My Noble Knight

by Laurel O'Donnell

  He cleared his throat, drawing her gaze. “Did your brothers allow you to joust?”

  She shook her head, looking back at the wound. “No.” A smile slowly curved her lips. Then, she froze and looked at him. Her chin lifted a notch. “Frances hit his head and I took it upon myself to take his place.”

  “Took it upon yourself?” he echoed in disbelief. He shook his head as she pressed the cloth against his wound again. “Then you must have jousted elsewhere, in other tournaments?”

  Again, she shook her head. “I’ve watched my brothers in practice and on the field.” She looked at him and a lock of her dark hair hung over her cheek. “I’ve tried the quintain...”

  He scowled. The quintain? But his concentration was held by that stray lock of her hair out of place against her rounded cheek. He found it difficult to concentrate. He wanted to brush that hair from her face, run his fingers along her skin.

  She sat back, brushing the lock from her cheek, and lifted the cloth from his shoulder. “I’m skilled with a horse. I’ve often trained with my brothers sparring with swords.”

  “Swords?” The word seemed to come from her effortlessly. It should have been foreign on her lips. He sat up, his brows furrowing. She should have been speaking of French fashion or embroidery. “Your brothers allowed you to use a sword?” he asked in disbelief.

  She shrugged. “They needed the practice. Michael is too young, although he is learning quickly. And there were occasions where either Colin or Frances could not practice when the other wished. Frances was more likely to spar with me than Colin.”

  Griffin looked at her hands. He imagined them…wrapped around the handle of a sword. “Where is your mother?”

  “She died when I was young.”

  He lifted his gaze to her eyes. “And your father?”

  “Why do you ask me so many questions?”

  Griffin cocked his head. “If you are to be with me, in my care, I must know your character.”

  She straightened. “I should find that insulting. You mean because I am a woman who likes to joust and sword fight there is a flaw in my character?”

  “Hmm.” He shook his head. “Because you disobeyed your brothers and jousted anyway, there is a flaw in your character.”

  She sighed softly and dropped her chin to her chest. “Yes. I suppose that could be true.” She looked up at him and there was something in her deep blue eyes that held more mystery. “If you truly think that, why did you stop them from throwing me in the dungeon?”

  “Women should be protected and cherished. The dungeon is no place for a woman.”

  “Even a woman with a flaw in her character?”

  His gaze swept her face, from her long lashes to her full lips. “Any woman.”

  She nodded and began to collect the cloth. “I thought you saved me from the dungeon because you wanted to know how I could have possibly unhorsed you.”

  He reached out, grabbing her arm and preventing her from moving away from him. “I do want to know how you beat me.” No real training, never jousting in a tournament before. It irked his pride beyond all measure.

  Her lips curved up in a grin. “With a lance.”

  He stared at her curved lips. Those insolent, mocking lips. He remembered his father teaching a servant woman her place. He had used his fist. Griffin released her and leaned back. He glanced at his shoulder. “Finish,” he commanded.

  Her gaze dipped to the juncture of his thighs. Or was that his imagination?

  She put down the cloth and picked up a fresh one. She moved closer to him and placed the cloth on his wound. He lifted his arm as she began to wrap a thin strip around the clean cloth to hold it in place.

  Griffin’s gaze slid from her hands to her lips. She was very close. He could just lean in and sample her lips. He grit his teeth. What was he thinking? That would dishonor her and her brothers. He was trying to teach her a woman’s place and all he could think about was her naked body and her lips. God’s blood!

  Finally she sat back with a nod.

  He inspected her work and found it satisfactory. He rose, towering above her. She knelt before him, her hands folded in her lap. His gaze moved over her. This was going to take a lot more will power than he had thought. He brushed past her, toward the exit.

  “I found a flaw in your style.”

  He froze. Impossible. There was no fault with his style. It was perfect. It was… He turned to her. She was just a woman. What did she know about jousting style? She was only trying to punish him for insulting her. Still… she had unhorsed him. He clenched his teeth, leaving his biting retort unspoken. He spun and strode from the tent.

  Layne sat in the middle of Griffin’s tent. How many times had Colin told her she was not to joust? How many times had her father chastised her for picking up a sword? Again and again she had been warned. But none of them had told her that her disobedience was a flaw in her character. A flaw in her character. A flaw. She had accepted long ago that she would never be the perfect woman like her aunt. She didn't like embroidery or playing an instrument. She didn’t care at all about fashion.

  Her father would often punish her by banning her from the fields or from the stables. It had never worked. She had simply waited out the punishment, endured it without bemoaning the injustice of it all. As she did now. Be a good little girl. Follow the rules until all is forgotten and forgiven. Or until Colin saved enough coin to pay Griffin back.

  She looked around the tent. The weapons gleamed invitingly on the floor, the reflection of the setting sun flashing off the polished metal. Every instinct demanded she touch them in reverence, pick them up, swing one of them. But Griffin had forbid it. She clasped her hands in her lap tightly. Not one touch.

  But she could look. She forced herself to stay where she was and just look at the weapons. These were either winnings from recent melees, or Griffin was wealthy and these were his personal collection. They were not like the swords her brothers had. These were beautiful with finely etched details in the hilt. They were works of art. Perfect. Much like their owner. She brushed that last thought away lest it start to really take hold of her senses. The man was far from perfect. His body, though, was truly a work of art. Stop it, Laynie.

  She glanced around the tent, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. It was so different from the Fletcher tent. Here, everything had a place. There was no clutter. In her family’s tent, her brothers were not so…meticulous. They threw blankets and bags everywhere. Clothing was scattered over the inside of the tent. Here, the blankets were folded neatly on the bed. Granted, the tent was larger than hers, but that made it seem all the more organized.

  She stood and slowly moved about the tent, familiarizing herself with the layout. The area closest to the door was where Griffin’s armor was laid out. Layne bent down and inspected the small dent in Griffin’s breast plate. This was where her lance struck him, giving him the wound she had just tended. She reached out and ran her fingers over the indent. She had not meant to hurt him. She had never really thought she would unhorse him.

  She continued on. Next was a pile of clothing that Layne was sure was the clothing Griffin wore beneath his armor. It would have to be cleaned. That was her duty. She would get back to it. She continued to survey the tent.

  Next came cleaning supplies, candles, kindling for a fire, as well as Adonis’s comb. Then Carlton’s bed, then Griffin’s. She wondered briefly where she would sleep, but that didn’t concern her as much as starting her duties. At least it would give her something to do!

  Layne picked up the pile of clothing and the soap she found near the supplies, and left the tent.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Layne whirled to find Carlton sitting on the ground, running a stone against the edge of a sword.

  “To the stream. To wash clothes. My chores.” She turned to head toward the stream. Carlton stood and followed her. She stopped and turned to him. “I am more than capable of washing clothes.”

  �
��I’m sure you are. My orders are to make sure you are safe.”

  Layne looked back at the tent. “Where is Sir Griffin?”

  “Practicing.”

  Layne turned and walked toward the stream. “Does he always practice this late?”

  “No. But he’s never been unhorsed before.”

  The last rays of the sun were fading from the sky when Layne finished washing the clothing and began to carry them back to the tent. Carlton advised her to go around the tents of the other knights to avoid any unwanted confrontation. She silently agreed. She knew the other knights were not pleased with what she had done.

  The path around the tents led her close to the field of honor. She heard a smash of wood against wood and wondered if Griffin was still practicing. Layne glanced at the field and saw one rider. As night took over the sky, she saw he wore no armor. His horse thundered toward the quintain, the long lance pointed straight toward the wooden structure. His form was perfect, his concentration fierce. Tingles danced across the nape of her neck and she took a step closer, hugging the wet clothing to her chest.

  The lance struck the quintain and it spun. For a moment, she thought it was going to strike Griffin, but he ducked and rode past. She found herself grinning. He was spectacular. The ease at which he moved made it look easy. He lifted the lance and reined his white stallion into a canter.

  He threw the lance down as he maneuvered his horse around the field. Griffin and Adonis moved together as one. They were elegant and wonderful to watch. But then Griffin did something she had never seen anyone do before on such a big horse. He dropped the reins and sat up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. What was he doing? Surely without control of the horse, Adonis would balk or refuse his commands or simply stop. But to her amazement Adonis continued his canter around the field, taking the turns as if Griffin still held the reins in his hands. It took Layne a moment to realize Griffin was controlling Adonis with subtle movements of his legs and knees.

  Astonished, Layne could only stare. He truly was amazing and very skilled. Much more so than she was. And yet, she had beaten him. How had that happened? She wasn’t that good. It had been her first time jousting! It shouldn't have happened. She thought back to the joust and his ‘flaw’. She had seen him list to the side. What could have caused that? He wasn’t doing it now. Had Adonis stumbled?

  “He’s a great knight,” Carlton said from beside her.

  Layne could only nod. He was marvelous. It was like watching living art. His blonde hair waved behind him like a small flag. He moved in smooth cadence with Adonis, each gentle movement a rhythm of elegance and power. He was magnificent.

  Griffin stopped and dismounted, throwing a leg over the side and sliding to the ground. He picked up the lance and shoved it into the ground so it stood upright. Then, he swung himself up into the saddle easily. He grabbed the lance. Neither horse nor rider seemed to have any flaws now. Was it only something you could see when you faced him? Something no one else had seen except her?

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and chills raced down her arms. She had observed many jousts, but there was something about this… Something that didn’t seem right.

  “Let’s go. We still need to set up your sleeping mat.” Carlton walked up the slight rise toward the tent.

  Layne glanced at Griffin again. Warmth flooded through her. He was such a valiant sight. She reluctantly turned away from him and followed Carlton, holding the clothing to her chest. “His form is…very good,” Layne said hesitantly.

  “His form is faultless,” Carlton countered. “Sir Griffin perfected it a long time ago and he practices it for hours a day.”

  “His control over Adonis is amazing.”

  Carlton nodded. “He raised him from a foal. He trained him alone. No one else cared for him. It was all Sir Griffin. Even now, he is the one to comb Adonis and see to his needs.”

  Layne glanced back at the field. Griffin obviously knew Adonis well. The chances of Adonis balking or sidestepping would be slim. But it could happen. “During our joust, Sir Griffin and mine, did you see Adonis step into a hole or twist his ankle?”

  “No,” Carlton said firmly. “Adonis did nothing wrong.”

  “But Griffin is such a talented rider, something must have happened. I shouldn’t have been able to unhorse him.”

  Carlton stopped and looked at her with harshness in his eyes. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

  “Have you checked everything? Maybe Adonis has a stone in his shoe. Maybe –”

  “That is not your concern!”

  Layne was startled by the agitation in his voice.

  Carlton began forward, but stopped suddenly and whirled. “And don’t get any ideas about inspecting Sir Griffin’s armor or weapons. You are to stay away from them.”

  Layne drew herself up. “I know!”

  Carlton narrowed his eyes in disbelief and shook his head. He stalked toward the tent.

  Layne glanced one more time in Griffin’s direction. He was too good to be unhorsed by her. There was something else going on. Something else must have happened on the field of honor to cause him to falter and take a misstep. She turned to follow Carlton.

  As they approached the tent, Layne saw a group of about five men standing near their pavilion; some she recognized as competing knights in the joust, some she didn’t.

  Carlton slowed before they reached the tent. He grabbed her arm, halting her. “Go and get Sir Griffin,” he said in a quiet voice. He gently eased the wet clothing from her arms.

  Layne looked back at the men. At first glance, she didn’t see anything to be apprehensive of, but she quickly realized they all wore their swords strapped to their waists. One stumbled as though he were drunk, and the others laughed. She nodded and backed away, turning to dash toward the field. She ran as fast as she could, hating to leave Carlton alone with the men.

  She didn’t slow as she emerged from the forest, running toward the field. Her heart pounded.

  Griffin was still the only knight in the field. He thundered down the field, holding his lance.

  Layne called his name. She stood at the fence, waving to get his attention. When he didn’t pause or turn in her direction, she ducked through the planks of wood and ran onto the field.

  Griffin hit the quintain and rode by. The sandbag whirled around, but didn't come close to hitting him. When he reached the other end of the field, he turned Adonis. He saw her and cantered the steed toward her, his brow furrowed in unhappiness.

  They met in the center of the field.

  Layne’s heart thundered in her chest as Griffin neared and she wasn’t certain whether it was because of the knights at the tent or Griffin’s disapproving scowl.

  “I told you it was forbidden to come to the field,” Griffin warned quietly.

  “There are five knights at the tent looking for trouble.”

  Griffin’s lips thinned. He reached a hand down to her. Layne stretched her hand up to him, grasping it. Griffin swept her up before him, his arms around her to hold the reins. As soon as she was seated, he spurred Adonis out of the field.

  When they came within sight of the tent, Layne saw Carlton surrounded by the men. He shook his head and said something indiscernible to them. One of them answered, pointing to the ground as if making a point.

  Griffin urged Adonis between Carlton and the knight, pushing the knight away from Carlton with the animal’s mass.

  Layne recognized the knight from the scar running along his cheek to his jaw. Sir Osmont. He sneered when he locked gazes with her.

  “Is there something you would say to me, Sir Osmont?” Griffin demanded.

  When the other knights turned from Carlton to Griffin, Carlton backed away to the tent, his anxious eyes searching out Griffin.

  “You can’t let her get away with it!” Osmont hollered, pointing a finger at Layne. “A fine is not enough punishment.”

  Griffin dismounted easily and walked to Osmont until he stood directly befor
e him. Osmont was half a head shorter than Griffin. “And what would you do?”

  “Flog the wench! She will understand that a woman does not dress in armor and pretend to be a knight.”

  Layne’s fingers curled anxiously around Adonis’s reins.

  “I could show her the proper place for a woman,” one of the men behind Osmont said and grabbed his crotch. The movement put him off balance and he stumbled into another knight.

  Griffin’s gaze never left Osmont. “Is this the type of treatment you condone for a woman? Hardly befitting of a knight.”

  Osmont’s cheeks colored and his jaw tightened.

  “A woman is to be treated with reverence, not scorn.”

  “She broke the rules!” Osmont sneered.

  “And Dinkleshire proclaimed the punishment of a fine.”

  “Which you paid. She knocked you on your arse.” Osmont spit out the words. “Where is your pride, man? At the very least you should have let her rot in the dungeon.”

  Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “And now you tell me how to behave? Careful, Osmont. You overstep your bounds.”

  Osmont met Griffin’s glare, puffing out his chest. “You can’t let her get away with this.”

  “The offense was against me, not anyone else.”

  “It was against all knights! All men! You were humiliated! Unhorsed by a woman!”

  The four knights behind him grumbled in agreement. “And you even paid the bloody fine!” one of them grumbled.

  “I did,” Griffin agreed. “I will not have a woman locked away in a dungeon because of me.”

  “This is not over, Wolfe. She will be punished,” Osmont growled.

  “This woman is mine until her brothers repay me.”

  An odd thrill rushed through her at his words. This woman is mine. She knew he had said other words after that, but she didn’t hear them. The thrill evaporated just as quickly as it had formed, replaced by a gnawing fear of what her future held under his command.

  “She is under my protection,” Griffin continued.

  Shocked exclamations met his proclamation.

  “If you chose to do her harm, then you do me harm.” Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “And there will be no mercy from me.”