My Noble Knight

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Griffin entered the pavilion after her, grabbing her arm. “Layne.”

  She couldn't turn to him. She didn't want him to see the disappointment brimming in her eyes.

  “All knights I have come against have fallen. There have been broken stirrups before.”

  Startled, she turned to him. Was he trying to make her feel better?

  “A good knight trains for a broken stirrup. It is not the reason I lost to you.”

  She stared at him. A tremor moved through her. Her gaze dipped to his lips. “Then...why?” His hand still held her wrist as though he didn't want her to move away. His fingers were warm against her skin. Firm. He was used to getting what he wanted.

  Silence again fell about them.

  Awareness sprang to life inside Layne. Her nipples tingled; warmth spread through her body, heating her. They were alone. The thought was instantly exciting. He could do something that would not be proper. “Should I be...” Her gaze swept his face as his hand moved up her arm, drawing her closer.

  “A young woman should not be alone,” Griffin whispered, “with a man.”

  Layne watched the way his lips formed each word. “Why?” was all she could say in a breathless sigh.

  “He might...” Griffin gathered her in, pulling her closer.

  Her hands rested against his strong chest. She should push him away. She should resist. But she couldn't take her eyes from his lips. How she wanted to feel them against hers. How she wanted him to kiss her. “What?” she asked softly.

  He hesitated a moment, his gaze sweeping her face in a heated stroke.

  She was almost desperate. What if he didn't kiss her? Her breasts pressed against his chest. “What might he do?” she demanded in a frantic whisper, almost a dare.

  With a growl, he lowered his lips to hers, slanting them across her mouth. His lips slid gently over hers, coaxing. Layne sighed and Griffin plunged his tongue into her mouth, pulling her tight against him, exploring her mouth.

  Layne wrapped her fingers up his back to the nape of his neck, curling them in the thick strands of his hair.

  Suddenly, Griffin pulled away, taking a step from her.

  Layne stumbled, but caught herself.

  “He might do that,” Griffin said coarsely.

  Shocked, she could only stare at him. Cold suddenly seeped in around her, putting a chill on her heated body. Anger quickly replaced her shock as Griffin whirled and stalked from the tent. She wanted to grab something and throw it at him. He had kissed her as an example of what might happen! She wanted to twine a stirrup around his neck. He had kissed her so she could see how dangerous it was to be alone with a man. She wanted to kiss him again. The thought was so appalling and surprising that she could only just stand there and take no action at all.

  He was trying to teach her to be a proper lady, she reminded herself. She had to keep that in mind.

  Griffin paced before the tent. Where the devil was Carlton? He looked toward the castle, passed the competitor tents that dotted the hillside. But there was no sign of his squire.

  God’s blood! He had given his word not to mistreat her. And here he was kissing her at the first opportunity! Kissing her. He stopped pacing. Her lips were warm and soft and so very inviting.

  She had provoked him! He began pacing again. Yes! By simply asking what would happen if a woman was alone with a man. How could he not show her? How could he not kiss her? He was only human!

  Adonis nickered softly, drawing Griffin’s gaze. He moved over to the horse’s side and patted his white nose. The problem was how could he resist doing it again? Griffin clenched his jaw. He was no youngster. He knew how to behave with women. And he knew well how to kiss them. He shook himself. He knew how to respect them. He knew what was allowed in polite society and what was not.

  “I should apologize,” he announced to Adonis.

  Layne emerged from the tent. They locked eyes and she lifted her chin slightly.

  She was not embarrassed, not humiliated. She was confident, radiant, alluring. Griffin could not apologize. Because he knew he would kiss her again. And again. She brushed by him to Adonis’s saddlebags.

  Griffin bowed his head as if whispering to Adonis. This was going to take more will power than he thought. Much more will power.

  Chapter Seven

  It was almost midday when Layne knelt down, removing bread from a satchel. Something slammed into her from behind, almost tumbling her over. She glanced at the little brown head of the boy clutching her. “Michael!” she cried and threw her arms around him.

  Griffin and Carlton rushed out of the tent.

  Over Michael’s head, Layne saw Colin and Frances leading the horses forward. She released Michael and raced forward, launching herself into Frances’s arms. She almost toppled him, but he managed to stay upright, a bright smile on his lips.

  Grinning, she turned to her oldest brother.

  Colin held out his hands. “Laynie.”

  Layne marched into his arms and squeezed him tight. She could smell the scent of home, the rich woodsy scent that was Colin’s.

  Colin glanced at Griffin over Layne’s head and his eyes hardened. “Has he mistreated you?”

  “No,” Layne admitted.

  “That is offensive,” Griffin warned.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “And she is under my protection.”

  “Glad to hear it.”He pointed to the spot right next to Griffin’s tent. “We’ll set up camp there.”

  Michael giggled and ran in circles around Layne as Colin stepped past her, leading his horse to the indicated spot.

  Layne hugged Michael again. “You should see Griffin’s weapons!” she said softly and leaned close to him. “He won’t let me touch them.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You are a girl.”

  Layne put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you start with me, too. I can still beat you in hand to hand.”

  Michael nodded. “Not for long. Colin is teaching me some moves that will have you flat on your back.”

  Layne’s mouth dropped open and she glanced at Colin as he pulled a saddle bag from the horse. She was happy Colin was including him, but she missed their practices. She wanted to learn the moves, too. How embarrassing if her younger brother beat her in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Come on, Michael,” Colin ordered.

  Michael glanced at Colin and then back at Layne. He leaned in to whisper to Layne, “Frances and Colin are both in the lists. They are hoping for a round against Wolfe.”

  Layne glanced at her brothers. In her eyes, what Griffin had done had saved both her and Colin from the dungeon.

  Michael scowled. “Then they can win the purse and you can come back with us again.”

  Layne nodded, but she couldn't help wondering... if they won the purse for her, they wouldn't have enough coin to purchase the land for their father. What would happen to him? What would happen to all of them? As Michael walked over to Colin, she caught sight of Griffin. He sat beside Carlton, instructing him on the proper way to hold the stone for the best results at sharpening his sword. She watched the way he turned his hand to demonstrate. Such strong hands, such dark hands. Such skilled hands. What would they feel like on her body?

  He suddenly looked up, locking eyes with her.

  Heat suffused her cheeks. She turned her attention back to the satchel and continued to remove the bread for their meal.

  Griffin came up behind her, catching her hand to still her movements. “Layne. I must practice and I need Carlton’s help. As much as I don’t think the field is a place for a woman, I hesitate to leave you alone. I wish you to accompany us to the field for practice.”

  Her face lit up. She would get to see him practice. Maybe he would let her help! Maybe--

  “To watch.”

  Her joy plummeted. She grimaced and nodded, dropping her gaze to the ground to hide her disappointment. At least she would get to see him practice.

  He stood over her until she l
ifted her gaze to him. The sun shone above him, casting a halo of light around his head and shoulders. His shoulder-length blonde locks glowed in sunlight like a halo. And his eyes, they sparkled! Breathlessness caught Layne by surprise. She couldn’t help but stare. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but in the next instant he turned away.

  Layne watched his retreating form. What was wrong with her? She never felt this way. She never struggled to find words. No one had ever affected her the way Griffin did. When he disappeared into the tent, she stood for a long moment, baffled. Why had she responded to him like that?

  She looked around. What had she been doing? She saw the saddlebag at her feet, the satchel open. Yes. Bread. She was getting the meal ready.

  She moved to the side of the tent where the other saddlebag lay on the ground. She opened it to retrieve a flask of ale. Instead, her hand wrapped around a leather strip. She pulled it out. It was a piece of stirrup leather. It wasn't the actual stirrup, the place Griffin put his foot, that had broken, but the strap that held it. Sometimes things like that happened. The leather wore out and simply failed. She was about to put the stirrup leather back when something caught her eye.

  She studied the spot where the leather had failed, the bottom of the broken piece of leather. She lifted it to inspect it. The spot of the break began with a clean cut. A straight line. It ended with a ragged rip. She expected the worn out leather to be frayed and worn, like it was at the end of the break. But the beginning was clean. Tingles raced along her neck.

  Layne stared at the stirrup. It had not been natural wearing of the leather. It had been cut.

  Chapter Eight

  Shivers shot through her body. She heard heavy footfalls and quickly shoved the stirrup leather into her tunic. Then began rummaging through the saddlebags. For a moment, she couldn't remember what she had been looking for.

  The footfalls stopped.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Carlton stood in the tent opening, his arms akimbo. “Do you need help?”

  “I can't find --” Then her hand closed over the ale flask and she took it out victoriously. “No.” She brandished it happily, containing her nervousness behind a smile. “I've got it.”

  Griffin refused to be distracted by the woman who sat on the top of the fence, her booted feet hanging loosely below her. She clutched the top rail. He had to get a dress for her. It was inappropriate for her to be dressed in breeches and a tunic. A man could see all her curves! He could see all of her curves and it was distracting. Very distracting.

  Griffin tore his gaze from her and reined Adonis around. He took the lance from Carlton and spurred his stallion, charging down the field toward the quintain. He hated the static quintain. It swung around in a circle and hit less experienced knights in the back hard, but it was useless for a knight of his caliber. When he had been at home, practicing with his brother, they had developed a quintain that rocked. The object of their passes was to hit it hard enough to knock it over. It was a difficult thing to do as the quintain weighed almost as much as a fully armored opponent. But Griffin had mastered it. And challenged himself to hit it just hard enough to teeter it, without knocking it over so that it would return to its original position. That was a challenge! He missed that.

  Griffin couched the lance beneath his arm and charged toward the quintain. He held the lance firmly, aiming for the center of the quintain. He leaned in slightly, expecting the moment of impact. He struck the quintain square on, the impact sending reverberations down his arm into his torso and down into his legs. It pushed him back against the rear of his saddle, his legs and knees gripping Adonis.

  As he passed, the quintain began to swing. He leaned forward over Adonis’s neck as the weighted portion swung, missing hitting him in the head or back. When he was clear, he lifted his lance and began to slow Adonis. He turned to see the quintain spinning around in a circle.

  But he was not satisfied. It began to slow after two whirls, which meant he had not hit it hard enough. He grimaced and came around to where Carlton was standing. He tried not to look at Layne.

  Her smile was jubilant and full of excitement. Every time he hit the quintain, she grinned and smiled like an excited child. This was not the place for her, Griffin told himself again, but even as he did, he was glad to see her so happy. Something blossomed in his chest at her lively expression.

  He tossed the lance at Carlton’s feet. “What was wrong with that pass?” he demanded, adjusting his leather jerkin.

  Carlton looked down at the lance, then at the quintain. “You used the stirrups.”

  “Aye,” Griffin agreed. “I did. I will not on this next pass. What else?”

  Carlton looked thoughtfully at the lance again. “The lance is still in one piece. You didn’t hit it hard enough,” he said quietly as if talking to himself. Then his gaze snapped to the quintain. “The quintain. It only swung around twice.”

  Griffin nodded. “Good. Well done.” He reached down as Carlton handed the next lance up to him. He glanced once at Layne who was leaning forward in anticipation. Then, he focused on the quintain. He removed his feet from the stirrups and nudged Adonis forward with his heels. The horse charged forward.

  “Let’s show her how dangerous this can be,” Griffin whispered to his horse. He leaned forward, couching the lance. He set his teeth, preparing for impact, aiming dead center.

  He struck the quintain at full speed, the impact resounding through his arms and down his torso, shoving him back against the cantle of the saddle. The lance crumbled against the quintain, shards of wood flying out. He ducked his head in protection from the pieces of wood as well as the weighted portion of the quintain.

  He tossed the destroyed lance aside as he straightened, turned and brought Adonis to a halt. The side of the quintain was gone. He had struck it with enough force to break the wooden side. It whirled around like a small tornado.

  He heard a holler and glanced toward it.

  Layne had leapt down from the fence and was in the field. Her face was a mask of awe and exhilaration. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in utter astonishment.

  Griffin glanced at Carlton to see a wide grin on his face. He cantered Adonis back toward Carlton.

  Layne ran forward to greet him. “You smashed the quintain apart!” she said in excitement.

  He dismounted, ready to chastise her for being in the field. But there was something contagious in her excitement and he held his tongue.

  She rushed up to him, throwing her arms around his neck, gasping, “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  Startled, Griffin could only catch her around the waist.

  She pulled back to look at him. There was true amazement in her large blue eyes and something else…admiration. She released him and turned back to the quintain, running her hands through her hair. “Look at it!” She spun on Carlton. “An entire side plank is gone!”

  Carlton could only mutely nod agreement, a grin on his lips.

  She spun to Griffin. “How did you do it?!”

  Griffin stared at her. If it were Carlton, or another knight, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell them what he did. But this was Layne. He was trying to teach her to be a woman. To act like a woman. Still… the elation in her was stunning. He enjoyed the radiance blooming on her cheeks, the glow of exultation glowing around her. He hated to say anything that would diminish her joy. And yet, this was exactly what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. “It is not a woman’s place to know the technicalities of the joust.”

  Her contagious excitement evaporated. Her face fell as the joy left it. It was almost a physical thing. Her gaze swept him and her shoulders drooped. Her hands dropped to her side. She bowed her head.

  Griffin regretted his words immediately. He glanced at Carlton.

  Carlton looked at the ground with a resigned acceptance.

  This only added to Griffin’s guilt. And this angered him. He was doing the right thing. He was protecting her. Didn't she
see how dangerous jousting was? If he had hit her with full force like that in their joust, she would have been seriously injured or killed.

  Layne didn’t look at him as she nodded. “Sorry,” she mumbled and retreated to the fence again. But she didn’t sit on the top of the fence as she had before. She ducked beneath it and retreated to a large tree close by.

  Griffin watched her plop beneath it, facing away from the field of honor, without casting a look in his direction. He sighed softly. It was for the best. She shouldn't feel excited about the joust, and most assuredly, not be joyful he had destroyed the quintain. Yes. He was right telling her so. But when he remembered her radiant smile and the glowing excitement in her eyes as she looked at him, he found it difficult to justify how harsh he had been with her.

  Layne plucked a blade of grass from the ground. She thought back to the last time she had been made to feel so useless. She had defeated Frances in sword to sword combat. She had been overjoyed. It had been the first time she had defeated him. She rushed to the manor, to her aunt’s manor, to tell her father, knowing he would be so proud of her. That was all he cared about. Jousting, sword fighting. Tournaments. Even later when he got sick, that was what he wanted to hear about.

  But when she told him of her greatest accomplishment, of beating Frances, instead of taking her into his arms and reigning praise on her, he had looked away from her. Her aunt reprimanded her for not finishing her embroidery, for wearing breeches instead of a dress. And her father had banned her from fighting with her brothers.

  She ripped the blade of grass in half. She had been confused then. But not now. Now, it was clear how her father favored her brothers. Just because they were men. Women didn't have a place in the sports he loved. She loved her brothers with all her heart, but she never fit in. Not then, not now.

  Colin knew. He knew how miserable she was. How lost. He had spoken to their father, convinced him to let her come with them. She overheard him telling their father they needed her to cook for them. Cook. She couldn’t cook! But Colin had covered for her. He had made up an excuse so she could join them in the tournament circuit.