As much as she'd tried to eavesdrop on the two men, the horse had captured and held her imagination. She could feel herself on its powerful back, sheltered in the arms of the Black Knight of Heartsease. She rocked with the rhythm of the horse's canter, strong forearms wedging her between a pair of mail-covered arms. A black plume matching the blackness of the arnet flowed in the breeze; a perfect complement to that of the horse's tail. From under the metal headpiece, long hair fell over a broad width of shoulders. Courtney reached up and ran her fingers over the nicked metal. Slowly she lifted the front plate to see the eyes peeking through the narrow slats...
Suddenly a high-pitched trilling sound and Pop! her daydream vanished into thin air, and along with it the identity of her black knight.
At the Black Knight's whistle, the Andalusian trotted to its master, nudging his shoulder with his nose. Reynold turned from Thomas, walking along the fence with the horse at his shoulder. When they reached the gate, Reynold opened it wide enough for his massive stallion to go unassisted from the arena into the stable.
Courtney closed her eyes, trying to recapture her vision from a moment ago. If only she could see his face. Even the books she'd collected over the years on the mythical land of Heartsease had no rendition of his face based on legend. If only she could have recaptured her vision, if only for a few more moments, then...
"Impressive, isn't he?"
The voice, faraway and vaguely familiar, broke into her concentration. Even after opening her eyes, Courtney still floated on a cloud of desire.
"Mmmm,” It felt as if she were in one of her dreams, watching her knight walking away on a pair of long, powerful legs. What I wouldn't give to feel the strength of them wrapped around me, holding me tight against his body with intense power. To feel his lips on my...
"A man like him must have a betrothed, or at least a woman at every faire, wouldn't you think?"
The devouring feeling of desire vanished with recognition that it was Issie speaking. The sensual warmth touching Courtney skittered away as she experienced the unfeeling coldness in the woman's voice. “What have I done to deserve you hovering endlessly around me, Issie? Ever since Reynold Loddington showed up, I can't turn around without you lurking near me in one place or another."
"Like it or not, there's a strong connection between the two of you.” Issie stood in front of Courtney, blocking what little remained of the backside of Reynold from her sight. “And I, for one, don't like it. Never have and never will."
Courtney took a step backwards, wanting to put a bit more distance between herself and the evil woman in front of her. She could feel it deep in her soul, the woman held an aura of wickedness about her ... all black and murky.
Courtney's movement from Issie for protection of some sort did no good. Issie didn't physically move, but Courtney could sense the woman's menace seeping around her until it felt as if she'd crawled right into her body, coaxing Courtney to wilt under her icy touch. A cloak of malevolence enveloped her as something wicked tried to take a grip on her soul. Her heart thumped harder, fighting, flooding her blood with a heat chasing the frosty touch of evil from her core.
Courtney drew on her renewed strength, until a white light of protection surrounded her being. She didn't believe in magic or why the light was there, but it had chased Issie's darkness from her being; for that she was thankful.
"Careful Issie, I hear the water in these parts can melt even the likes of you."
* * * *
Thomas walked up the incline, muttering under his breath. “Something's got to be done about those two."
He'd been watching the two women and their body language was anything but pleasant. Even a blind man could see the thin line of hatred barely separating them. He wasn't sure which one would draw first blood, but he had a feeling Issie wouldn't hesitate in a heartbeat. She was that kind of woman—she knew what she wanted and went after it until it was hers; or destroyed it without guilt.
"Did someone ask for a drink of water?” Thomas lifted a full ladle from the bucket he'd grabbed, hanging from a water spigot near one of the concession stands. “Might be the only time today you'll get one as fresh or as cold."
Issie whipped around, knocking the offering from his hand. “Some other time, Thomas,” she retorted with words that hissed, then stomped away, her skirts swishing in the dewy grass.
Thomas called out to the retreating figure as he brushed droplets of water from his tunic, “You really need to be careful, Issie. Water might be a precious commodity one day. It shouldn't be wasted so callously."
Courtney's hand fell lightly on his arm. “Thomas, she's baiting you."
"Yeah, I know.” Thomas took her hand from his arm, squeezing it lightly. Even while he was smiling to ease the worry from her eyes, he knew there was an emotional storm on the horizon. Not knowing why or how, he couldn't help but feel he'd be drawn into the middle of it whether he wanted to be or not.
Maybe it was the sudden change in the direction of the wind that carried the warning, stirring in his heart.
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Chapter 7
The trumpets’ fanfare blared, announcing the gates to the faire would be opened soon. Re-enactors hustled to get into their positions before the first visitors of the day were beginning to arrive outside the gates. Shopkeepers opened their doors, and the faire's street merchants busied themselves on the grounds making last-minute preparations—all getting ready for a step back into another time.
Taking Courtney by the arm, Thomas led her up the incline to her shop. “What is it with you and Issie, Courtney?"
Courtney sighed deeply, and Thomas wished he could chase away the concern on her face. Her stormy relationship with Issie troubled him as much as it did her, most likely more. Courtney was a woman everyone liked and called friend ... everyone that is, except Issie Cummings.
"I wish I knew, Thomas. The woman has a way of getting under my skin and I hate it. The more I try to resist, the deeper she gets to me."
Thomas shook his head, then slipped into the tongue of Heartsease. “Thy words art true m'Lady. But take heed, I fear thee hath found an enemy close to thee and one which I fear will not disappear so easily."
Courtney nodded. “Thee speaks the truth, Sir Thomas. I shall heed thy warning and pray that no evil comes this day. Fare-thee-well, Sir Thomas."
"Fare-thee-well, Lady Courtney.” Thomas nodded his approval and left Lady Courtney to ready her dress shop for the peasants about to enter their kingdom.
Smiling to himself, he still found it amazing how he could so easily slip from the language of one time period to another with the ease of breathing air. Many of the re-enactors listened to speech CDs, studying the language day and night weeks before opening-day ceremonies, while for Thomas it came effortlessly. As if he were born into it rather than assuming the mantle centuries later in a different world, literally.
During these past few years at Bristol it had been as if his family's incredibly insane stories about Heartsease were true. For him, he felt like Peter Pan—this was Never Never Land—a place where all things were possible, and he never had to grow up. At least not until the end of the season, that is.
That's when the reality of the modern world set in. It was a world he wished could change back to medieval times, where life may have been harsher but a lot simpler. That's why he'd become part of the Bristol family—it was his way of living in the world he wanted for a few months of each summer.
"The time has come,” was all his grandfather had to say when Thomas told him that first year he'd be spending most of the summer playing medieval make-believe. It was then that Grandpa Will dragged him up into the attic, and pulled out the tattered journal he'd kept hidden in the floorboards. “Your destiny lies within these pages, boy.” His eyes sparkling, Grandpa Will handed him the fragile leather journal. His fingers had tingled as he'd touched the worn leather and a shiver soared through him touching his soul.
He'd all but for
gotten about the book until Reynold showed up with his wild tale of Heartsease being an actual place in time. Even now, Reynold ‘s words rang through his head: “Thy memory shall return, then thee will know I speak the truth."
* * * *
"Thomas! Can thee tell me what ‘tis the reason for the trumpeters?” Reynold shouted his inquiry as he jogged up the path. “Is Heartsease under siege?"
"Attacked? Heavens no, Sir Reynold. The gates are about to open so that the peasants of this land may come inside.” Thomas walked past Reynold without stopping.
Catching up to Thomas, his sword drawn and ready to defend his queen, Reynold looked back toward the gates. “The Queen, she is not in danger?"
"Not hardly, Sir Reynold. Sheath thy weapon, and come with me. There is much to do before the last joust of the day.” Thomas started down the path toward the stable.
Following Thomas, Reynold tried to sort out the confusion flooding him. The more he struggled to understand this strange time, the more uncertainty gripped the edges of his mind.
I understand not this world I'm in. The trumpets blare with warning and nothing seems amiss. The people walk about in barely any clothing. And no one knows who I am. Everything's amiss here, and everyone.
Reynold slid his sword into its sheath, but didn't take his hand from its hilt. If there was treachery within the walls of Heartsease, he'd be the first to cut it down. His oath to serve and protect carried on into this new land, even if Thomas insisted there was no need.
"Do you know the routine, Reynold?” Thomas asked, reaching the stable gates.
"I know not what thee speak of, Thomas. What is ruuteen?” Reynold reached into a bucket of apples, grabbing one for Abraxas.
"Oh boy.” Thomas looked upward to the hayloft, then turned to face Reynold. “There'll be three jousts today. The first will be a joust of skill, which goes to the Black Knight, the second joust of champions I'll win, the third and final joust will put you and me against each other by order of Queen Victoria to break the tie of the first and second round of competition. This changes each day, giving each of the knights a turn at becoming Queen Victoria's champion."
Reynold nodded his head, putting a brush to the back of his horse. “It shall all end one day soon; we shall part without a word to one another."
"Not quite, Reynold. This act will take place every weekend for the next few weeks. It's a performance that we put on for the customers.” Thomas grabbed his own grooming supplies and then stepped into his horse's stall. “In between jousts we'll walk the grounds, greet our fellow actors and talk with the folks who've come to see us. You may even be asked to have your picture taken with someone, especially the ladies. They love the idea of a knight in shining armor at their side. A little something for them to show off to their friends in the office on Monday morning. They might even fantasize about what it would be like to have a knight of their own in their bed."
"Fantasize?” Reynold stopped brushing Abraxas, looking to Thomas for yet another explanation of a word he didn't understand.
Thomas laughed like a little boy. “They may dream about having ... ah ... a physical relationship with a knight. It's that whole little girl looking for her knight in shining armor. There aren't many out there, so they come here to make their night dreams more real."
"Thou speaks as if these maidens are wenches, Thomas. It would not surprise me if a lord or two came looking for thee.” Reynold released the hoof he'd been picking. “If thou spoke of my daughter or sister in such a way, I would not hesitate to skin thee alive."
Thomas laughed. “You'll see what I mean before the end of the day, Reynold."
"I darn hope not.” Grabbing his bridle, Reynold looked out the stable door. There were a few small groups of people sitting and watching as the Queen's falconer displayed his birds of prey, explaining to them how each of the birds had a purpose. There were female screeches as a peregrine falcon flew into the stands, perching itself at the top of a pole just under the net covering, shielding out the sun's rays.
These people were indeed strange. Reynold didn't believe the audience held any real respect for the falconer or his birds. They were there only to tell a tale of what they'd seen today—he was sure they didn't fully understand the impact these birds had on a falconer's survival ... nor that of his hunting companions. Reynold turned away, his heart sitting heavy in his chest.
"I shall champion Queen Victoria?” Reynold slung the bridle over this shoulder, than began digging through the colors of material until he found his black and yellow caparison representing Heartsease. He may be one of Queen Isabel's knights, but he'd never champion her unless her life was in danger. Then, and only then, would it be his duty to do so.
Yet, that would never happen. The queen here was Queen Victoria, not Queen Isabel. He prayed Victoria treated her subjects with love and understanding, not with contempt as Isabel had.
Thomas swung his replica medieval war saddle onto his horse's back. “Being the Black Knight, you'll always start out as her favorite ... up until the last joust of the day. That's when—"
"I deny her advances and take up the lace and purple-ribboned offering of the Queen's dressmaker."
Abraxas nickered with excitement. Reynold slid the bard over Abraxas’ rump, then gently placed the wooden arcon war saddle upon his horse's back. As always, Abraxas danced with anticipation. “Not long, my friend, not long,” he whispered into one of the horse's cocked ears.
"I thought you didn't know the routine, Reynold. You're jumping the gun by a mere few weeks though.” Thomas tightened the cinch on his saddle, then dropped a stirrup into place. “The offering from Lady Courtney will happen at the last joust of the season. Then the performance changes a little with—"
"Abraxas is ready today; he's been in this stall much too long.” Reynold placed the curb bit in the horse's mouth and slid the headstall over his massive head. “Aye, I know what to do, Thomas. I have done the feat before, with a much different outcome I can assure thee."
"Let's go then.” Thomas led his gray gelding down the aisle, reins held loosely in his hand.
"Thomas, thou will need thy armor.” Reynold began to buckle his breastplate into place.
"Not at this faire, Reynold. The first rounds of competition here are a carousel of horsemanship,” Thomas called out over his shoulder.
"Horsemanship? Come Abraxas, thou must show them how a real joust is performed."
Shaking his head, Reynold followed behind Thomas, fear gripping his heart. If things went as before, what time would he find himself in at the end of the day? Would he be returned to his beloved Catherine or left to endure more of Isabel's black magic in this strange world?
* * * *
Reynold reached the gates of the list to find it lacking a tilt. How could there be a proper joust without a tilt to separate them from one other? The lack of the tilt could cause opposing horses to run into each other. Have these knights no love for their mounts? He must find out more about this carousel Thomas spoke of; maybe there'd be an explanation for the missing tilt found in his words.
"Thomas, what is this carousel of which thee speaks?” Reynold mounted Abraxas with one swift swoop. Even though the horse stood sixteen hands, his height matched it perfectly.
"The carousel is a match of skills. Generally, the lances aren't used to knock an opponent from his horse or to hurt anyone. There's no reason for a tilt until the end of the day at the final joust when lances will come more into play.” Thomas swung his leg over the cantle, sitting lightly in the saddle. “Think of it as a game, Reynold."
"A game for children, not knights.” Reynold patted his anxious horse on the neck, feeling the horse's muscles tighten under him with anticipation, mixing with his own. He was more than ready to get on with the day's events. Maybe if Issie—he still found it hard to think of his former queen as ‘Issie’ and not ‘Isabel'—was in attendance she'd work her black magic and send him back where he belonged, instead of in this unfamiliar mirrore
d image of his home.
"Just follow my lead, Reynold.” Thomas spurred his horse into the list, leaving Reynold trying to figure out what was about to happen. He was a great horseman and had won many tournaments, yet without a tilt Abraxas could come to harm by a misaimed lance. He'd have to take care.
He leaned forward, whispering into Abraxas’ ear. “A game made for children; what have we been reduced to, old friend?"
"Blaaaack Kniiiiight!"
A slight squeeze of the knees was all the encouragement Abraxas needed. Horse and rider charged into the list straight away, not giving a second thought to the crowd and the cheers around them.
Reynold smiled under his arnet, the feel of his horse moving under him bringing a smile to his face. He missed the feel of Abraxas’ movements; he'd not wait so long before he felt the movement again.
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Chapter 8
Courtney took her place near the seats set aside for the Queen Victoria's court at the list. The third and final joust of the day was about to take place, and from what she'd heard, the previous two had been spectacular. The people who'd visited her shop couldn't stop talking about the Black Knight and Sir Thomas going against each other with the ease of true knights. Every woman who had come in giggled and talked about their favorite knight in shining armor. There'd been one knight talked about the most in every corner of her shop—she couldn't get away from the suggestive remarks without leaving the building itself.
The Black Knight had invaded her sanctuary without invitation and, for whatever reason, it made her uncomfortable in a sexual sort of way. Disgust and jealousy raced through her as her mind replayed the events. What did these women know of knights and their way of life? They couldn't begin to understand the time and training that was put into each event. No, they were more interested in getting one between their legs to ride.
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