Thinking quickly, one of the other knights stepped in front of the black charging horse, waving his arms and yelling “Whoa". The Andalusian slowed enough for someone to reach up and grab the reins, bringing the horse to a jolting halt.
Courtney ran to the hanging knight's side, helping to lower him onto the ground. She unbuckled the armor, removing it from on top of his still body. As she pulled the black arnet off, a mass of long, dark hair fell freely into the dirt. She pushed the wet strands from his face and held her breath as she gazed at his fluttering eyelids. Thick, blunt, dark lashes were like raven wings on his pale cheeks. They opened and she peered into eyes the color of whiskey, drinking in their depths.
The cloud of darkness attempting to take the man faded slightly in his eyes as he began to stir. His color brightened, turning to a deep tan as life came back into him. Her heartbeat accelerated, with a strange sense of recognition, as their souls met, and then returned abruptly to its normal beat. Whatever she thought she saw disappeared in the blink of an eye.
* * * *
"Catherine.” The name but a whisper, Reynold strained to focus more clearly on the blurred pretty face looming over him. Her touch was the same, soft and soothing. Her scent that of lavender and all woman.
"He's not bleeding, that much is good. There doesn't appear to be any thing broken."
The voice, a sweet melody of verse to his ears, seemed a little deeper than he remembered, and muddled. The words sounded strange. Was she so upset by his falling off his horse that she'd become hysterical? He tried to move, groaning as his head felt like he'd been hit with a club. Something touched lightly at the back of his head, tender and small in its exploration, and he realized it was her delicate hand.
"I don't feel a bump, but that doesn't mean—"
Reynold blinked again to focus in on the blurry face. “Catherine?” He brought her image into focus. The woman leaning over him was disheveled—her dark hair escaped from her headpiece, framing her brown eyes and pink cheeks. He could see the fear in her eyes. He wanted to tell her to fear not, but his tongue was thick in his mouth.
"Don't talk; we've got to have the paramedics look you over before you can move."
"Para...” What is this woman saying? It sounds like the Queen's English, but not entirely so. Two masked men dressed in white grabbed at his arms—Reynold pushed them away. Part of Queen Isabel's army of men, if one wanted to call them ‘men'.
"Thou goatish elf-skinned pigeon-egged priest. Keep thy hands off me!” Reynold rolled, getting to one knee, then rose to his feet. The world around him spun slowly, then he sensed the woman take hold of his arm. He could smell her scent without even looking at her—he knew who it was.
He looked down into a pair of chocolate eyes he could swim in forever, only to find they were void of the love he'd seen in them just minutes before the joust started. How could I have thought this be my Catherine when I find nothing familiar in her eyes?
"You better sit down for a while. Let me take you to my shop in the village—you can sit and rest there."
"Nay, I must attend to Abraxas.” Reynold looked around the list's west entrance for Abraxas. A horse like his didn't go with just any man. No—Abraxas belonged to him heart and soul. They'd saved each other's hide on more than one occasion. “My armor, where is my armor?"
"We've taken him to the stables where he'll be cooled down, then fed and watered. He seemed a little unnerved by your fall."
A young squire bearing the colors of Heartsease stood before him. It wasn't the face of young Will, but there was something familiar in his eyes. “Your armor will be there as well as your tack."
"What is it they call thee?” Reynold allowed himself to be led up the hill in the direction of the village.
"Will, Sire. I am the son of Sir Thomas and thy squire.” The young man looked at him with confusion in his eyes. “Dost thou not remember, Sir Black Knight?"
Reynold looked at the knights and ladies standing around him, as they waited for his answer. They were watching him cautiously and he knew he had to tread carefully. How could he remember this young squire as Will when he not only looked nothing like him, but would have addressed him by his given name? He pushed through his comrades, finally noticing the strange-looking people gathered around the list fencing. Women and men dressed in scanty attire, their limbs bared. Something was amiss here, yet everything looked the same.
The list remained the same. Queen Isabel and her Court sat where they always did, but he couldn't get a good look at her in the shadows. Was she sitting there gloating over the spell she'd cast? Catherine had changed, as had his squire. What bit of black magic has Isabel engaged in this time? Which one of her witches has she used to replace Catherine's love in hopes of making me her own? I must use caution, or fall to her desires.
He ran his hand along the base of his neck. Relief flooded him when he found his amulet still intact. “Aye, Will, I remember. Attend to Abraxas in the stables after putting my weapons aroint.” Reynold gave the squire a pat and sent him on his way. God help the boy if Abraxas senses anything amiss.
"Aye, Black Knight,” Will said, picking up the broken lance lying on the ground.
"Do not forget the extra apple for Abraxas ... he hast earned it this day.” Reynold called after him, following close behind the woman he initially thought to be Catherine.
"Who ever taught you to ride?” the woman asked, leading Reynold up the hill toward her shop in the main village. “From what I saw, you have no business being on a horse, much less jousting."
What kind of insult is this? “I'll have thee know, I'm the best horseman in the land,” Reynold stated, pushing her arm off his shoulder. He needed no assistance. “And I need no woman to help me move about."
"Maybe not, but you sure couldn't prove it by me. You're weaving about like a drunkard, with little sense of direction."
"I need to find the dressmaker to the Queen,” he said, turning up the dirt path toward the heart of the village. “I thought it may be thee, but now I think not."
Her breath hitched inward, and her step slowed with caution. “Why? Surely she can be of no help to you.” Suspicion edged her voice. She knew more than she wanted him to believe.
Reynold halted, spinning the woman around so he could see her face. He wanted his meaning to be clear, with no question of his intention. “Ah, she is all that I need now or ever.” He could see the shock in her eyes was mixed with yearning, as if she wished it to be true. He didn't know the woman; such fancy on her part was unwarranted and certainly unwanted.
Reynold glanced past her shoulder, confused by the look of recognition in her eyes. As luck would have it, they'd stopped in front of a shop bearing a sign ‘Queen's Dressmaker'. The dresses hanging just inside the doorway had a special touch to them. Even from this distance, Reynold recognized the work to be that of Catherine's. No other dressmaker in all of Heartsease had her exquisite stitching ability.
"Catherine!” he half-whispered, forgetting about the maddening woman. He stepped on the stoop of the shop.
"There's no one here by that name, Sir Knight.” A young shop girl sauntered up to Reynold, her bosom spilling over the bodice of her dress. “If a Catherine's who thee seek, I can be that desire thou hath."
He frowned at the wench's bawdy tone. He had no time to play with her. “Is this not the shop of the Queen's dressmaker? It is she I seek.” Reynold was confused. How can this not be Catherine's shop when the stitching clearly states otherwise? Another trick of Isabel's to make him believe he'd gone mad. Her magic must have grown powerful over the years, an underestimation of her he'd not let happen once he was returned to his homeland.
"Yes, Sir. This is the shop of the Queen's dressmaker, but no lady by the name of Catherine works here. The Queen's dressmaker stands just behind you.” The lass pointed to someone behind him.
"The Queen's dressmaker! It must be her!"
* * * *
The Black Knight turned swiftly. And the lig
ht and softness in his eyes was immediately replaced by a dark coldness of suspicion. In only two long strides, he reached Courtney.
"Thou will tell me what thee hast done with my Catherine,” he demanded, shaking her almost senseless.
Courtney winced at the pain caused by his hands on her arms. She took a ragged breath to steel herself against the anger in his eyes. There was a storm brewing behind his incredible sensual amber eyes. A golden storm filled with warmth sent a cold chill through her. What in those eyes scared her? The depth of their sensuality or the fact that she could drown in them without a care? That deep down in her soul she knew him?
"Lady Courtney, do you need assistance to your shop?"
Sir Thomas! Thank goodness. She breathed in deeply to steel her quaking nerves, and a wave of relief filled her body. Saved from drowning for the moment, she pulled free of the Black Knight's grasp.
"Sir Thomas. I believe the Black Knight may have hit his head harder than first believed. He insists a lady named Catherine is dressmaker to Queen Victoria,” Courtney said, moving into the shielding presence of the newcomer. No one would dare go against Thomas; his sense of protection over her was well known throughout the re-enactors. Over the years they'd become close friends, but nothing more.
"Sir, I can assure you Lady Courtney is the mistress of this shop and dressmaker to Queen Victoria.” Sir Thomas placed himself protectively at Courtney's side. It seemed to be all that was needed to still the mysterious man dressed in the colors of Heartsease.
The Black Knight gaped.
Queen Victoria? What of Queen Isabel? “Sir Thomas Astley of Kent, on the lands of Heartsease?"
"Yes, Sir. Have we met before? Perhaps over a glass of ale at the Black Swan?"
"Thomas, doth thou not recognize me? It's Reynold. Thy son, William, is my squire.” Reynold took one step forward. Courtney saw the warning flash quickly in Thomas’ eyes and prayed the mysterious knight did also. For his own good, if nothing else.
She relaxed slightly when Reynold stopped inches short of Thomas. She wasn't sure why, but the thought of these two fighting sent a shiver of dread through her.
"Forgive me, Sir. Perhaps m'lady is correct and I did receive a blow to the head. I beg thy leave, Lady Courtney."
Reynold bowed, and backed up, keeping an eye on Sir Thomas. Turning, he walked past the dress shop, giving it one final look. No matter what he was told, in his heart he knew it was Catherine's work hanging in the shop.
"What was that all about?” Thomas whispered into Courtney's ear as he escorted her into the dress shop.
Her gaze never left Reynold's retreating backside as he headed down the path toward the stables. From the stoop of her shop, she could see the wet strands of his black hair slide across his back from shoulder to shoulder. She wondered what his hair would feel like against her skin, all wet and silky. The thought sent a hot shiver shooting through her body, leaving her craving a complete stranger.
"I thought you knew.” Courtney stepped across the wooden floor, losing sight of the mysterious knight.
"No, they never told me they'd replaced Joe with this new guy.” Thomas whispered his words so the paying customers didn't hearing him speak in modern English. “I asked around in the stables about Joe, and no one's heard from him."
"Something's not right, Thomas. This man who calls himself Reynold is either an excellent character actor or he lives this way of life to its fullest.” Courtney walked to the back of her dress shop and through the door leading to her sewing room. Even though this faire only operated during the weekends for eight weeks out of the summer months, she could always count on doing her sewing during the weekdays. She needed the sense of calmness it gave her pushing a needle and thread into fabric.
"Agreed, this man seems to have an infatuation with you and your shop. Only it's with someone named ‘Catherine'. Take heed of him, Courtney,” Thomas warned as he left her to her sewing.
"Noted, Thomas. I know where to find you if need be, have no fear,” she reassured him, running a needle and thread through the fabric for a costume. Sewing by hand and recreating costumes from another time always made her relax and mull things over.
It had been the lure of the story of Heartsease that brought her to southern Wisconsin a few years ago. When she'd heard they were going to re-enact the legend she felt a kin with, she immediately contacted the organizer to secure a shop in the village. Soon she found a small place out in the country nearby, where she could continue to practice her dressmaking craft during the off-season.
As she pushed the needle, she couldn't chase away the feeling of having met Reynold somewhere before. She felt she knew him. Maybe at another Renfaire years ago? Could it have been in Minnesota where she performed her craft for many years, before settling in comfort here near Bristol?
No, I'd have remembered those golden eyes and the long black hair, not to mention the way he looked at me as if he knew everything about me. And that horse of his, not many re-enactors could afford an Andalusian, let alone one as magnificent as his seemed to be.
This Black Knight was hiding from something and Courtney meant to find out exactly what.
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Chapter 3
"Which of Isabel's sorceresses has she consulted to place this spell over me?” Reynold mumbled, walking absent-mindedly on the village road. “She hates me that much for thwarting her sexual advances? How could she ... oomph!"
Reynold looked squarely into the eyes of the man who looked like his childhood friend. They stood toe-to-toe, neither giving away anything to the other. It was Thomas on the outside, but nothing in his eyes revealed the man Reynold had come to love throughout life.
"Just who are you and what have you done with the man who was supposed to be in the arena—not you?” Thomas stood his mark, making Reynold attempt to go around him only to have his way blocked when he tried. “What the hell happened to Joe? And who in the hell hired you to replace him?"
"Thomas, I have no quarrel with thee. I doth not know this Joe nor what hast become of him. I am but a man on a journey not of my own making.” Reynold turned, walking to a log bench under a nearby tree and took a seat. The shade would cool the heat burning his body, but do nothing for the fire burning in his heart. Doth I speak the truth? Mayhap? Nay! ‘Tis the work of Isabel's black magic which has placed me in this enchanted village. Did his deception backfire, sending everyone dear to him into a different world?
A world where he was an unknown knight to those around him.
Lifting the corner of chain mail, Reynold pulled the protective covering over his head. Removing the additional weight of the metal did nothing to help his light-headedness. No, it was the cause of a journey he didn't ask for. The Heartsease he grew up in as a boy lay before him, yet it did not.
"You will address me as ‘Sir Thomas’ when we are out among the people.” Thomas loomed over him, his hand ready on his sword in case the need to defend himself arose. “Now, answer my question or I shall run you through."
"How can I give thee the answer thou seek when I know not what it may be? Please, sit down.” Reynold motioned toward the other end of the log bench as an invitation for Thomas to join him. How would he broach the subject of who he was? He didn't even know where he was, let alone how he got here.
Thomas declined the invitation, making no move to come closer to Reynold. “Just tell me what happened to Joe, that's all I ask."
"M'friend, let me tell thee a story. In it thou may find the answer thou seeks,” Reynold said and sighed. Gathering his belongings, he stood once more. “Come, walk with me."
Reynold took only a few steps before Thomas walked beside him. “This day we ... err, I, was on my horse in the midst of a joust with my childhood friend. I had rejected the advances of my queen one too many times and pledged my love to another ... her dressmaker, Catherine..."
When there was no response from Thomas, Reynold wondered if he were the crazed one. Maybe it had been his memo
ry Isabel altered and not that of his blood-brother and the people dearest to his heart.
Could it be Catherine never really existed and Lady Courtney was anything but the love of his soul? Nay! He would have no other. Catherine and Lady Courtney have to be the same maiden.
His heart pounded a warmth to his loins at the very thought. Aye, his heart was true and would not be deceived, that he was sure of. There would be only one way to find out—a kiss never lies.
They walked in silence for several minutes until the nicker and snort of Abraxas could be heard along with the screams of scattering men from the stable. The black Andalusian charged out the stable door and into the list. Reynold gave a trilling whistle, stopping the steed in his tracks.
"Abraxas can sense things art not as they once were."
Reynold jogged down the hill, jumped the fence and waited for his trusted friend to come to his side.
* * * *
"We art in a strange land, my friend.” Reynold stroked his snorting stallion on the neck, soothing his nervousness with the gentle touch. With a hand full of mane, he guided the horse back to the stables where his squire stood just inside the barn door, arms crossed and shaking his head.
"You said one apple—that damn horse wanted the whole barrel.” Will stepped aside as Reynold and Abraxas came through the opening.
Reynold laughed hardily, slapping the animal on the rump as it went into a stall. “He dost have a need to taste their sweetness. I'm afraid I have spoiled him endlessly with them."
"In all my years of doing these faires, I've never seen a horse like him.” Will walked alongside Reynold as he went over to check his tack. “Where did you have him trained"?
"I trained him myself, Will. You accompanied me on many trips to the training ring.” Reynold wiped the dust from his saddle, than draped the bridle over the cantle. Will stood next to him, looking at him as if he were crazy.
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