondering how much to say without taking too much of a risk. Yet this mission was about taking risks, he reminded himself. “Don’t tell Lord Graham, but he purchased it in England.”

  Niall smiled. “That would anger Graham to no end. Everyone knows the only horses of value are those bred in Scotland.”

  “For certain.” Braden waited, keeping his gaze on the riders on the field in an effort to not reveal how much he wanted Niall to share more.

  “Our host has some interesting ideas on how Scotland’s future should look,” Niall said.

  “He’s a man who believes he knows what’s best for the country, regardless of how many agree.” Braden felt as if he were playing a complicated chess game. One wrong move and the match would be lost. Too many of those, and the battle would be lost as well.

  “Has Rothton approached you?”

  Braden studied Niall, wishing he knew where he was taking the conversation. “He suggested those with Scotland’s best interests at heart would be willing to unite behind the right man.”

  “And do you agree?”

  “Do you?”

  Niall held his silence, a not-so-subtle method of encouraging Braden to answer first.

  “Many would be willing to support the right man,” Braden said at last. “My only question is who gets the honor of choosing that man? Why should we trust them to select the best future king?”

  “I thought you appeared to be a logical man.”

  “Does that mean you don’t intend to support Graham’s choice blindly?” Braden asked.

  “Graham and Rothton appear to have their own motives for whatever they’re planning. I’m not certain those motives make for clear thinking.”

  Braden nodded. That would probably be as much of an answer as he could expect. No one was willing to say too much regardless of what side they were on. “Do you happen to know who else sides with Graham and Rothton? Knowing might help clarify the reason for who they select and whether I would lend support.”

  Niall remained silent for so long that Braden decided he wasn’t going to answer. “Rumors say that the Bishop of Moray has traveled far to meet with Graham on more than one occasion. What reason has he to do so if not for a discussion of such importance?”

  Braden swallowed back his excitement. That was exactly what he needed to know. Now he had two names to add to Lord Graham’s. Added to that was the fact that Sir Niall wasn’t enamored with their plans either.

  One more piece of the puzzle. But did they have enough to solve it?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ilisa watched Braden speaking with Sir Niall in the distance. She’d intended to join him, but something about the intensity of his expression had her walking slowly to give them time to finish their conversation. Mayhap Sir Niall was revealing something relevant.

  She hoped the delay would allow her time to determine how to act and what to say to Braden after what had happened earlier. Had they simply both been caught in a vulnerable moment? Or had something more meaningful occurred? Her heart caught at the latter.

  “Lady Cairstine?”

  Ilisa turned to see Arabela approaching. “Good day to you.”

  “You’re looking well this morn,” Arabela offered, a smile lighting her face.

  Ilisa could only blink as memories of just how she’d spent the morn came to mind. With Braden. Her boldness. His response. The tender regard he’d shown her. Her growing feelings for him. For the briefest moment, she feared Arabela must’ve read her thoughts.

  Some of her reeling emotions must’ve crossed her face, for Arabela said, “I meant that as a compliment. You still looked pale to me last eve.”

  “How kind of you to notice.” And how silly of me. Ilisa drew a breath to try to control her thoughts. Any attempt to do so with her emotions seemed hopeless.

  “My apologies for not coming over to greet you properly last eve. My father thinks it unwise of me to befriend you. Or so I’m told.”


  Ilisa paused, uncertain as to her meaning.

  Arabela waved her hand in the air. “Heaven forbid he actually speak to me. He occasionally did so when I was younger, but since my brother Alistair’s death, he rarely does.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about your brother. I had no idea.” Though as she thought upon it, mayhap William had said something about Graham’s son’s death and how it had been a terrible accident—one that William had witnessed. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember any of the details.

  “At any rate, he didn’t allow me to greet you, and I’m sorry for it.”

  Ilisa nodded. One would think Graham’s only remaining child would become more precious after losing the other, but that didn’t seem to be the case. With no heir, ’twas no surprise that Graham would select Arabela’s husband with care.

  “I’m not certain whether I want to watch the jousting,” Arabela said. She pressed a hand to her middle. “My stomach burns, worrying who the champion might be. Watching only makes it worse.”

  “I can imagine.” Ilisa realized how fortunate she was to have a choice over her own future, however limited the options were.

  “Father only permits his knights to train on the quintain. I’ve never witnessed jousting with the men riding at each other.”

  “Nor have I.” At Arabela’s deep sigh, Ilisa couldn’t help but reach out to squeeze her arm in an offer of comfort. “Surely your father will pick the right man to take your hand, regardless of who is named champion.”

  “He thinks whoever wins will have proven his prowess and cleverness. And according to my mother, he believes that will be a sign from God as to whom I should marry.”

  “Considering how limited the invitations were for this celebration, I’m surprised he would draw that conclusion.” Ilisa frowned, wondering at Graham’s logic.

  “He sees signs in many things, but how can he not realize how much he sways the outcome of situations with his interference?”

  “Such is the thinking of many men in my limited experience.”

  “Mother said something else much more alarming.”

  “Oh?”

  Arabela hesitated as if uncertain whether she should say more. “If the right man wins the tournament, he would become my husband and the King of Scotland.”

  Ilisa didn’t bother to contain her surprise. If Graham managed to do that, he’d have significant influence over Scotland’s future. If he couldn’t become king himself, that was the next best thing.

  “You would be queen,” Ilisa said, trying to focus on why Arabela had decided to tell her this news.

  “I am not fit for queen. I have no aspirations for such a position. I would only be a pawn to be moved about by others. Why would I welcome such a lonely life?” A single tear trailed down her cheek which she hastily wiped away. “I can’t think of a worse fate.”

  Ilisa bit her lip to keep from protesting. Try watching as the people of your city are slaughtered before your eyes. See how it feels if your brother is taken far away and may be killed on any given day.

  Yet she had empathy for Arabela as well. A woman was expected to marry and raise a family. That was difficult in itself let alone when political aspirations were involved. ’Twas doubtful her father’s choice of a husband would match her own.

  Arabela’s worry over her future matched Ilisa’s own. She thought she’d found the answer by making plans to join the convent at St. Mary’s, but she was no longer certain she could provide value there or live a life of meaning.

  Where did that leave her?

  After this morn, hope flickered that Braden might care for her. The idea of building a life with him was both appealing and terrifying. She couldn’t ignore who he was—an English knight. What if the king ordered him to march on Berwick or any other town in Scotland, and repeat what had been done before?

  The idea of those hands that had touched her so gently earlier wielding a sword to murder the innocent nearly made her choke. How could she live with that?

  She gave herself a mental shake. Now was not the time for such worries. She needed to focus on their purpose so that when they left in a few days, they’d have all the information they needed to stop Graham and his allies from bringing King Edward’s wrath on Scotland again.

  “Serving as queen would be intimidating,” Ilisa offered. “Mayhap someone like you would give a reason for the people of Scotland to ban together.”

  Arabela stopped and stared at Ilisa as though she’d suggested she run naked through the lists. “Look at me. I am no one. How could I possibly inspire people? I’ve never traveled farther than the next village. What do I have to offer?” She shook her head adamantly. “Nay. That life is not for me. But I have no idea how to convince my father of that.”

  “I can understand how you feel. With luck, none of this will come to pass.”

  Arabela scoffed as she started walking again. “Something is going to happen. Have no doubt. The only questions are who will be my husband and will he truly be named king?”

  She found Braden watching her as she walked toward him, a smile curving his lips. The tightness in her chest eased at the warmth in his expression, and she smiled in response.

  “That is what I want,” Arabela said, a note of longing in her tone.

  “What?”

  “My future husband to look at me the way Sir Hugh looks at you.”

  Ilisa nearly choked. Her marriage wasn’t even real. What could Arabela possibly see?

  Before she could find a way to ask, Arabela continued, “He admires you, desires you. ’Tis clear to anyone watching how much he loves you.”

  If only that were true.

  The twist in her heart had her catching her breath. He was handsome, strong, brave, and an English knight. She cared for him. Deeply. He made her feel things she hadn’t thought possible, both physically and emotionally.

  “Good morn, ladies,” he greeted them, taking her hand in his despite Sir Niall and Arabela’s presence. His gaze held hers for a long moment, as though checking to make certain all was well. The gesture heated her down to her toes.

  Sir Niall greeted them as well, distracting Ilisa before she made a fool of herself. They all turned to watch as the first two competitors took the field. The inexperienced knights were to go first.

  “Some say this is the true test of a knight’s abilities, more so than any of the other types of training,” Sir Niall said.

  “Why is that?” Arabela asked.

  Sir Niall glanced at Braden, who answered, “It best simulates warfare, but the risks are great. Even when using a blunt weapon, a knight can be severely injured by the impact despite his armor. Getting unseated can cause significant harm.”

  “Not to mention possible injury to the horse,” Sir Niall added. “Most of these men have their wealth tied up in their horseflesh and their weaponry. While a tournament such as this allows knights the potential to earn more money, they also risk either losing or damaging their equipment.”

  The lists had been roped off to designate the area where the knights would joust. Squires waited with the competitors, holding the reins as the knights made final adjustments.

  “Horsemanship is important as well.” Braden kept his gaze on the lists as he spoke. “Controlling your horse during a joust means you can control it during a charge on the battlefield. If even a few knights can’t maintain their steeds, a charge is ineffective.”

  No fence separated the knights as they galloped toward one another as it did on some lists. One of the men had difficulty balancing his lance, the long wooden pole ungainly under his arm. His other hand held his shield. Before he could gain his position, his opponent struck his shield, knocking him back on the horse. Luckily, he kept his seat but needed his squire’s assistance to shift upright.

  The men took another pass at each other. This time the man who’d lost the previous pass fared much better, striking the other man’s shield.

  “How do they decide who wins when they both strike t
he target?”

  “Points are awarded based on where they hit over four passes. If you lose your seat, your opponent wins the round. Otherwise, whoever splinters the most lances by striking their target is declared the winner.”

  Several more men took their turn with Arabela wincing as they struck their targets. At last Chanse came into view. Ilisa watched him closely, noting his ease with his horse. Much like Braden, he and his steed seemed to be of one mind. Though he didn’t move the reins, the horse went where he wanted it to go.

  He hefted the lance, easily balancing it in one hand and his shield in the other. Amidst the cheers of the crowd, he galloped toward his opponent, couching his lance as he leaned forward. His strike was perfect, landing in the center of the shield, splintering his lance and nearly unseating his opponent.

  Sir Niall stepped closer to Arabela, explaining some of the finer points of the competition.

  The next pass was equally as good. Then on the third pass, he unseated the other competitor. He held his broken lance high as the crowd cheered.

  Braden groaned beside her.

  “What is it?” she whispered, taking care to make certain Arabela and Sir Niall couldn’t overhear.

  “The less attention he draws, the better. Yet he can’t help himself.”

  “Mayhap this will be a good thing,” she suggested as she pondered the possibilities.

  “How so?”

  “If he wins, he’ll be seated at the head table with Lord Graham.”

  “How is that a good thing?” The frustration in Braden’s whisper had her giving him a glance of warning to remember who stood nearby.

  “’Twould be an opportunity for Chanse to be in closer contact with Graham and Rothton. Mayhap he’ll learn something.”

  “Hmm. We shall see.”

  Ilisa glanced at Arabela as she watched Chanse, the interest on her face undeniable. “If Chanse extends his charm to Arabela, who knows how her father will react?”

  Braden smiled. “You might have the right of it. The feast this eve will prove interesting at the very least if Chanse is named champion.”