Pippa of Lauramore

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I shake my head.

  “You can’t be mine, Pippa.”

  “Then what is this?” I demand. “Why?”

  His hands are in my hair, and his thumbs caress my jaw. “No matter what happens, no matter how the tournament ends, I wanted you to know. I love you. I love you, Pippa.”

  I’m afraid of the emotions I’m feeling. His words crash over me, warming me as he says them, leaving me cold when they’re a memory.

  Knowing makes it so much worse.

  “Archer…”

  He rests his forehead against mine. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “I want to say it, but I can’t. It hurts.” I wish I could explain. It doesn’t make sense, but it feels if I say the words, if I hear them from my own mouth, my heart will break completely. I lean against him. “Is this the only moment we’ll have? After this, is it over?”

  “It has to be that way.”

  I know that. I hate it, but I know it.

  This is the only time we’ll ever have, and I feel brave. Archer’s breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling faster than before, when I run my finger along his lips. I stand on the tips of my toes and angle my head.

  “This is our moment, Archer. Kiss me.”

  He’s gone still. Instead of our lips meeting, like I expect, he slowly pulls back, his hands dropping away. “We can’t.”

  I can think of a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t. I can’t think of a single reason why we can’t.

  He steps back, creating a wall between us. I take a step forward, reaching out again, but he shakes his head. “Pippa, your ring.”

  I glance down at my enchanted purity ring, stunned. “I can’t even kiss you?”

  He runs a hand through his hair. He looks as frustrated as I am. “I don’t know what will happen.”

  “It will tarnish from a kiss?”

  Archer gives me a helpless shrug.

  “What if I take it off?” I ask, grasping.

  “It would only change once you were to put it back on—if it were to change at all. I don’t know what a kiss would do.”

  He looks so off kilter, so helpless. It seems ridiculous and very funny. First I giggle, and then I break into a full laugh. I stride toward him with purpose.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  He grasps my shoulders and looks in my eyes. “Pippa, no.”

  “You’re doing it again.” I raise an eyebrow. “Pippa, no.”

  “If you weren’t difficult, I wouldn’t have to say it so often.” He smiles as he says it.

  We settle into a comfortable, frustrated silence. I pull myself up on the sheep fence and watch Willowisp graze. Archer stands next to me, leaning against the fence. The only outward sign of change between us is his hand resting on my knee.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dragon Hunt

  We pause on our way to the palace to watch the sun illuminate the clouds on the western horizon. The sunset burns a deep red with streaks of sunlit yellow. Above us, where the sky is already darkening, a few puffy clouds glow gold, as if they are clinging to the last rays of light.

  We don’t discuss Archer’s confession. There’s nothing more to say. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have something to say, but I’m terrified.

  He knows. Even though I don’t say the words—he knows.

  There’s a rocky terrace that rises above the others, and movement on the top catches my eye. There’s a lone figure staring at the sky like we are. His horse grazes beside him. I squint, though I can already tell who it is by his silhouette.

  I point. “It’s Galinor.”

  Archer’s brow furrows. “What is he doing here? He should be much farther north by now.”

  “Let’s find out.” I’m already nudging Willowisp forward.

  Archer follows, but he asks, “They will be expecting you soon. Do you want to lose your freedom the same day it was granted back to you?”

  I wonder if he’s jealous of Galinor like I was of Marigold. I don’t want to hurt Archer, but I need Galinor. I need him to win. Archer knows that.

  “We’ll be quick,” I answer.

  Archer is familiar with the area, and he leads us to the trail up the terrace. I can feel the sun set, sinking lower with each moment.

  Galinor hears us and turns. He doesn’t look surprised to see us.

  I try to keep the concern out of my voice. “What are you still doing here?”

  I’m not meddling; I’m asking. It’s different.

  He turns back to the sunset, and we join him. He has a troubled, far-off expression that makes me think he doesn’t feel the pressure of the sinking sun like I do.

  “Galinor?” I prod.

  “I was six when the Dragon Wars officially began and only twelve when my grandfather brought me to my first battle. I was his squire, of sorts. I was excited—thrilled—to be part of the war. The excitement wore off after several years. I’ve seen blood and death and misery and sadness.”

  He pauses, and we wait for him to continue. Archer understands. I can see it in his eyes.

  “I watched my grandfather die when I was sixteen. We refused to show mercy on a female dragon with a clutch of eggs. We found her on the side of a cliff, alone. She wasn’t attacking; she wasn’t part of the war. We slew her anyway. Her mate found us five days later, tracked us by our scent like a dog. He killed Grandfather in front of me. It was a gruesome thing.”

  I feel numb. Families—both human and dragon—were ripped apart by the war. It’s not an uncommon story. Everyone has someone they lost. If it hadn’t been for Archer, my someone would have been Sir Kimble.

  Galinor continues, “He left me alive—to remember, he said. Before he left, he warned me if I were to so much as speak to another dragon, he would hunt down my family, and kill them in the same way he struck Grandfather down. I swore I would not.” He pauses. “I haven’t seen a dragon since.”

  Dragons are wise, calculating, and deadly. You don’t break an oath to a dragon. It would be a death wish.

  “I’ll retrieve the treasure,” Archer says. I open my mouth to protest. He can’t do this for me. It’s too much.

  Galinor shakes his head. “Archer, I can’t ask that of you—”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered,” Archer says, cutting Galinor off. “And I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Pippa.”

  I want to command him not to go. Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous? Doesn’t he know he may die? Our eyes lock. I read his expression, and I know I won’t change his mind.

  “I’m coming,” I say.

  They both protest, but I hold up my hand to silence them. “I’m coming.”

  “We’ll be gone for days, Pippa. There is no way you can come. You must stay here,” Archer argues.

  He’s right. There’s no way I can leave for that long. I hate logic.

  “I’ll meet you here tomorrow at dawn,” Archer says to Galinor.

  It’s moving too fast, and I have no way to fight it.

  Galinor finally agrees. Tomorrow at dawn they will both disappear into the mountains, and I have no idea if either of them will come back.

  ***

  “Pippa, why are you angry with me?” Archer asks.

  It’s been a long, quiet ride home. I’m not mad at him, not exactly. I’m worried. I’m frustrated. I wish the dragon hunt could have been taken out of the tournament completely.

  We’re not far from the palace now. The sun has set, and the world is turning gray. But we’re not so late I should find trouble when I return.

  “I’m not angry,” I finally answer.

  Archer guides his mare off the trail, avoiding a fallen log in the road. “I have to do this. Let’s suppose Galinor were to find a way to obtain the treasure and return alive and move on to win the tournament. He would marry you, and you would be struck down with everyone else he cares for.” He glances over. “Without the treasure, he is likely to lose the tournament.”

  “You don’t have to do this
for me.”

  “I do.”

  The men at the tents have begun their nightly routine. The smell of roasting meat and wood fires is in the air. I’m starving, and my stomach growls at the smell. There are others besides the competitors’ entourages. Many visitors and entertainers have come from far kingdoms to see the first marriage tournament since the end of the Dragon War. They camp together in groups, sharing large fires. They sound merry, and their laughter travels to us.

  We’ve left the forest and are once again on the main road. A band of men on foot is in front of us, and Archer calls his greetings and alerts them we are passing. They move to the side, giving us courteous nods.

  “Why, you are the fair Princess!” A man with light hair and a pale complexion says with a grand bow.

  He has an accent I don’t recognize. Where is he from? There are three of them, and they all wear roughly woven working clothes. Perhaps they’re merchants, come to sell their wares at the festivals scattered amid the tournament’s events.

  “Are you just arriving?” Archer asks, glancing back at the road we’ve just traveled.

  They have no horses, no wagon, and no bags.

  The same fair man, apparently their spokesman, answers, “No, Master Archer, we heard the king allows hunting in his forest, and we were trying to find a grouse or rabbit for dinner.”

  “King Ewan does allow hunting, but you must obtain his permission and a permit first,” Archer answers.

  “Yes, sir. We did.” The man holds up the official document, which has been folded and stuffed in his money purse.

  “Very well. Enjoy your evening.” Archer motions for me to move on, and then he follows. Once we’re out of earshot he turns to face me. “Either they’re bad hunters, or they’re lying. You can trip over a grouse and land on a rabbit in the forest.”

  I laugh at him. “Why would they lie? You always think the worst.”

  He glances back to the campfires behind us. “You’re probably right.”

  The courtyard is quiet when we arrive back at the stables. Most of the villagers are in their cozy little cottages, enjoying their dinners, and those in the palace will be eating shortly. Archer usually takes care of his own horse, but tonight he hands his mare to a stable boy. I do the same.

  I should go in now, but instead I follow Archer to the armory, with the excuse I need to put away my bow. We both know he could take it for me, but he doesn’t argue. The guards nod, and I’m careful to close the door behind us. I hand my bow and quiver to Archer, and he turns to hang it. I set my hand on his shoulder, and his muscles tense under my palm.

  He turns around and slides his hands around my waist, drawing me close. It’s comfortable against him, like we’ve been this free with our affection for months instead of hours.

  “We can’t make a habit of this, you know,” he says, his voice deep.

  “How could we? You’re leaving tomorrow.”

  He frowns.

  I settle closer and wrap my arms around his neck, tilting my head back so I can look up at him. “Why are you doing this?”

  His eyes soften. “I told you why. I love you,” he answers, and the words come easy this time.

  I want to say it back. Why can’t I say it? He’s leaving tomorrow, and he may never return. I draw courage and say, “Archer, I—”

  The armory door swings open, and we jump apart.

  Rigel’s sharp eyes take in the two of us. He strides forward with only the slightest pause. “Good evening.”

  This is only the third day. Why is he back? He couldn’t have obtained his dragon treasure yet—he couldn’t have.

  “Lord Rigel, you are back early.” Archer looks nonchalant as he hangs his quiver next to mine, but I can tell from his voice he’s not. I hope Rigel doesn’t notice.

  “I’ve completed the task.” Rigel looks almost bored. “I’m looking for a whetstone. Where would I find one?”

  I stare at him, my jaw falling open and my lips parting. “Already?”

  He turns his dark eyes on me. “It’s easy when you know where to look.”

  “But how…?”

  “There are very few ways to take care of a dragon. I know them all.”

  I shiver and say nothing. His eyes still bore into mine.

  Archer hands him a whetstone. I let out a slow exhale as Rigel leaves, but then he turns on his heel, just before the door. “You will be missed soon. I wouldn’t linger, if I were you.”

  Then he leaves.

  I watch the door slowly close, only turning to Archer once it shuts with a soft thud.

  “He saw,” I whisper.

  Archer pulls me close, holding me tight, as if it will be the last time. It may very well be.

  “I know.”

  ***

  I stab a piece of roasted lamb with my knife and glare at Lionel. He arrived an hour before Rigel. I’m at my place next to Leonora. Lady Marigold is once again seated next to Archer, but it doesn’t bother me tonight. I pick at my food, not able to eat much of anything.

  Leonora sets her hand on top of mine, squeezing it before she lets go. She’s nodding at something Percival has said, but she must sense my mood and feels I need comforting.

  Lionel is between Father and Percival, and he’s been basking in their congratulations all night. His official feast won’t be for another four days, but tonight has a celebratory feel. I’m almost sorry for Rigel. He too arrived ridiculously early, but it’s Lionel soaking up all the praise.

  Rigel doesn’t seem to mind, or if he does he hides it well. He’s deep in conversation with Alexander. From what I can hear, my brother is asking for details of the search. Rigel’s answers are vague at best.

  Lionel, too, is very humble about his win. His four points for bringing back the treasure, plus his two points for arriving first, must have him feeling charitable. He’s now leading the competition by three points, though that will change if Galinor returns with his treasure. I’m nervous, though. Galinor will only lead by one, and that’s only if Archer obtains his treasure.

  Archer catches my eye and smiles. I bite my lip, trying to hide my grin. I’ve caught Rigel’s glances all night.

  He’s watching us.

  “Lady Marigold has admitted to me that she isn’t taken with Archer.” Leonora angles her head toward me. “She says her heart has been stolen by someone else, but she won’t tell me who. Do you think he will be terribly disappointed?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  She looks around the hall, thinking. “He’s smitten with someone, but if it’s not Marigold, I don’t know who it is.”

  I twirl a dark red mountain cherry in my fingers. It’s the first of the season, and I can usually eat them till I’m sick. Not tonight.

  “How can you tell?” I ask, not sure I want to hear her answer.

  She flashes a knowing grin. “The garden maids are complaining he doesn’t smile at them anymore, but instead he looks distant all the time. The knights are saying he’s surly and abrupt—”

  “He’s always surly and abrupt,” I say, interrupting her.

  Leonora laughs, but she keeps her voice down. “With you, perhaps, but not with everyone else.”

  I sit up straighter and open my mouth to argue.

  “Don’t be offended, Pippa,” she says, her voice soft. “He’s simply reeking of unrequited love.”

  I glance at Archer. He can’t hear us, but he narrows his eyes at Leonora as if he knows she’s speaking of him. Quickly, I look back at her before she notices.

  “You know him better than anyone, Pippa. He’s with you constantly. Who do you think it is?”

  I must look as guilty as I feel, because her eyebrows twitch and her mouth drops open. She glances sharply around us, and then leans closer.

  “Pippa?” she whispers, her voice incredulous.

  I shrug, helpless.

  “Oh, no,” she says, sitting back.

  “Are you feeling ill again?” I ask when her hand settles on her stomach. She
does look a little pale.

  She shakes her head and turns her body toward me, doing her best to block Percival from our conversation. “What of Galinor?”

  “What of Galinor?” I ask, my voice quiet but sharp. “He will win the tournament, and I will marry him.”

  “But Archer—”

  “I can’t be with Archer.” This is impossible to discuss with Leonora, who married for love. How fortunate for her and Percival she was born into the right station and in our own kingdom no less. I fight back bitter feelings. It’s not her fault she was born a lady any more than it’s Archer’s fault he’s not a lord.

  Leonora looks stricken, and I feel horrible for my harsh words.

  “Father will never allow me to marry Archer.”

  “Do you love him?”

  My throat is tightening again, a feeling I’m becoming accustomed to these last few days. “Yes.”

  Stupid, worthless tears begin to build in my eyes.

  “Oh, Pippa…”

  I shake my head. I can’t discuss it anymore.

  Leonora stands and turns toward Percival. “I’m not feeling well. Pippa is going to escort me to our rooms.”

  The briefest look of concern flashes over his face, but she leans down and kisses him softly. I look away, their moment too personal and my heart too raw. I only look back when I hear her say, “I am fine.”

  Archer watches us rise. We both know he’ll be gone in the morning. I want to tell him one last goodbye, tell him I love him, but I can’t—not in this crowd. I try to tell him with my eyes, he nods to me. It’s the slightest movement, but it warms me.

  As we reach the archway to leave the great hall, I glance back at the room. Just as I suspected he would be, Rigel watches.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Paintings & Ptarma Lilies

  I wake before dawn. I pad softly to the balcony, my feet bare against the cold stone floor. The sky is just beginning to lighten in the east. If I hurry, I can catch Archer before he leaves and say my goodbye. A real one.

  I was awake most of the night, tossing and turning, thinking about Archer leaving. I had hoped sleep would come after I poured my heart out to Leonora last night, but it still evaded me. I dress with haste, once again pulling on my riding clothes. Perhaps I can ride with Archer to meet Galinor. I won’t have an escort home, but I don’t mind. He probably will, but I’m not going to worry about that right now.