Colin exchanged a glance with the other brother. Griffin realized he must be Frances, the one that should have jousted. Colin straightened as he turned back to Dinkleshire. “We do not have that much coin.”
Griffin shifted his gaze from Dinkleshire to Colin.
“We can not pay that fine. We can work it off, but…”
Dinkleshire’s face turned red.
Griffin realized Dinkleshire knew they wouldn’t be able to pay that much coin. He had hoped to drive them off, send them back to their lands. He had wanted to punish them all and had set the fine incredibly high so they would never be allowed to compete in future jousts. Griffin knew he should be grateful. Ridding the tournament of the likes of the Fletcher girl and her brothers was a boon to all righteous knights. But there was also a nagging feeling of disappointment. He had never shied away from a challenge. If the girl had been so talented in the joust, surely her brothers would be even more so. If this heavy fine drove the Fletchers out of the tournaments entirely, he would never have a chance to face them on the field of honor.
“You know the alternative,” Dinkleshire warned.
Colin drew himself up. He lifted his chin, a mirror image of the girl’s defiant tilt.
“Colin,” the girl hissed, taking a step forward.
“Layne,” Frances called. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I do,” Colin answered Dinkleshire.
Dinkleshire stared at him for a moment. Then, he signaled his guards with a wave of his hand. “Take him to the dungeon.”
Griffin sighed quietly. A severe punishment, but a deserved one. The sanctity of the tournament had to be preserved.
“No.” The denial ripped from the woman’s very soul. It touched something primal inside of Griffin. She stepped forward as the guards came to surround her brother.
Her youngest brother tugged pleadingly on her arm to keep her back.
As the guards moved aside to usher Colin forward, the woman took another step. “No!” Her cry froze everything.
“Layne,” Frances snapped.
“No,” she repeated. “You can’t take him. This isn’t his fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Dinkleshire said. “Maybe you’ll remember your place in the future.” He turned away.
Griffin saw the anguish in her large blue eyes, the agony in her parted lips, and his heart skipped a beat.
Her shoulders dropped. “It’s my fault. I did this.” She lifted her chin. “Take me instead.”
For a moment, time seemed to stop as everyone looked at the girl. Then, Dinkleshire began laughing. “Surely you jest!”
Griffin saw the spark in her eyes as her teeth clenched. “If you don’t, I might joust in a tournament again and all of this will be for naught.”
That stopped Dinkleshire’s laughter. His lips thinned. He poked a finger at the girl, signaling the guards to take her. As they left Colin’s side and moved to the girl, Frances cast a quick glance at his brother.
Colin held up his hands in helplessness and shook his head. “You can’t take her!” he called. “She’s just a foolish, impulsive child. She doesn’t know what she’s doing!”
“She knew enough to get past you,” Dinkleshire retorted.
Griffin’s fists clenched. A woman in the dungeon. It went against his code of chivalry. Women were to be protected, cherished. Saved from harm, not put into harm’s way. Even those who were foolish enough to joust against him. He winced at the last thought. She had won. And that pricked his pride. But he could not allow them to throw her in the dungeon. “Wait.” The command seemed to come out of his mouth before he had even decided to utter it.
At first, no one heard him.
The two brothers stood together, speaking fervently.
The youngest brother watched from near the horses.
The girl stood in the midst of the guards, just starting to move off toward the castle and her permanent home in the dungeon. The knights from the joust parted to let them through.
“Stop!” Griffin called in a booming voice, drawing all the attention to him.
The talking ceased.
He walked toward Dinkleshire.
Dinkleshire met him halfway. “Surely this meets with your approval,” the stout man said, a half smile on his lips.
“I will pay the fine,” Griffin proclaimed.
Dinkleshire paused, his mouth dropping in surprise. “But Sir Griffin… You were the one wronged! It’s not right…”
Griffin couldn't believe he had uttered the words. No, it wasn't right. “I will make sure the girl is punished properly,” Griffin added. “I will pay the fine and she will work it off.”
Chapter Three
Layne heard Griffin’s proclamation and couldn’t move. She was numb. First the dungeon, now this!
“No!” Colin exploded and stalked toward Griffin. “Layne will not be a play thing for this man’s sexual appetite.”
Griffin’s face darkened, his lips thinned and his jaw clenched tight. “I have purely chivalrous motives in mind. Are you saying I am anything but honorable?”
“What could you possibly want with her? She is a woman who thinks she can wield a sword as well as a man!”
“I aim to teach her her place,” Griffin rumbled, towering over Colin. “Something you could not do.”
Colin’s eyes widened in outrage.
Layne had seen that murderous glare only one other time from Colin. When he was standing at the fence in the field of honor, watching her joust Sir Griffin. She pushed her way out from between the guards. She had to stop this before Colin did something foolish like challenge Griffin. She stepped between the two men, placing her arm on Colin’s. “It’s all right, Colin. I can take care of myself. You’ve taught me this.”
Colin grit his teeth.
Layne leaned in closer to him. “You have to look out for Michael,” she whispered. When he continued to glare at Griffin, she called, “Colin.”
He snapped his gaze to her.
“Michael. You have to look out for him.” She shook his arm. “How many times have you told me jousting and swordplay was a man’s world? How many?”
Colin shook his head and then dropped his chin to his chest, muttering a soft curse.
“Michael. Look out for him. He’ll be lonely. You have to take care of him. Don’t push him away.”
Colin shook his head. “I won’t let you do this, Layne.”
She looked over her shoulder at Griffin. The man stood tall, his blonde hair glinting in the sun. His jaw was hard, his eyes narrowed. “I suppose it’s better than the dungeon.” She glanced at Colin. “For both of us.”
Colin began to shake his head.
Layne ducked her head, catching his eye. “This is my fault. I want to make it right.”
Colin grimaced, but stopped shaking his head. His shoulders drooped slightly. “Laynie…” he protested weakly.
She threw her arms around his neck. “I know you would have gone to the dungeon for me. And I would have gone for you.”
He squeezed her for a short moment.
“Please don’t tell father,” Layne whispered.
Colin released her, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Agony, resolve and bitter determination glinted in his orbs. He turned to face Griffin. “When we have the coin, I will pay you back and Layne will return to us.”
Griffin nodded once. “Agreed.”
Colin stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Griffin’s chest. “I swear Wolfe, if you mistreat her in any way…”
“She will not be mistreated,” Wolfe promised.
Colin’s jaw was firm, his eyes distrustful as he stared at Wolfe. Finally, he sighed softly and locked gazes with Layne. It was as if he wanted to tell her something, as if he wanted to bestow on her some brotherly wisdom. Instead, he simply bowed his head and turned away.
Griffin’s squire rushed up, panting. He handed Griffin his sword.
Griffin sheathed the weapon and joined Layne. “Carlton, show the
lady to our tent.”
Layne stared at Colin’s retreating back for a moment, then she heard Griffin’s words and snapped herself out of her trepidation. “I have to get my things from my tent.”
“You have no further need of your things. Everything you need will be supplied by me.”
Layne’s brows rose in surprise. “But my dagger. I can’t…”
“Ladies have no need for weapons. You will learn that in my care.”
Surprise gave way to anger and Layne scowled. She didn’t like this presumptuous arrogant cad. He wasn't at all like the man she had crashed into. She stood for a moment, staring Wolfe in the eye. It would not do to defy him here. Not in front of the others. She was already in enough trouble as far as they were concerned. She turned and followed Griffin’s squire into the mass of onlookers. Some men mumbled insults as she passed, but none dared to touch her. She glanced back at Griffin Wolfe to find him speaking with Dinkleshire. He towered over the short lord, his face set in consternation.
Layne continued after Griffin’s squire. One of the men before her spit on the ground. Shivers raced through Layne. She had made enemies by jousting. By winning. She carefully brushed past him, hurrying after Carlton. The crowd was like a group of poisoned daggers poised to prick her flesh; the hatred and animosity were almost a physical manifestation. When they broke through the crowd, she breathed a small sigh of relief. The fresh air was cool and refreshing…and safe. She wished she could have taken at least one of her daggers.
“Come on,” Carlton called.
Layne glanced up at him. He stood five horse-lengths before her, his hands on his hips. He was about her age, she surmised. She picked up her pace, moving quickly after him as he turned to continue on.
“I’m sure Sir Griffin will tell you your chores, so ya don’t have to worry about that.”
Chores? That should have been expected. He did say she would have to work the coin off.
“The armor, weapons and horses are my responsibility, so I expect ya to keep yer hands off.”
That was insulting, but Layne kept her mouth closed. She was a skilled horsewoman and knew how to handle both animals and weapons. She would have to remember she was here to work. To do as Griffin said. And he was most assuredly angry she had beaten him. She had to assume this would not be a pleasant experience.
Carlton stopped abruptly and turned to her. “And let’s get something else straight. You take orders from me, not the other way around. I’m Sir Griffin’s squire. Not you.”
Layne grit her teeth. “As if I would want to be.”
Carlton’s eyes narrowed. “Sir Griffin is an honored knight. He has won every tournament he has ever entered.”
“Except one,” she couldn't help adding. She didn't like the smug superiority of this squire.
Carlton stepped closer to her. “Witchcraft and sorcery aside, he has won every tournament.”
“Is that what he told you? That I was a witch?”
“There can be no other explanation.”
“Except one.” She lifted her chin. “That I am better than him.”
“There will be no more talk like that.”
Layne whirled at the booming voice. She blushed from head to toe. Wolfe stood behind her.
“You will learn that a woman who is not a knight does not have a place on the field of honor.”
Layne lowered her head so she could scowl without him seeing her. She felt horrible at having him hear she thought she was better than him. Truth be told, she thought she got lucky. She should never have been able to defeat him. He was more skilled than she was, more experienced.
Carlton beamed happily and righteously at her.
Griffin walked past her and headed toward a large tent in the center of the others. A white warhorse was tethered beside a dappled horse at the side of the tent. The warhorse was beautiful. Its silky white coat shone in the sunlight. Layne marveled at the animal, and every instinct demanded she rush to the horse to touch with reverence and admiration.
Griffin cast a glance over his shoulder at her. He followed her gaze. “Adonis.”
The horse looked up, whinnying.
It took all of Layne’s will power to remain where she was.
Griffin must have seen this. “It is Carlton’s responsibility to see to the horses.” He looked at his squire. “Begin packing. Leave the tent for last.”
Carlton nodded and moved off toward the tent.
Griffin looked at her. “I have other responsibilities for you.”
Layne nodded and cast a last look at the beautiful steed as she followed Griffin into the tent.
And stopped. Two simple beds made of straw and blankets were against the far wall of the tent. Her eyes moved to the weapons against the wall to her right. A sword, crossbow, bow and arrow, all lay out neatly positioned. She longed to run her hand over them, to lift them and test their balance.
“You shall make our meals,” Griffin said. “Mend our clothing. And tend our wounds.”
Layne glanced at him. He stood with his hands on his hips, watching her. She could do that in the blink of an eye. “What else?” she demanded.
He cocked his head.
“I can finish those in a matter of hours. I am skilled at cleaning and sharpening weapons. I have --”
“Carlton will do the chores required of a squire.”
She lifted her chin. “I am to be a servant?”
Griffin opened his mouth and then closed it. “You will be what I require.”
Layne’s jaw clenched. He was not going to make this easy on her. And he shouldn't, she reminded herself. Colin would have sent her back to her father. This was not worse than that. Nothing could be worse than being sent back home to face her father’s wrath. She nodded.
“You will keep the tent neat. Clean up our meals, wash our clothing.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“If I require more of you, I will tell you. You will start by tending the wound you inflicted on me.” He lifted his tunic over his head.
Sculpted firmness met her eyes. Every line, every curve was perfection. His muscles rippled as he lay on one of the mats. It wasn’t that she had never seen a man with his shirt off, because she had, many times. Her brothers often took off their tunics to practice or labor. But Griffin was different. He looked stronger and in better shape than her brothers.
He lay on his mat and looked up at her. “Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.”
Layne swallowed. She had tended her brothers many times, cleaned and wrapped their wounds. This was not new to her. But somehow this felt different. Very different.
Griffin pointed to cloth and a water basin near the foot of the mat.
She dragged them over to the side of the bed and dropped to her knees. She shoved a cloth into the water and wrung it out. Her gaze moved over his torso to his shoulder where the wound was. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to touch him. She mentally shook herself. What was she thinking? She leaned over him and carefully dabbed at the cut. The wound was an ugly gash in his tanned skin. Blood still dripped freshly from the very center of the cut. But it was slowing. It was not fatal, and for this Layne was grateful.
He relaxed back.
Layne rinsed the cloth in the water and carefully cleaned the area. It looked like the lance had gotten under his armor, scraping his skin. Guilt assailed her. She had done this to him. It had not been her intention. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For the wound?” he wondered.
She didn’t respond, but continued to clean his injury, carefully tending the open cut.
“I’ve had worse. ‘Tis nothing,” he insisted.
She ran her fingertips over the skin around the cut to check for warmth. That could be a sign of infection. A soft breath rustled a lock of hair that had fallen forward to brush his shoulder. She glanced up. He was close. So very close. The absolute blue of his eyes seemed to take up her entire vision.
“This could have h
appened to you,” he whispered.
She hadn’t thought of that. She had only wanted to face someone on the field of honor, to see what it was like to joust. Her gaze dipped to his lips.
“You could have been hurt just as badly. Or worse.”
His lips moved, forming each word. What had he said? She could have been hurt. Yes. For the second time, she had to pull herself from her musings. She sat back, separating herself from him, breaking the spell. She glanced around and found the clean cotton cloth at the foot of the mat. She carefully pressed it to the wound.
“If I had hurt you like this, I would never have been able to forgive myself.”
Startled, Layne shifted her gaze to his. Sincerity shone in his blue orbs. Layne’s heart fluttered like a baby bird waking up to a ray of sunshine. She didn’t like the warm feeling washing over her.
“You must never joust again.” His commanding tone returned. “And I will see to it that you do not.”
Chapter Four
Griffin didn’t know what to make of the woman. He was shocked that she seemed sincere in her apology. What had she expected of a joust? Men were stronger and able to withstand the injuries that came with a tournament. Women were fragile, delicate even. God’s blood! If he had struck her with the lance, she could easily have been killed! His gaze moved over her. She was only a slip of a woman, from what he could see. To don a man’s armor and to take up a lance against him was folly.
She ran her tongue over her lips as she picked up the corner of the cloth to check on the wound.
For a moment, he was stunned, captivated by her presence. Perhaps it was the unexpected glistening of her moist lips. Perhaps it was the brush of her hair across his nipple. Whatever it was, he had a sudden and unanticipated picture of her lying beneath him with her lips parted. He shifted his position and turned his gaze to her hand on his wound. Her fingers were so small. Another image flashed into his head. Of those small hands wrapped around…
My Noble Knight Page 3