My Noble Knight

by Laurel O'Donnell

  His silence was enough answer for her. She nodded. “I wouldn’t have gone with you, either.” And she turned away and ducked into the tent.

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. He had not asked Gwen to accompany him. It wouldn’t have been proper. She never would have come with him. Her life was in the castle, not wrestling at tournaments with her brother.

  He bent to pick up his sword and caught his reflection in the blade. No, he had never been close to his family. Not to Gwen and not to his brother. Richard was the charmer, the fun one to be around. He had always been the responsible one, not Richard. Still, it had never been enough for his father. He had never been good enough for his father.

  Chapter Eleven

  Layne leaned against the fence, watching the entrance to the jousting field. Her brothers stood with her. Colin stood beside Frances who was next to her, and Michael hung over a rail on her other side.

  The sun was hot and bright and she shielded her eyes as she stared at the entrance. She could barely control herself. Her foot nervously bounced and jiggled her leg. She continued to drum her fingers on the wooden fence. Something clenched tight in her gut and it took her a moment to realize she was nervous for Griffin. She shouldn’t be. Not after his performance with the quintain the other night. She grinned at the memory of his show of power and skill. He was skilled and stunning and… magnificent.

  Carlton waited inside the field, near Griffin’s lances on his side of the field.

  His opponent rode in. The black and red cross of his heraldry was emblazoned on his horse’s skirt. De la Noue should pose no problem for Griffin. Layne had seen him joust before. He was an arrogant lord who enjoyed the theatrics of participating in the jousts much more so than the physical contest. He believed himself better than he actually was and his arrogant boasting knew no bounds. True to form, he started mocking Griffin as soon as he reached his side of the field. “Looks like a good day to skin a Wolfe!”

  Smatters of applause burst out around the crowd.

  De la Noue rode around the field, bowing his head to the women who waved their favors at him.

  Layne stood on the tips of her toes, swiveling her gaze back to the entrance of the field. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the top wooden plank of the fence in anticipation of Griffin’s arrival.

  The energy in the crowd seemed to grow in expectation.

  Griffin charged in on his white steed to wild cheers and applauses. Griffin was a favorite and most of the spectators were rooting for him. He didn’t pause or acknowledge anyone as he came to his side of the field where Carlton stood. Carlton handed Griffin his lance.

  The two combatants settled their lances into position at their hips. Layne watched and waited. A trumpet sounded signaling the beginning of the joust!

  Griffin reined his horse around and charged forward, lowering the lance.

  Layne chewed delicately on her lower lip. Perfect form. Lance positioned correctly. She swiveled to de la Noue. His mastery of his horse was off. The horse balked once before he got him under control. Finally, he started forward, his lance held forward. Too far forward.

  Layne tensed, preparing for the impact. De la Noue didn’t have a chance.

  But in the last moment, Griffin raised his lance. De la Noue followed suit and the riders passed without striking. The crowd groaned and smatterings of discontented hisses erupted.

  Layne stepped up on the lower plank of wood so she was leaning over the fence. Tingles raced along the nape of her neck. Something was wrong.

  Griffin rode around to his side of the field where Carlton stood. He spoke to Carlton and then looked across the field at de la Noue. He held the lance upright and Adonis danced beneath him.

  Trepidation spread through Layne. “Something’s wrong.”

  Frances grunted. “The horse just balked. Nothing is wrong.”

  Layne shook her head. “Look. His feet are not in the stirrups.”

  Colin leaned forward so his arms were over the top plank of the fence.

  “How can he possibly unhorse de la Noue without using the stirrups?” Frances demanded, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “He doesn’t need the stirrups for the impact,” Colin said.

  Anxiety and nervousness filled Layne. The voices of her brothers became distant as she focused on Griffin. What had happened?

  Griffin turned Adonis and spurred him with his heels. Adonis reared slightly and began racing down the field.

  De la Noue charged down the field toward Griffin. His lance was steady and he seemed more confident this time.

  Layne’s fingers curved against the wood and she leaned forward, willing Griffin’s victory.

  The two horses galloped full speed down the field, dust rising in their wake. The crowd quieted as Griffin lowered his lance.

  The impact was horrendous. A loud thud. Griffin’s lance struck de la Noue hard, sending him back and up over the rear of the horse. He was suspended for just a moment before falling to the ground on his bottom.

  De la Noue’s lance struck Griffin hard and he was tossed backwards, over the end of the horse.

  Layne gasped as he struck the earth. A cloud of dust rose about him. Visions of her joust with Griffin came back to her. He could be hurt! She moved instantly to duck beneath the fence.

  Frances grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

  Layne faltered.

  Frances shook her. “You can’t go onto the field of honor!”

  Layne swiveled her gaze from Griffin to Frances. Over his shoulder, she saw Colin glaring at her.

  “He might be hurt.”

  “Good,” Frances said.

  Layne’s chest tightened in dread.

  “Nay,” Michael cried, pointing into the field. “He’s getting up!”

  Griffin pushed himself to a sitting position. He looked around the field and stood to his feet, calling for his sword. Carlton raced out, holding his weapon and handed it to Griffin. Griffin approached de la Noue who lay on his back and had not moved. He nudged de la Noue with his toe.

  De la Noue lay still.

  The crowd was silent as if holding its collective breath.

  Griffin straightened, holding his sword before him. Again, he shoved de la Noue with his boot.

  De la Noue moved, lifting his head.

  Griffin put the sword tip beneath his neck. “Yield,” he ordered.

  De la Noue lifted his hands in surrender.

  Griffin lowered his weapon. He whistled and Adonis cantered over to him. As he sheathed his sword and mounted, the crowd roused and cheers began. A chant started to build. “Wolfe, Wolfe!”

  Layne scowled. Colin shook his head. Frances muttered a curse.

  Griffin held his right arm against his side, almost imperceptibly. If she hadn’t spent the last days with him, she would never have noticed it. He was hurt!

  He rode out of the field amidst cheers and Carlton jogged after him.

  Layne whirled and dashed away from the field, running toward Griffin’s tent. He is hurt, her mind repeated. Just like my joust. Anguish filled her. Was this her fault? Was this…?

  “Layne!” Colin called.

  But she didn’t stop, she couldn’t. Griffin was hurt. She leapt a small ravine and sprinted across a field. Her breathing was loud in her ears; her worry ate away at the corners of her mind. The noise of the crowd grew distant as she moved closer to the tents.

  She didn’t hear the horses thundering behind her until they were almost on her. She whirled and cringed as two horses rode by so close the riders could touch her. One of the horses bumped into her, sending her sliding to the ground. She landed amidst the pebbles and grass in the field.

  She looked up to see horse hooves bearing down on her. She rolled out of their way and recognized one of the riders as he moved past, the sharp hooves of his horse only inches from her head. It was Simon Wellington, Daunger’s squire. She leapt to her feet and raced toward the cover the trees. If she could reach the trees, Simon and the othe
r rider would have to come after her on foot. But as she ran, she realized she wouldn’t make the trees. They were too far away. She made a sharp turn just as the horses behind her roared past, unable to make the turn as quickly as she.

  Another horse and rider stopped a few feet before her.

  She came to a halt, her feet skidding in the grass.

  Osmont sat on his steed, glaring at her. “Imagine my delight when I saw you running alone through the field. No one is here to protect you now. You shall pay for dishonoring the field of honor.”

  She barely had time to turn when something slammed into the back of her head, sending her to the ground. For a long moment, she lay on the ground looking at the clouds through the tall blades of wild grass. Her world spun, swirling around the pinpoint of light in the sky as darkness hedged the edges of her vision.

  She heard voices, but couldn’t understand the words. She saw boots come toward her through the grass. More talking. She could barely keep her eyes open. A thrumming sounded in her head.

  And then, she heard a voice. A familiar voice. A boy’s voice. No. Her head ached. She tried to lift it.

  Someone knelt beside her. Calling her name. Michael. He bent down to look into her eyes. Worry furrowed his brow as he shook her shoulder.

  Concern willed her fading vision away. She mumbled something, or at least she thought she did. “Run, Michael.” She pushed her palms against the dirt, preparing to lift herself up.

  Michael stood. “She is hurt!” he proclaimed. “You hurt my sister!”

  “Out of the way, boy,” a voice ordered. “She needs to learn her place.”

  Michael! Michael! her mind screamed. Layne pushed over and lifted herself to her knees. She stared down at her fingers curled into the grass. “Michael," she gasped. The world tilted, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing the spinning to stop. She had to help Michael.

  “It’s all right, Laynie,” Michael whispered. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  When Layne opened her eyes, tears blurred her vision. Drops of crimson splashed the back of her hand. No, it wasn’t tears. It was blood. Where was it coming from? “Michael,” she called again, firmly. “Go. Go and get Griffin. Run. Run.”

  “No. I won’t leave you.”

  “Get out of the way, boy.”

  And suddenly Michael was shoved out of her vision. Layne looked up to see Osmont coming toward her. She lifted her hand, but his kick connected with her side, spinning her onto her back.

  “No! Leave her alone!” Michael stood in front of her again, his arms splayed.

  Layne was surprised at how blue the sky was. How could it be that blue when it was raining blood? She looked at Michael. “Please,” she whispered. But her voice was weak. Beyond Michael, she could see two more figures. Simon’s face was twisted with disgust and pleasure. She didn’t know the other man. Why would he want to hurt her? Her head hurt, pounding like a horribly loud drum. She moved her hand, clutching her fingers around the grass at her side. It was smooth and she could almost feel each individual stalk.

  “Boy, I won’t tell you again.”

  Layne grit her teeth. Michael. She turned onto her side, bumping into his leg. She grimaced as the earth moved, rolling beneath her. She clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t let Michael do this alone. She wouldn’t let them hurt Michael.

  Michael looked over his shoulder. He locked eyes with her for a long moment.

  Layne read desperation and then resolve in his young eyes. No. Oh God, no. She knew that look. When Frances was picking on him and Michael was going to do something rash, something stupid like attack him, he wore that same look. She pushed herself to a sitting position and reached for him. “No, Michael.”

  Michael either didn’t hear her, or didn’t listen to her. He drew his dagger. “Stay away from her or I’ll cut you all down.”

  Her fingers closed too late over empty air as Michael lunged forward, swinging his tiny dagger.

  Osmont cackled in laughter and stepped forward, reaching for Michael. “Boys shouldn’t play with men’s toys.”

  Michael was quick and ducked out of reach, swiping his dagger. He cut Osmont’s arm.

  Osmont pulled back, clutching his arm. He looked down at his wrist where a line of red had appeared. He grit his teeth in disbelief. “You insolent cur!” He yanked his sword free of its sheath and raised it.

  Michael put up his dagger.

  Layne lunged forward and her fingers wrapped around Michael’s tunic as Osmont brought his sword down.

  “Nooo!” Layne screamed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Griffin’s jaw clenched as Carlton dabbed at his wound. It was the same cut he had received from Layne during their joust. It had reopened. It wasn’t serious, but it was a painful nuisance. He was so furious that his hands clenched tight on his thighs. Unhorsed! For a second time! By a knight he considered to be far inferior.

  Something made the skin at the nape of his neck prickle. He rose away from Carlton’s ministrations and moved to the flap, pushing it out of the way to gaze into the forest around their camp. The sun dipped behind a cloud in that instant. Silence stretched across the camp.

  Unhorsed for a second time. It was unthinkable.

  Adonis’s ears flicked in his direction and Griffin walked over to his steed. He patted him gently. The horse nickered nervously. Griffin wondered if the horse was feeling his own unease or if he heard something else.

  “Nooo!” The echo rent the air.

  Layne! Griffin swung himself onto Adonis, spurring him. Panic tightened his chest. Where was she? Adonis rode forward, toward where Griffin believed the cry had come from.

  “Michael!”

  He swung his head to the side, toward the clearing beside the tents in front of the field of honor. He jerked the reins to the side and spurred Adonis between the trees.

  It wasn’t fast enough. His heart beat with dread and foreboding. It would never be fast enough. Layne’s anguish-filled cry tore through his soul.

  As Adonis burst from the trees into the clearing, Griffin took in the sight. Michael sat on the ground, his arm against his chest. Layne smothered him like a blanket and Osmont loomed over the two of them, his sword stained with blood.

  Layne whirled to face Osmont as Griffin charged closer. Her lips were curled back in a feral snarl, baring her teeth. She grabbed something from the ground.

  Adonis reached them and Griffin slid to the ground between Osmont and Layne.

  At first, her gaze was wild and blank and centered on Osmont. But when Griffin went to her, blocking her view of Osmont, and took her head into his hands to force her to look at him, she focused on him.

  Tears rose in her clear blue eyes and her lower lip pouted. “Michael,” she gasped.

  Griffin turned to the boy who had not moved from the ground. He was hunched over, his complexion so pale that at first Griffin thought him to be dead. He dropped his hands from Layne and turned to Michael, but something caught his attention. Staining his own hand was dark red liquid. He looked back at Layne as she dropped to her knees at Michael’s side. Blood caked her hair on one side of her head, running over her tunic.

  Rage erupted inside of Griffin. “Layne,” he called through a tight voice. When she looked at him, Griffin realized the blow must have come from the back. He snarled, caught between concern and overwhelming fury. “Are you all right?” He held up his hand to show her the blood.

  She nodded, the movement of her head barely perceptible. But it was enough for him. He spun on Osmont.

  Osmont spit on the ground, sheathing his weapon. “The boy cut me. I had every right –”

  Griffin lunged at Osmont, catching his tunic in a clenched fist. He raised his other hand and delivered a solid blow with so much power the knight was launched backward. But Griffin held him firmly and pulled him back for another blow. And another. His anger spewed forth like molten lava fury. He hit him again.

  Osmont raised his hands, trying to deflect the blows. Gri
ffin punched him in the stomach. When Osmont lowered his hands to protect his torso, he hit his face again. Osmont tried to pull free, but Griffin’s fingers tightened around his tunic. He shoved his face close to Osmont’s. “I told you she is under my protection,” he growled savagely before landing another blow square in Osmont’s face. His nose crunched and Osmont let out a wail of pain.

  Hands grabbed at Griffin, pulling him off of Osmont.

  Griffin lunged forward to attack again as the hands held him back and that was when Osmont threw the only blow that landed to Griffin’s jaw.

  The hands pulled him back.

  “Enough, Wolfe,” a voice called.

  All Griffin wanted was to smash Osmont’s face in. He dared to hurt Layne! Layne. He glanced at her as the hands pulled him back from Osmont.

  She sat on the ground beside Michael, her large eyes staring, her lovely lips parted in shock.

  Some semblance of rationality returned beneath the blazing inferno of his rage; he saw a crowd had formed around them. Layne’s brothers, Colin and Frances, held him back from Osmont, along with three other knights.

  Griffin yanked his arms free from their hold and straightened. His calm demeanor managed to return despite the churning fury in his gut. He looked at Osmont’s bloodied and bruised face. It wasn’t enough. “Stay away from her,” he announced and turned, presenting his back to Osmont. He wished he would attack him. He hoped he would jump him. He'd like nothing better than to continue his assault.

  Layne sat beside Michael, her arm around her brother’s shoulders, but her eyes were on Griffin. Worry filled them and Griffin didn’t know if it was for him or her brother.

  “You’re out of your bloody mind! She needs to be punished!” Osmont declared. He wiped angrily at his bloody and battered nose. “It should be a warning to other commoners. No women dares dress as a knight and comes away clean.”

  Griffin whirled on Osmont, his teeth clenched, his eyes narrowed. “She paid her dues. You are not to declare her punishment!”

  “You’re growing soft, Wolfe,” Osmont growled.