Sir Tristan smiled at her and, just as loudly, accepted the challenge. He was already heading back to his horse. A squire hurried to bring him a new lance and the two knights paired off.
“It’s one thing to lose against a squire,” Lord Drayton said. “Another to meet your equal or better on the field.”
Both Fay and Batty scowled at him. Anne was too busy practically hanging off her seat, her lips silently moving as if she were praying. For Sir Tristan to win, or that he wouldn’t get hurt? It occurred to Fay how dangerous all of it was. Even with the blunted points, getting tossed off your horse at a full gallop couldn’t be fun. Fear snaked up her spine as she envisioned Sir Tristan’s neck breaking, his skull being crushed within his helmet. She almost stood up and screamed at them to stop.
It was too late. The furious race toward each other had already begun and, like the showdown with Brom, it was over in a blink of the eye. Neither man fell from his horse, but Tristan’s lance was in pieces.
“Oh no,” she said disappointedly, wishing he had won.
“No, no, he still won,” Anne said. “Sir Ulrich didn’t even touch him and Sir Tristan broke his lance cleanly on his shoulder. It’s only because he’s so big he wasn’t knocked off.”
“Not if we do the full four courses,” Lord Drayton argued doggedly. “They should—”
“Lord Drayton, my sister has been ill,” Anne said. She had a look on her face that Fay didn’t think even Lord Drayton could continue to argue with. “She must eat, and since this was only for training the boys, and the final matches were only in fun, surely you must agree to the outcome.”
He pressed his lips together, but finally nodded, smiling widely. “It’s too bad. I thought I might finally win back all I lost to Lady Fay.”
Fay was glad to see his good mood was restored, too hungry and tired to be able to put up with his competitive streak if it had continued. She let him lead her to the benches, finding that sitting for so long had worn her out. She’d grown weak doing nothing but sleeping all day while she was ill, and needed to regain her strength. It further grated on her strained nerves to find herself exhausted from doing practically nothing.
Her father intercepted them, starting up a barrage of technical questions for Lord Drayton, wanting to know his opinion on the squires he and Sir Knobby were training. Lord Drayton looked longingly at Fay as Anne took over invalid watch, but Fay was too tired to care and let Anne lead her to a seat. She collapsed onto the hard bench, the twenty yard stroll having almost completely depleted her resources. She had to fight putting her head on her arms and taking a little nap.
A moment later, Sir Tristan sat beside her. He’d removed most of his armor and sat in the balmy air in his breeches and tunic, which nicely showed off his muscular arms and thighs. All her exhaustion whisked away on the spring breeze when he smiled at her.
“My lady. I hope you enjoyed the demonstration?”
“It was riveting,” she said, completely honest. “I even made a bit of money.”
He laughed raucously as if she’d told the most hilarious joke ever. She liked hearing it, and seeing him in his element. “The lads are sorely lacking, so I’m pleased to hear it didn’t bore or frustrate you to watch them.”
“Not at all. And I greatly enjoyed watching you show your skill,” she said.
He shrugged modestly. “I know I’m a bit better than Brom since we’ve trained together for so long. That was mostly a bit of showing off, in hopes to impress you.”
She nodded, unable to take her eyes off him. Any thought of acting coy or pretending she wasn’t impressed would have been impossible. It was the same as not wanting to be late to their first and only rendezvous. She found she could only be completely open and candid with him. Well, as much as was possible under her strange circumstances.
“Very much impressed. Especially the second round.” She glanced around and found that Lord Drayton was still occupied with her father. “I thought it fairly unsportsmanlike for Lord Drayton to call you out like that, so I’m glad you won. He wanted another—what did he say? Four rounds?”
Sir Tristan nodded. “Yes, tournament rules. To be honest, if I thought you ladies weren’t suffering from hunger, I wouldn’t have minded. I wish I had unhorsed him, but that’s just my pride. It’s a fault of mine,” he said with a shy duck of his head.
It was all she could do to keep from grabbing him and hugging him; it was such an adorable admission. She wanted to think of a fault of her own to share, but felt like he must already think she had enough shortcomings from when she’d acted like an idiot around him the first time they’d met.
“I was starving, so I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
She recalled Lord Drayton hadn’t been so thoughtful. But Tristan smiling at her, causing a slight crinkling at the corners of his brilliant, blue eyes, shoved Lord Drayton straight out of her thoughts. It only gave her a slight pause to have to admit to herself that meant Lord Drayton was out of the running to fall in love with. If he’d ever really been in it. How could anyone compete for her heart when Sir Tristan was around?
He reached for the bread basket and held it for her while she took a chunk. The servants came around and filled their plates with cold meat, dried fish, cheeses, and some sort of over-baked root vegetable. As much as she wanted to dig in, finally feeling hungry again, she was wary of giving herself a relapse, so she nibbled daintily at each thing, pausing to see how her stomach felt after every bite.
“You spoke of tournament rules?” she asked, while she waited to see how her dried fish settled in.
He looked delighted that she was interested. “Four courses,” he said, after swallowing a healthy bite of cold ham. “If we’d done it that way, Sir Ulrich may have had his chance to redeem himself. He’s a big one.”
“You’re plenty big,” she said, feeling her face heat up. Visions of the bath danced in her head and what he’d felt like after she “fell” in. “I mean, if that matters in jousting.”
“It matters,” he told her. “I don’t want to bore you, Lady Fay. I’m very much enjoying your company. Please don’t feel like you have to ask me questions that don’t interest you. You could be silent and I’d be just as content.”
She gaped at him. “Are you telling me to shut up?”
She’d been having such a good time, too. She recalled in the book the adamant note advising against knights as a valid love option and began to see there might have been a reason for it to be added.
Color rose in his face and he shook his head hard enough to send wavy strands of soft, shiny hair into it. He brushed it away and, as annoyed as she was by him at that moment, she envied his hand. Then she was more annoyed with herself for getting distracted by his incredible manly beauty when she needed to recall he’d just told her to be silent.
“No, Lady Fay. I swear that wasn’t my intent.” He slapped his forehead, causing two of their dining companions to look his way. He made them go back to their meals with a fierce glare. “I only—I meant it as a compliment to your lovely, fine countenance, and because I truly feared if I rattled too long on the subject of the joust, that you’d think I was a terrible bore.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “As I once told you, I lack experience in gentle company. I’m more used to bashing heads, I’m afraid.”
“But you’re very good at making apologies,” she said, smiling at him. Once again, he was completely forgiven. “You’re quite good at bashing hearts, too. Or at least melting them.”
She wanted to pinch herself for saying it, but it was out and it was the truth. Hers had been completely turned to mush at his awkward, sincere words. She made herself promise not to have such a short temper around him.
He laughed at that, clearly relieved, and leaned even closer. It was to the point that another hairsbreadth closer and they were going to raise some eyebrows. As it was, she was sure Batty and Anne were going to have some things to say when they were back at the castle.
“I don
’t know what to say to that,” he said. “It’s only one heart I wish to melt.”
She felt altogether too warm and could almost feel the warning looks she must be getting from Anne. As much as she wanted to close her eyes and tip her chin back, waiting for a kiss from Sir Tristan, she edged away. He nodded briskly and straightened up, covering his embarrassment with a mouthful of food. She followed suit and, by the time she was done chewing, she felt enough of her equilibrium had returned to speak again.
“I was honestly interested in learning about jousting,” she said, earning herself another of his glowing smiles. “I’ve heard there’s to be a tournament this summer, and that we might be able to go.”
“If you are to go, I will be certain to compete.”
“And will you fight for me there, as well?” she asked, feeling shaky as she waited for his answer.
He paused with another bite of ham skewered on his knife, halfway to his lips. He put the knife down and turned to her, his face completely serious. The sun was warm but she shivered.
“Always,” he said solemnly. Once again, he leaned closer and she wondered if they might have some kind of magnetic pull toward each other. Despite propriety and being surrounded by others, they couldn’t seem to keep from wanting to touch. “Would you meet me again? Tonight?”
Her eyes widened at the bold proposal and she felt a desire so strong it made her gasp. She moved her hand carefully along the bench until it rested against his leg and he slid his hand from his lap to rest on top of hers. It was the barest touch but it shook through her as if he were electrified. It seemed like ages when they had last touched and she longed for more, hating the sunny day and the cheery crowd of people surrounding them now. The intimacy of night sounded perfect.
“Yes,” she said simply. She meant to suggest their spot by the stream but, with her luck, it would rain for the first time in weeks, and she wasn’t sure how well patrolled the wall was at night. “I’ll come to your chamber,” she whispered.
He blinked and she was afraid she’d scandalized him. But when his eyes opened, they’d darkened to a midnight hue and dropped to her lips for a second before meeting her gaze again. He moved his hand away, the brush of his fingers along her skin sending more shockwaves through her. Such a simple touch, yet it made her crave more.
With a slight nod, he turned back to his food with a huge grin that made her feel oddly satisfied with herself for putting it on his face. She shivered slightly with anticipation, wondering what she’d gotten herself in to. She couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter 16
It took forever to get rid of Batty that night. All she wanted to do was talk about the jousting demonstration and how handsome Brom was. For the first half an hour or so, Fay was all in because she, in turn, got to talk about how handsome Sir Tristan was. While her aunt and uncle had been awesome and she never liked complaining about them, they were older when she was thrust into their lives, and they didn’t care for the noisiness of sleepover parties. So it was always fun for Fay when she got to have unlimited girl talk with both Batty and Anne. Even Marjorie was made to admit the afternoon was a good one, though it was filled with dirty savages and their hostile displays of manliness.
She twitched with impatience as Batty now slowly combed out her hair. She’d wanted to keep it styled for her rendezvous with Tristan, but there was no way she could explain that to Batty, so she was going to have to make do with wrapping it in a scarf. She reminded herself that Tristan had seen her on the brink of death and still thought she was beautiful, so unstyled hair shouldn’t bother him too much.
Yawning hugely, she stretched and shoved Batty gently out of the way at the same time. “Thank you,” she said, trying to look as sleepy as she could. “But I think I’m ready to sleep now.”
She’d already taken a nap after they returned from the jousting field, having been completely worn out after all that excitement. She hadn’t complained a bit when Gunther met her at the castle entrance and scooped her into his meaty arms. She only wished it had been Tristan, but he had to help supervise all the lads putting away their things in proper order. Before Anne dragged her away from the picnic, she’d given him one last soulful look, and he’d given another tiny nod before turning his attention away from her as if she didn’t exist. It was all so clandestine, it made her shiver.
Which made Anne think she was catching a chill, hence her having to swear she’d sleep once she was back in her room. She thought she’d be too excited to, but had passed out the moment her head hit the pillow.
She paced around to make sure Batty wouldn’t come back in to check on her. When she was finally sure she was alone for the night, she wrangled herself back into a dress. She’d picked out a pretty straw-colored one with golden ties and a cream-colored underdress. She loosely braided her hair in one long fall down her back and put a golden lace veil over the top of her head. She patted the medallion she still kept on her bedside table for good luck and slipped carefully into the hall.
A dim light flickered under Anne’s chamber door and she almost scurried back into her chamber to wait a bit longer. Anne had sonar hearing and would surely hear the soft thud of her door closing. She was too impatient, too eager to see Tristan again without having to worry about what anyone around them thought, so she merely left her door ajar the tiniest crack.
It took her almost a solid minute to reach the stairs, with her dress clutched in her hands so it wouldn’t make a sweeping sound when she walked. She paused after each step, barely breathing while she waited to be discovered sneaking out of her room. Being fully dressed, she couldn’t even pretend she was going down for a snack. She’d be busted.
She made it to the stairway and inched down the stairs until they curved out of sight from their chamber landing, then she tiptoe-ran the rest of the way, so giddy she almost burst into laughter. She prayed Tristan was in the same room as before and carefully made her way toward it, pausing to catch her breath and even out her heartbeat before she tapped at the big wooden door. Time seemed to stop while she waited, unsure if he’d heard. She was about to open it and peek in, the same as when she’d been tasked to bathe him, when he finally pulled it open.
Her breath left her in a gust. He wore a light tunic that was open halfway down his chest, revealing his muscular, bronzed skin. She wondered if he trained with his shirt off back at his own keep and almost fainted just from the thought of it. His breeches, which were more like leggings in this time, were slightly baggy from wear, but she could still make out his solid thighs and calves through the woolen fabric. His feet were bare. She’d never before in her life thought any feet were anything other than feet, but his seemed like works of art.
Was that love? Being so enamored by someone she thought their very feet were something worth gazing upon with desire? She wished she knew. Everyone she’d ever known who’d had an opinion on love had always assured her that she would know when she was in love. She felt fascinated, attracted, captivated by him. Right now, she wanted to toss herself at him and wrap all her limbs around him however she could. Perhaps that was love or the beginning of it, anyway. She didn’t know, though, and she had a curse to break that wasn’t going to take maybe for an answer.
He motioned for her to enter and she looked shyly at the floor as he led her to the table set up in his room. He had a candle in the center of it, and motioned for her to have a seat.
Damn it, she thought, feeling like a hoyden.
She didn’t want to sit and have a conversation. Should she do as he suggested and be the medieval maiden she wasn’t or launch herself at him, which is what she definitely wanted to do and show who she really was? She needed him to accept who she really was. There had to be some compromise between sitting bashfully and outright launching.
She took a few steps until she was directly in front of him, just a few inches away. She would have to look up to speak to him, to get his attention. Instead, she placed her palm on his chest and rested it there, waiting
to see what he would do. Wanting more than anything for him to do something.
He placed his hand over hers and lowered his head so his chin rested on top of hers. “You mustn’t think I invited you for …” he trailed off.
She squeezed closer, just an inch between them. She felt his warmth spreading toward her. “I know,” she said.
So close, not close enough. She trembled with wanting him and he rested his other hand at her waist. Lightly dug his fingers into the fabric of her gown. Was it too soon? Should she sit at the table? She had so many questions she wanted to ask him. Perhaps he wanted to ask her some as well. How would she answer? The truth or the Lady Fay version? She couldn’t tell him the truth, but he could still know her, couldn’t he? Tears gathered in her eyes and she tipped her head back, wanting to see into those blue depths, maybe find the answer to her dilemma.
He looked searchingly at her for a moment, a breath. The barest flicker of his eyes over her face. Then he leaned down and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers with the slightest of pressures. It was a question, and this one she could answer wholeheartedly and honestly.
She stood on her toes and slid her hands behind his neck, letting every inch of her body press against his as she did. She parted her lips and sighed quietly, running her fingers through his silky mane and pulling his head down closer.
A fire ignited between them. His kisses grew in intensity, his hands roamed her back, holding her so tightly she couldn’t find a breath. Or maybe he’d taken her breath away. As long as he held her, she’d keep hanging on, never wanting this to end.
“Lady Fay,” he groaned, pulling away slightly. His eyes were wild, and she was sure hers looked as dark and ferocious.
“Just call me Fay,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to be a lady right now.”
With a slight chuckle, he resumed his kisses, tugging on her hair so he could reach her throat. An animal moan escaped her and she felt herself going limp at the delicious way his tongue trailed along the side of her neck. With small shuffling steps, they made their way toward the bed, Tristan’s hands never leaving her body. He tugged at the laces at the side of her gown and she felt it loosen. She hurriedly pulled away for a moment, holding up her hands at his bereft look. In another moment she had the dress over her head, mussing her hair.
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 15