Connie Mason

by The Black Knight

  “You are welcome to her,” Drake said. The words flowed easily from his mouth, though he was not certain he meant them. Raven had become an alluring woman. What man would not want her? She exuded sexuality and innocence at the same time. Or was she truly as innocent as she pretended? It annoyed him to think that Waldo had sparked passion within her. “Raven and I were merely discussing old times.”

  “Stay away from her, brother. You did not get Daria, nor can you have Raven. Her maidenhead belongs to me. Keep your interests confined to the tournament.” His expression grew thoughtful, and then he gave Drake an ingratiating smile. “Mayhap I’ll send you a flagon of Duff’s private wine as consolation,” he said in parting. “As a brotherly gesture, you understand.”

  Waldo’s obsequious smile went unanswered. “I understand perfectly, brother.” His penetrating gaze did not leave Waldo’s back as his brother retraced his steps to the keep.

  Suddenly Drake noticed something lying on the ground and stooped to pick it up. It was the gauzy veil that had covered Raven’s bright hair. Apparently it had fallen when he had pulled her into his arms. Smiling to himself, he stuffed it inside his doublet.

  Drake’s squire was waiting up for him when he returned to camp. The lad sat on the cot, polishing Drake’s black armor and helm by candlelight. He jumped up when Drake ducked inside the tent.

  “Everything is in order, my lord. Your armor is polished and your weapons in good repair. Is there aught else you need?”

  “Nay, Evan. You may seek your own bed now.”

  Evan ducked out the tent flap and ran into Sir John of Marlow’s well-muscled chest. “Is Lord Drake in his tent, Evan?” John asked.

  “Aye, Sir John, he just returned from the banquet.”

  John sent Evan on his way and entered the tent. Drake greeted him amiably. “I see you left the banquet still able to stand,” he teased.

  “Like you, I compete in the games tomorrow. Too much drink dulls the wits. Besides, the ale Lord Duff served was swill. He probably keeps the good stuff for himself.”

  Drake heard footsteps approaching and reached for his sword. “Who goes there?”

  “Lord Waldo’s man. My lord sends a flagon of wine to aid your sleep.”

  “Did the man say wine? By all means bid him enter, Drake.”

  “Come,” Drake called gruffly. Ordinarily Waldo was not a thoughtful man. Drake wondered what his brother was up to.

  The man-at-arms, wearing Eyre colors of blue and gold, ducked into the tent and set the flagon down on the camp table.

  “Lord Waldo sends wine with his compliments to the Black Knight,” the man recited.

  Drake eyed the wine with suspicion.

  “ ’Tis good French wine,” the man was quick to add. “The best the castle has to offer.”

  “Ah.” John sighed with none of Drake’s reservations. “Good French wine is hard to come by. Break out the cups, my friend, and we shall toast to success tomorrow.”

  The man-at-arms started to back out of the tent when Drake stopped him with a harsh command.

  “Wait! What is your name?”

  “Gareth.”

  “Have you been in Waldo’s service long, Gareth?”

  “Aye, since before he became earl. I fought with him in France as a foot soldier.”

  “Waldo must trust you.”

  The fellow puffed out his chest. “With his life, my lord.”

  “Then you must drink with us.”

  John stared at Drake curiously. “Come now, Drake, why waste good French wine on this fellow when he obviously prefers ale?”

  “That is so, master,” Gareth said with alacrity. “Pray enjoy your wine.”

  “But I insist,” Drake said.

  “God’s toenails, Drake, what has gotten into you?” John chided.

  “There are cups in my war chest, John,” Drake said. “Please bring one for each of us.”

  John obeyed, though he was obviously puzzled by Drake’s insistence that the man drink with them. He found three pewter cups and set them on the table beside the flagon of wine. At Drake’s nod, he poured wine into each of the cups. John held his cup to his nose and sniffed appreciatively.

  “Ambrosia,” he said, bringing the wine to his lips.

  “Nay, John, do not drink . . . yet,” Drake added as he brought his own cup to his nose and inhaled the heady aroma. “Gareth will drink first.” He handed the cup to Waldo’s man.

  Drake watched Gareth closely, smiling with satisfaction when Gareth stared into the cup with horror.

  “Drink up, man,” Drake invited. “How often do you get to drink good French wine?”

  “Are you daft, Drake?” John said.

  “Drink, Gareth,” Drake ordered harshly, stilling John’s protest with a slash of his hand.

  “Nay!” Gareth cried, spilling his wine on the ground. “I cannot.” Whirling on his heel, he made a hasty exit.

  John stared into his own cup, a perplexed expression on his handsome face. “What the devil!”

  “Put the wine down, John,” Drake said quietly. “ ’Tis not fit to drink. ’Tis tainted.”

  John shuddered and carefully set the cup on the table. “God’s blood, Drake, are you sure?”

  “Nay, but you saw how Waldo’s man acted when I asked him to drink first. You may test it if you like, but I would not recommend it.”

  “Nor would I,” John said in a hushed voice. “I will take your word for it. What made you suspect?”

  “Waldo does naught without a reason. He has ever hated me. Sending the gift of wine is so unlike him, I immediately suspected trickery. Mayhap the wine would have made us too ill to compete tomorrow, but more likely it would have killed us.”

  John shuddered again. “Poison. Why does Waldo hate you? He is the earl, not you. You said there was never any question about Waldo being your father’s heir, and that you are . . .”

  “A bastard,” Drake said, finishing where John left off. “Heed me well, John. One day I will prove that I am the rightful heir of Eyre. I have never doubted that proof exists. Granny Nola said that one day I would want to learn the truth, and that when I am ready, she would help me find it.”

  “Your granny is a wise woman,” John said.

  “Aye, she is also hale and hearty and her memory sharp. Besides myself, you and Sir Richard are the only men who know where to find her village in Wales. I trust no others. For a time I worried she might not be safe from Waldo, but no one but Lord Nyle and my father knew where she lived, and they are both dead.”

  “Your trust humbles me,” John said. His gaze rested on the flagon. “What shall we do with the tainted wine?”

  “Spill it on the ground behind the tent. Pour the wine from the cups into the flagon.” Drake held the flagon while John poured the wine into it. John’s hands shook so badly he splashed some of the wine on his hose. Then he followed Drake outside and watched as the thirsty ground soaked up the poisoned wine.

  As soon as the flagon was empty, Drake awakened Evan, calling him out of the tent he shared with the other squires. The lad stumbled out of the tent, sleepy-eyed and yawning.

  “How may I help you, my lord?”

  He handed the empty flagon to the squire. “I have an errand for you, lad. Take this flagon to the keep and give it to Lord Waldo. Tell him it was delicious and extend my gratitude for his thoughtful gesture.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Mind you, give it to no one but Lord Waldo,” Drake said as the lad scampered off.

  “You can count on me,” Evan called over his shoulder.

  John laughed softly. “Methinks brother Waldo will be surprised to see you looking hale and hearty in the lists tomorrow,” John opined.

  “So he will, John, so he will.”

  John took his leave. Drake returned to his tent, his mind whirling with all that had happened this night. Try as he might, he could not put Raven out of his mind. Her plea for help had been so desperate it had caught him off guard. So had her
sweet kisses and startling burst of passion. She had stunned him with her heated response to what had begun as a mockery. Instead of showing his contempt for her he had found himself fighting his own body’s incomprehensible need to throw her down in the hay, toss up her skirts, and fill her with himself.

  God’s blood! What was wrong with him? Raven of Chirk had become the kind of woman Drake had learned to avoid: treacherous and sexually stimulating at the same time. Women like Raven deserved men like Waldo. He could not forget that but for Raven, Daria would have married him. Though he would never know for sure what the future would have held if Daria not been torn from his arms, he did feel certain that she would still be alive today. But Raven had snitched to her father, and his future had taken a different course.

  Sleep was hard won that night, and it came at a price. Drake’s dreams were filled with a green-eyed, chestnut-haired beauty.

  Raven sat in the window embrasure, fully dressed and not yet ready to succumb to sleep. From her tower room window she could see beyond the turrets to where a large collection of tents were pitched in the fields outside the castle gates. She knew exactly where Drake and his followers were camped, for she had climbed to the parapets earlier and asked one of the guards to point out the Black Knight’s encampment. She had identified Drake’s tent immediately by the pennant flying from the tent pole: a red dragon emblazoned upon a field of black.

  Raven sighed and turned away from the window. Being rebuffed by Drake had been the most humiliating experience of her life. She touched her lips, surprised by how swollen they still felt from his kisses. And her body. Sweet Virgin, never had her body felt so alive and vital. In all her twenty-four years she had never imagined how hard a man’s body could be. Lord save her, but she could have gone on kissing Drake forever.

  Lost in wicked musings, Raven was startled when Thelma burst into her chamber, followed closely by Waldo. “I told him you were sleeping, mistress, that it was not proper for him to enter your chamber without first asking your permission, but he would not listen.”

  “Get out!” Waldo bellowed.

  Thelma sent Raven an apologetic look and scurried away.

  “Close the door behind you,” Waldo ordered curtly.

  Raven girded herself for Waldo’s anger. She had not long to wait.

  “Your conduct is inappropriate, Raven,” he berated. “I cannot condone wanton behavior in my wife.”

  “I am not yet your wife,” Raven contended. “Besides, Drake and I were merely discussing old times.”

  “I am no fool, Raven. I know Drake kissed you. Look at you. Your lips are still swollen and your face flushed.” He stalked her. Raven retreated until her back came in contact with the window embrasure. “I will not have it,” he bit out, emphasizing each word.

  “You accuse me falsely!” Raven retorted. “Think you I do not know you bedded one of the maids last night?”

  “ ’Tis a man’s right to appease his lust. Mark me well, Raven of Chirk. Though I have waited years for you, should you become tiresome, I will satisfy my needs when and with whom I please. You will bear my heirs and run my home. I have been obsessed with you since you were naught but a bratty child with tangled red hair. But if and when I tire of you, I will seek other diversion.”

  “You make me ill, Waldo,” Raven charged. “I do not wish to marry you, nor do I want to bear your children.”

  Waldo grasped the neck of her gown and dragged her against him. “Do not ever let me hear you say that again,” he warned. “Once we are married I will teach you to obey. You were allowed too much freedom as a child. Most women your age have been married for years and have produced several children for their lords.” He leered at her. “We will make up for lost time.”

  “Let go of me,” Raven hissed as she tried to pry his hands from her.

  “Nay, never. You are mine, Raven. God works in mysterious ways. Had God not wanted me to have you He would not have taken Daria and Aric of Flint. Your maidenhead belongs to me. I look forward with pleasure to bedding you on our wedding night.”

  As if to prove his words, he pumped his loins against her in an obscene imitation of sex and ground his lips against hers in a parody of a kiss. All he succeeded in doing was hurting her, reinforcing her desire to escape this marriage. She must convince Drake to help her despite his earlier refusal.

  Gathering her strength, Raven raised her knee to push Waldo away and hit a vulnerable spot. He howled in pain and lashed out with his fist. He struck her on the cheek, sending her spinning to the floor. She watched in surprise as he doubled over and clutched himself. Her small act of defiance had taught her something valuable tonight, a lesson she would not forget. If there was one place a man was vulnerable, it was that place he thought with instead of his brains.

  The village priest said Mass for the jousters the following morning. The services were held in the open field, since neither the village church nor the castle chapel was large enough to hold so many. After the final blessing Drake returned to his tent to prepare for the first day of the tournament, which was slated to begin at terce.

  In his tent, Drake armed himself with the aid of his squire. His weapons consisted of a blunt lance and sword, since only blunt weapons were to be used by order of the king. He would carry a thick shield constructed to withstand the blows of such weapons, and special armor designed to reduce injury. His armor was black, as was his helm and pennant. Over his armor he wore a black tunic emblazoned with a dragon on the front. When the herald called for the jousters to make ready, Drake mounted his destrier, which was arrayed in black trappings trimmed in red, and rode to the lists to await his turn.

  Drake glanced at the pavilion erected for spectators and saw Raven sitting in the front row amid her maids and visiting ladies. She wore a deep purple gown fitted at the waist and trimmed in ermine. The color should have clashed with her flame-shot hair, but instead made it appear more vibrant. She did not wear a hennin, a conical headdress with a trailing veil, choosing instead to cover her glorious hair with a filet cap of gold and a veil that covered most of her face.

  Drake scowled as Waldo rode to the pavilion and lowered his lance toward Raven, expecting to be awarded his lady’s favor. His scowl deepened when Raven pulled a tiny ribbon from her sleeve and tied it onto the end of the lance. Waldo gave her a mocking salute, wheeled his mount, and returned to the lists. Drake smiled grimly as he thought of the veil Raven had lost the night before in the stables. He touched the place where he had stuffed it inside his padded gambeson.

  As Waldo wheeled his horse around, his gaze settled on Drake. Drake knew his brother had not expected to see him looking so well this morning. Waldo’s face appeared bloodless, his expresssion one of disbelief. Drake gave him a mocking salute.

  A moment later two mounted and armored knights entered the lists and took their places at opposite ends of the tilt, the wooden barrier erected in the lists to keep the horses from colliding. Drake watched with interest as the herald gave the signal to charge and each knight rode in a headlong gallop toward his opponent, lances aimed across their horses’ necks. Passing left side to left side, they met in the middle.

  The knight Drake favored, Sir William of Dorset, took a crushing blow, which broke his opponent’s lance. Sir William’s lance succeeded in unseating his opponent and he dismounted. Immediately a cry rose up from the spectators: “Fairly broken.” Then both knights drew their blunted swords and continued the fight on foot. Sir William won handily, defeating his opponent with a skillful move that sent his opponent’s sword flying. A loud chorus of approval rose up from the spectators.

  And so it continued. Sir John was next, and Drake was pleased when his friend handily vanquished his opponent. Sir Richard, another of his knights, jousted next and won. Then it was Drake’s turn.

  Drake pulled down his faceplate and took his position at the tilt. When the herald gave the signal, both knights raced at full tilt toward one another. A sickening thud brought a gasp from the spectators as
Drake’s opponent was unhorsed and lay unmoving on the ground. When it appeared that he was in no condition to continue, his squires ran out and carried him off the field on his shield. The spectators were on their feet cheering.

  Drake jousted three more times before a halt was called to the day’s entertainment. Points were given for unhorsing an opponent, for striking his helmet, and for breaking a lance. At the end of the day the Black Knight and Waldo of Eyre had more points than any of the other jousters. Clearly they were the contenders to defeat for the purse. And since only one winner could take the prize, it became abundantly clear that on the last day of the tournament the Black Knight and Waldo would be pitted against one another.

  Four

  A knight should not kill simply for the pleasure of it.

  The banquet that night was a boisterous affair. Those knights who had been unhorsed complained about the high ransom demanded by their opponents to regain their horses and arms, and the winners celebrated their victories. The rules specified that to the victor went horses, armor, weapons, property, and fines. Traveling from tourney to tourney, those knights-errant, who were gifted with the skill of battle became wealthy from the spoils, while losers returned home penniless.

  Drake had earned more than glory participating in tourneys across the width and breadth of England. After the tournament he would have earned sufficient wealth to restore Windhurst, his ancient castle in the wilds of Wessex. The purse that went to the champion at the end of this tournament, which he fully intended to win, would enable him to hire mercenaries to defend his fortress once it had been restored.

  A hush fell over the hall when Drake entered. An imposing figure clad in unrelieved black, he resembled a dark bird of prey amid a bevy of bright-colored peacocks. And no one was more vibrantly clad than Waldo. His rich green brocade doublet and yellow hose did nothing to enhance his stocky build and ruddy complexion.

  Drake did not immediately seat himself, but instead strode to the high table, stopping along the way to receive congratulations from his fellow jousters. When he reached the dais, he gave his half-brother a mocking smile and a negligent bow.