My Noble Knight

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Griffin took a step toward him and Osmont cringed away. “Hurt her again and I will kill you.”

  A murmur spread through the crowd of onlookers.

  “Keep it on the field,” Colin advised.

  “This woman is under my protection!” Griffin announced. “No man shall harm her.”

  Colin and Frances exchanged glances of surprise.

  Griffin walked over to Layne and Michael. Colin and Frances followed.

  Osmont grumbled and backed away.

  Griffin stood over them. Michael held his right hand crushed tightly beneath his left arm. Blood stained the side of his tunic.

  Colin gingerly lifted Michael’s left arm to inspect the wound. As soon as he did, blood spurted from the injury. Osmont had cut off two of Michael’s fingers.

  Layne glanced up at Griffin. She pressed her lips together tightly so as not to cry or gasp.

  Griffin laid a hand on her shoulder for support.

  “It should be cauterized,” Frances said.

  “Let’s get back to the tent,” Colin advised. “Frances, go for a physician.”

  Immediately, Frances rose and dashed off.

  “Keep him warm,” Griffin advised.

  Colin nodded. He glanced at Layne. “Can you make it back?”

  “I’ll make sure she gets to the pavilion,” Griffin said.

  Colin lifted his tunic over his head and pressed it to Michael’s hand, effectively shielding it from the boy’s view and slowing the loss of blood. He put his hand around Michael’s shoulders and helped him to stand. Layne stood, supporting Michael on the opposite side. The boy wobbled, but Colin held him firmly. Slowly, they made their way toward the tent.

  Griffin watched them for a moment, then looked at Layne. His gaze swept her. She looked all right, but head wounds were tricky. He had seen a man get bashed in the head and seem fine and then be dead hours later. His stomach clenched tight.

  The crowd around them began to disperse. Osmont was gone.

  Griffin put a hand on her arm. Just the touch soothed his concern. “Layne?”

  She looked at him and launched herself into his arms, letting the torrent of her sorrow out. Her body shook with sobs as he held her. “It was my fault,” she whispered. “I didn’t listen. I didn’t listen.”

  The agony in her voice twisted his heart and he tightened his hold on her. “Your brother is a fighter. He’ll be fine.”

  Her hands balled to fists in his tunic and her tiny body trembled.

  Griffin lifted her in his arms. He was concerned with her head wound and wanted a physician to look at it immediately, but right then it seemed more important to hold her.

  Layne sat on Frances’s mat, watching the physician tend Michael’s hand. She was so proud of her brother for defending her. He had acted as bravely and honorably as any knight she had ever seen.

  Michael stared at his wounded hand, blankets draped around his hunched shoulders. He did not look at her and that worried Layne above all else. Osmont had taken one and half of his fingers with his savage blow.

  Colin stood to one side of Michael, Frances to the other, watching the physician work.

  It must have hurt like the devil, but Michael had only cried out when they cauterized his wound. Now, his body stiffened as the physicians turned his hand, inspecting, but he was so brave that Layne felt proud of him.

  Griffin stood in the tent opening, his arms crossed. He had carried her across the field to her brother’s tent, which Layne was grateful for. Now, he watched her with an intensity that would have made her cheeks blush if she wasn’t so worried about Michael.

  Another physician gingerly moved her hair aside to look at and treat her own wound. Her head pounded like a castle wall had fallen on it, but she said nothing. It couldn’t be as painful as Michael’s wound.

  The physician finished cleaning her injury at which point Griffin strolled in to look at it.

  “The blow caught her here.” The physician pointed to an area at the back of her head. “I’ll need to stitch it. As you know, she’ll need to be watched for other symptoms. A leech might be wise.”

  Griffin grunted softly. He stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder, as the physician stitched her head. Flashes of white light filled her vision as the physician pushed the needle into her skin. She closed her eyes tightly. She wavered once, but Griffin held her firmly. She was glad he was there and concentrated on his grip on her. Warm, commanding. She forced herself quiet, keeping the groans and cries inside, keeping her mouth shut against the pain. The echoes of Michael’s cries when they cauterized his hand still rang in her mind.

  When the physician was finished, Michael was asleep on the mat. Colin and Frances stepped out of the tent to speak with the physician.

  Griffin sat beside her when the physicians left the tent. “How do you feel?”

  “Miserable,” she whispered. Her head was throbbing and it felt like a bubble. She shook her head and leaned her forehead against his strong shoulder. Even that little movement hurt.

  He reached over and took one of her hands into his. He inspected her palm.

  She followed his gaze and was surprised to see cuts and scrapes on her palms.

  He bent and picked up a clean cloth. He dipped it into a basin of clean water and gently ran it over her skin.

  It burned and she winced.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She looked back at Michael sleeping on his mat. A lock of brown hair fell across his forehead. “I was running back to our tent.”

  “Alone?”

  Layne nodded. “I thought you were hurt. I couldn’t wait… I didn’t want…” She looked at him.

  He paused in cleaning her hands to meet her stare.

  How could just a look from him instill such calm? She sighed. “I saw the way you held your arm against your side. I know you were hurt.”

  He looked back at her hand. “Where were your brothers?”

  “Watching the joust. They probably sent Michael after me.”

  Griffin’s jaw clenched and released as he ran the cloth over her cuts.

  “I was running toward our tent. Two of the riders came upon me from behind. I saw Simon.”

  “Simon?” Griffin’s hand tightened around her wrist.

  “I think there might have been at least one other rider.” She scowled as she tried to remember. Pain flared in her head and she rubbed her forehead. “But I can’t…”

  “Just relax. You can think of it later,” he said with a tight voice. He placed her hand in her lap and picked up the other one.

  She studied him for a moment. His hard jaw, his thinned lips. “I’m sorry.” She looked at Michael.

  “This is not your fault,” Griffin said with conviction. “It is those men who deem to take punishment into their own hands. Striking a woman is unforgivable and will not be tolerated.”

  Carlton burst into the tent.

  Griffin put a finger to his lips and indicated the sleeping Michael.

  Carlton nodded and stepped up to him. “You are jousting Osmont on the morrow!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Unable to sleep, Layne lay on her mat in Griffin’s tent, staring at the top of the pavilion. Muted light illuminated the triangle at the top. Something was bothering her even more than the fact that Griffin was going to face Osmont and more then the painful throbbing of her head. The joust against de la Noue. It was just like her joust with Griffin. He had been unhorsed again. She should have checked his equipment. Carlton didn't know to look for sabotage.

  Her head pounded and the left side of her face felt heavy and numb. She could only rest if she tilted her head to the right, away from the injury. But that made her stare at Griffin. One long, muscled leg lay out of the covers, over the ground. One arm lay over his eyes as if covering his face in embarrassment of the unhorsing. She knew that if she had not been injured, he would have been out practicing.

  She must have dozed in and out of sleep. Images of Michael’s r
aised hand with his dagger flashed in her mind and Osmont’s face looming over her materialized. Every time she woke, she thought of Griffin’s joust. The end result had been just like hers. Had Carlton overlooked something?

  She swung her legs from the mat and stood. The pavilion swayed for a moment and Layne thought of sitting back down. She touched her throbbing head, covering the wound with her hand as if that would make the pain go away. The sensation passed and she lowered her hand. She glanced at Griffin and then Carlton before heading for the opening.

  The air was cool, the night fresh against her cheeks. She was careful as she made her way to Adonis, who whinnied and pawed the ground as if calling to her.

  She walked over to him and he bowed his head. She gently stroked his nose and a grin came to her lips. He threw his head back and Layne smiled full out. She walked over to the saddle on the ground near the tent. “Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t get me into trouble.”

  She bent down to inspect it. The world shifted and she had to sit down beside the saddle. She closed her eyes, waiting for the spinning to stop. When it did, she looked at the saddle, running her hand over the hard leather that held Griffin’s bottom. The saddle was so important. If she had been the saboteur, this would be one of the objects she would consider sabotaging. The cantle at the back of the saddle and pommelto at the front looked fine. But they had to. That would be too noticeable.

  She recalled that during his joust with de la Noue, something had been wrong. Griffin hadn’t used the stirrups. Layne picked up the stirrup leather and examined it, first one side, then the other. It would be too suspicious if the stirrup leather failed again. So, it wasn't surprising to her that nothing was wrong with either one.

  She put her hand to her head and thought back to the joust. Griffin had taken his feet from the stirrups. Why?

  “What are you doing?”

  Layne spun to find Griffin standing in the tent opening. She quickly stood and teetered as the spiraling world encompassed her.

  Griffin steadied her with a hand to her elbow.

  Panic flared within her. What could she tell him? “I was warm. The fresh air is cool.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he placed cool fingers against her forehead. “Sit,” he said. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”

  Gratefully, she gingerly returned to her seated position.

  He stood beside her, his arms crossed over his chest, as he regarded her through cool blue eyes. “You should have woken me. I don't want you alone anywhere anymore.”

  Layne shook her head stubbornly. “I didn't want to wake you. You joust against Osmont today and I want you to win.”

  His jaw clenched. “As do I. But that is not a reason to put you in further danger.”

  Layne turned her head to look up at him. His arms were akimbo, his gaze on the Fletcher tent in the distance. He wore no shirt and she perused his strong torso. Every plane, every curve of muscle rippled with power. He was glorious. When he turned those blue eyes to her, she inhaled sharply and quickly turned away. She cleared her throat. “Your joust with de la Noue…”

  He straightened.

  “I saw you take your feet from the stirrups. Why did you do this?”

  “An equipment malfunction.” He shrugged. “I have trained with Adonis for such mishaps.”

  She nodded and softly bit her lower lip. “Yes. It happens.” She lifted her gaze to him and swallowed. “Was it a stirrup leather like what happened in our joust?”

  His frown deepened.

  “It’s just that… In our joust you listed to one side. I thought that maybe that was the reason and –”

  “No. One of the stirrups did not break.”

  Layne scowled and looked back at the saddle. “Then why --?”

  “It was the cinch that broke.”

  She almost gasped with the revelation. She wished she could inspect the cinch to see if it was cut as the stirrup had been. But she dared not push her luck. “That’s a strange coincidence. Don't you think? The only times you were unhorsed was when something broke.”

  “No. That is not true. There have been times when the stirrups broke in the past. Equipment fails. You try to prepare for that possibility, but it is always an unknown factor in jousting. I attribute yesterday’s unhorsing to lack of practice and --” He looked pointedly at her. “Distraction.”

  Still, Layne scowled. Yes, she was probably distracting to him. But how could she make him understand that it was sabotage? She chewed her lower lip. “Carlton has been distracted lately, also. Perhaps he has not been as diligent checking the equipment.”

  Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  She had to be careful not to insult him or Carlton. She needed to lead him in the right direction. He had ordered her to stay away from his horse and the weapons. “I just think that you should check everything. Make sure…” She looked up at him, keeping her suspicions guarded. “…the equipment is working properly.”

  Griffin was quiet for a long moment as his gaze swept her face. “Carlton is quite adept at checking the equipment. He has not failed me in the past and I suspect he won’t in the future.”

  “If you are distracted enough to be unhorsed, perhaps Carlton was distracted enough to miss something when he checked the cinch.”

  “Again, I ask what you are implying.”

  She tightened her hands around each other as if praying. She should tell him what she found and what she guessed, even if he was angry with her. It was better he knew the truth. She could deal with his anger. She just didn't want him hurt. If he knew the truth, he could at least guard himself, even if he hated her for disobeying him. It was the honorable thing to do. “Many knights would do anything to be the best, to win a tournament.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not all knights are honorable.”

  “Again, I agree with you.”

  How to word this? How to make him see? “De la Noue is not very skilled. He tends to be overconfident and boast about his skill.”

  Griffin nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then you should have beat him. Easily. And everyone knows it.”

  A scowl furrowed Griffin’s brow. “Are you trying to insult me?”

  “No!” She rose to her feet and forced the subtle spinning away to concentrate. He had to know! Her hands clenched at her sides. “I'm trying to protect you. I don't like to see you hurt. You can’t explain this away on coincidence. You should have beaten de la Noue. You should have beaten me!” She reached inside her tunic and took out the stirrup leather, shoving it toward him. “Your equipment was tampered with! You should have looked closer at that stirrup leather! It was cut. And if you check the cinch, I'm sure you'll find the same thing. Someone cut them so you would lose.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tingles shot along the nape of Griffin’s neck. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t quite believe someone would dare sneak into his camp and damage his equipment. Or rather, he didn’t want to believe it. He took the offered stirrup leather, but did not even bother to look at it. His hot gaze bore into her. Why would she tell him? Was she trying to throw him off of her trail? Confuse him? Had she cut the strap to aid her brother’s victory? But he wasn't facing one of her brothers when the cinch had been cut. He had been jousting de la Noue.

  He brushed past her to where the saddle lay on the ground. He bent to it, picked it up and turned it over.

  Layne joined him, standing just behind him. She watched him over his shoulder.

  Griffin ran his hand along the cinch to the spot where the break had occurred. It had been lucky he was able to hold onto Adonis. He could have been knocked off. He could have been killed. Did someone want more than just to sabotage him?

  He lifted the broken cinch before him until it was silhouetted by the moon. As Layne had surmised, as he had feared, the beginning of the tear was flat and even. Cut.

  There was no doubt in his mind. Someone had sabotaged him. Whoever had done this was dangerous. They w
ould stop at nothing to have him lose. Not even if it meant his life.

  “Cut?” Layne asked.

  Griffin nodded. “Did you see someone cut it?”

  “No.”

  He stood up before her. He couldn't bring himself to believe that she had cut the cinch. She was not cold hearted enough. And maybe he didn't want to believe that she could be capable of something so dishonorable. He looked down at the stirrup leather in his hand. “Why didn't you tell me about the stirrup leather?”

  She swallowed, her skin a pale white in the moonlight. “You told me to stay away from Adonis... it was Carlton’s responsibility. I knew you wouldn't be pleased.” She looked down at the ground with a sigh and added, "I just thought you should know. Even if you got angry with me.”

  Griffin’s gaze swept her face. He knew he should be angry with her. She had not followed simple orders. But he couldn't. She had proven herself loyal. She had told him the truth. He was amazed she had found the cuts when Carlton had not. Her eye for detail was remarkable. She was even able to pick out style flaws in the practicing knights. She was very good at it. He should trust her more. She had earned it. She was intelligent and brave. He knew without a doubt that she was not the one sabotaging him.

  There was still only one thing bothering him where Layne was concerned. How could he keep her safe?

  “I just wanted you to know,” she whispered. “Before something happened.”

  He sighed softly. What was he to do with her? She had directly defied him. On a suspicion that could bring harm to him. She wasn’t doing it for her own sake, but for his. Warmth blossomed in his chest as he stared down at her. She knew what she had done would get her in trouble. She knew she had gone against his orders. But she had done it anyway and admitted to him what she had found. That took courage. “Why did you tell me?” A delicate scowl of confusion darkened her brow. He was as confused as she was. “You could have kept the secret and gotten away with it.”

  “Someone is trying to sabotage you. It is dishonorable. You needed to know before harm could befall you.”

  God’s blood! She was gorgeous. Honorable, truthful, a little mischievous and just downright tempting. How was a man to resist?