Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  The reality of what was happening flooded over her, a wave of dizziness spiraling through her. Were all of these men willing to kill to claim her and her dowry? Was she worth dying for?

  “Jordan?”

  She looked at Evan and saw him staring in alarm at her. She tried to force a smile to her lips, but could not summon even the illusion of calmness. “There are so many men, Evan.”

  Evan grinned at her. “Ha. Don’t be afraid, Jordan. I will be victorious today. There are none on this battlefield I fear. Lord Graves is a great warrior, but I have plans for him. I’ll put him into the ground he is so aptly named after.”

  Suddenly, a trumpet sounded and Jordan turned her head to see her father climbing the stairs of the platform, a group of older men trailing behind him. He came to stand beside her, clasped her hand, and squeezed it briefly, smiling warmly at her before releasing her fingers. Then he turned and his gaze swept the field, taking in the assemblage of battle-ready combatants. A grin of satisfaction touched his lips. “Welcome to the tournament!” he called.

  “Huzzah!” the gathered throng of warriors shouted, dozens of glistening weapons thrusting skyward. “Hail to Lord Ruvane!” filled the field. “Hail to Lady Jordan!”

  The peasants surrounding the field erupted into gleeful shouts. “Huzzah!”

  The crowd of onlookers was massive, as if villeins from every neighboring village had gathered here today.

  Jordan turned back to Evan to wish him luck, but he was gone, already moving into his place among the knights. She looked back to her father.

  Lord Ruvane let the excited cheers fade away, let the crowd calm for a moment, before continuing. “I know the greatest warrior in all of England has come to visit us today. I know he is out there amongst you fine men.”

  Again, the men erupted into excited cheers, all of them claiming to be that man.

  Lord Ruvane turned to face Jordan, taking her hand into his. She grinned nervously at him and he smiled back. “This is how your mother and I met, Jordan. This is how our love began. This is where fate led us to bringing you into the world. You know you are my greatest joy. I only want a lifetime of happiness for you.”

  “I know, Father,” Jordan said softly.

  “Don’t be afraid, child,” he reassured her. “Today will be magical. Today will be a day you will treasure for the rest of your life, as I treasure the day your mother came into my life.”

  Jordan nodded softly to her father.

  Lord Ruvane released her hand again and turned to face the crowd of fighters anxiously awaiting the signal to begin. He nodded to Jordan.

  Jordan hesitated, but only for a mere moment, suddenly wishing she could be with the children... or anywhere else. But the day was here and there was no turning back now, no way to deny what fate had in store for her.

  She lifted a yellow cloth high in the air.

  Beside her, the noblewoman gasped in anticipation. The sound of swords being drawn echoed through the field. Horses whinnied, their hooves clawing at the dirt. Men gripped their weapons tightly, shifted their shields, preparing to do battle.

  And then there was utter stillness. Even the mutterings of the gathered crowd dwindled into whispers, then faded into complete silence.

  For the first time, Jordan saw a knight she hadn’t noticed before. He was clad in black armor from head to foot and rode a magnificent black stallion. He clutched a mighty blade in one hand, an unadorned black shield in the other. His face was hidden beneath his black visor, but even from this distance Jordan could feel his gaze boring into her. A tingle of foreboding shot up her spine.

  “Jordan,” her father whispered to her, pulling her thoughts away from the mysterious dark knight.

  Jordan dropped the cloth, and the yard exploded with action as the two sides rushed at each other with a loud war cry that threatened to break open the sky and bring a crash of lightning to the meadow. The wooden platform rumbled and shook beneath Jordan’s feet as the armor-clad men raced to meet their opponents. The charges ended in an explosion of metal against metal as swords clashed and rising shields met striking axes.

  Jordan couldn’t help the feeling of dread snaking through her body as the warriors battled. But even with her misgivings, the battle was tremendous and exciting to watch. All around her, the nobles screamed and yelled. The villeins standing around the fenced-off field cheered on their favorites, cursing as a favored knight fell but then quickly choosing another to encourage with shouts of support.

  In the first minutes, many men fell and disappeared into the sea of armor. Jordan scanned the field for Evan, looking for the black dragon of the Vaughn crest amidst all the other family crests. A knight with a purple plume on his helmet crossed swords with a knight who had a large dent in his. A man with no armor and blood running over a large gash in his head was being helped from the field. Her gaze swept past them.

  It stopped cold as she found the black-armored knight feverishly wielding his sword. The metal blade glinted hotly in the sunlight, striking down man after man. He was relentless in his attacks. Was he the Lord Graves whom Evan had mentioned? She didn’t know for sure. All she was certain of was that he was a magnificent fighter, his every strike efficient and deadly accurate.

  Jordan forced her gaze past him to the other end of the field, continuing her search for Evan. But she couldn’t see him. For a moment, panic welled within her, taking her breath. Had he been unhorsed already? What if he had been defeated? What if he had been hurt?

  “Look at him fight,” the noblewoman beside her said.

  Jordan pulled herself out of her growing panic. “Who?”

  “Sir Evan.” The woman pointed across the field.

  Jordan followed her direction. It took only a moment to find Evan in his silver plate mail, slashing down every opponent he came into contact with. Relief surged through Jordan.

  “He is a very competent fighter,” the woman said.

  Jordan nodded her head, keeping her gaze on Evan, as if her will alone would help him win the battle.

  By midday, over half of the men had been beaten and taken from the field. One man had been seriously injured when an ax-wielding opponent had sliced through his armor. Another had a crippling sword cut on the back of his thigh. Seven had been knocked unconscious.

  Four had been killed.

  Now the field was emptier, but the fighting continued.

  Jordan’s nerves were clenched so tight she could not sit down. Her shoulders ached from the tension surging across them. She was clutching her skirts so hard her hands ached and her knuckles turned white. She was so worried for Evan. His thrusts and swings were not as hard nor as precise. He was tiring. But he was still one of the few men left on horseback.

  Another man dressed in bronze armor drew Jordan’s gaze. He fought valiantly on the ground, disarming opponents with masterful strikes. He had lost his helm in the battle and his face was smeared with grime and dirt. Evan made his way toward the man, striking down one opponent as he spurred his horse forward. The bronze-armored man turned as he heard Evan’s charge. He raised his weapon to block the strike, but Evan’s blow was mighty, the speed of the horse adding extra power to his swing. Evan’s blade smashed his opponent’s sword back, sending the man’s own blade into his neck. He fell hard to the ground, blood spurting from his fatal wound.

  Shock flared through Jordan. The move was horribly brutal, as well as unchivalrous. It was dishonorable for a knight on horseback to strike a man on the ground in a tournament.

  Around the field, many onlookers hissed and booed at Evan, expressing their disapproval.

  “That was cowardly,” the noblewoman muttered. She looked away from Evan, finding another knight to give favor to.

  Evan swung his horse around, looking for another man, but the field was nearly empty, the tournament almost at an end. His gaze came to the last remaining rival on the field.

  Jordan followed his gaze to find a man sitting on his horse at the opposite end of the fi
eld. It was the black-armored knight, the man with no tunic, no crest of allegiance to indicate who he was or where he had come from. He sat strangely still in his saddle. Then he dismounted and swatted his horse’s flank, sending it running to safety.

  Jordan frowned.

  “Take the challenge, Vaughn!” someone shouted nearby.

  “Fight him with honor!” another voice cried.

  Evan’s horse pranced nervously as Evan surveyed this final adversary. He turned to look at Jordan. Would he attack the black knight from horseback? Jordan found herself scowling fiercely, displeasure evident in her slanted eyebrows.

  And then Evan dismounted, sending his animal galloping away. He stepped forward, raising his sword as he moved.

  After a brief second, the black knight charged forward. He lifted his sword high in the air to meet Evan. The metal clanged loudly, sparks flying from their striking weapons with the force of their attack. Again and again their swords met, each blow quick and powerful. Both men appeared to have suddenly been re-energized by this final confrontation, their strength surging back into their bodies.

  Who was he? Jordan wondered as the black knight deflected all of Evan’s attacks. He stood bravely against Evan, matching him skill for skill. Why did he wear no crest? Jordan’s heart pounded and her hands played nervously with her necklace. This black knight was the best Evan had come up against.

  The black knight raised his weapon and brought it quickly around to the side, hitting Evan in the arm. The plate mail deflected the blow, but Evan teetered for a moment. Then he slipped and went down on one knee.

  Jordan gasped. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Evan recovered quickly and rose to his feet again to meet his opponent’s swing.

  Her father exhaled in relief, too. She glanced at him to find him nodding his head, as if he were looking at a son to find him exactly what he expected.

  The black knight pursued Evan relentlessly.

  Evan turned on the knight, ramming his sword against his plate armor. But it bounced harmlessly off. Evan brought his sword around again, smashing the black knight’s helm. The black knight appeared dazed and stumbled back.

  For a moment, Jordan thought it was over. Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

  Evan lifted his weapon high for the final attack.

  Suddenly, the black knight came to life, shoving his gauntleted hand into Evan’s chest. Evan tumbled backward and hit the ground in a cloud of dust, his sword flying away from him.

  Jordan’s mouth dropped open as the black knight moved to Evan, lifting his sword high in the air, meaning to plunge it deep into Evan.

  “No!” Jordan shouted, taking the first step down the platform.

  The black knight halted at her call and glanced up at her.

  Jordan saw searing blue eyes gaze at her for a long moment from beneath his black visor.

  Evan struggled to twist and turn to find his weapon, but the weight of his armor kept him pinned to the ground. The black knight turned back to Evan.

  “No!” Jordan cried out again. He was going to kill Evan. Instinctively, she lifted her skirt, pulling the dagger from its scabbard and flung it across the field. It flew fast and straight, lodging into the gap at the underside of the knight’s left arm.

  He staggered back from Evan, lowering his sword, holding his wounded arm.

  “Jordan,” her father chastised angrily.

  Horrified, Jordan watched as her dagger did little to stop the black knight. He gripped his sword in two hands and moved toward Evan again.

  With a wave from her father, four men rushed onto the field to restrain the black knight, pulling him away from Evan.

  Jordan jerked forward to move to Evan’s side. But her father grabbed her arm, restraining her.

  “Come forward, black knight,” her father said.

  Jordan struggled for a moment, then turned to her father in shock. That’s when the realization hit her. This man, this black knight, had beaten Evan!

  The black knight shrugged himself free of the men holding him and stepped toward the viewing platform, holding his left arm.

  Jordan turned to him. Complete dread washed through her, immobilizing her.

  “Well done, sir,” her father called out in greeting. “You have done well this day.”

  The black knight halted directly before the platform. Behind him, the four men finished helping Evan to his feet. He ripped off his helmet, hollering, “Unmask, sir, so I can see who beat the best fighter in all of England!”

  “Yes,” Lord Ruvane agreed. “Remove your helm so we may welcome you into our family.”

  No! Jordan thought, her insides twisting, fear taking her voice. This can’t be!

  For a long moment, the black knight did not move.

  Silence blanketed the entire field.

  “Remove your helm,” Lord Ruvane insisted.

  A grumbling grew and spread amongst the spectators. The crowd surged forward, edging closer to the platform to see the winner.

  The black knight sheathed his sword and then reached up with his right hand to pull the helm from his head. As he lowered it away from him, his face slowly emerged into view. Wet hair, dark as coal; blue sapphire eyes, hard as rock; an aquiline nose; lips thin and set in defiance; and a strong, square chin.

  Jordan knew him immediately. She gasped in shock. “Fox.”

  His intense gaze swiveled to her, pinning her to her spot.

  His name was echoed around the platform and fence by everyone who had gathered, but no voice echoed louder than Evan’s. “The Black Fox!” he raged.

  “I have won Lady Jordan’s hand fairly.” Fox’s voice, thick with bitterness, rose above the outburst.

  Evan marched up to him. “Have you lost your mind, Mercer?” Evan proclaimed. “You can’t have her.”

  “Do you really think I would allow my daughter to marry an outlaw?” Lord Ruvane asked Fox in disbelief.

  “Guards!” Evan called, stepping toward Fox and placing the tip of his weapon at Fox’s throat. “You are under arrest, Fox Mercer.”

  Men in chainmail and tunics bearing the Ruvane crest rushed onto the field, surrounding the black knight.

  Fox stood his ground, not even trying to escape. His gaze swiveled to Jordan again. Accusation burned in his eyes.

  Her shock faded, quickly replaced by anger. He should be imprisoned! He should be locked away forever for stealing the herbs that would have saved Maggie’s life. She lifted her chin slightly and narrowed her gaze. What did he have to accuse her of? “Take this murderer to the dungeon,” she spat.

  The murmuring rose again.

  “I declare Sir Evan the winner of the tournament and of my daughter’s hand in marriage,” Lord Ruvane exclaimed.

  But there was no loud cheer from any of the onlookers. Just murmurings of confusion and awe and shock that the Black Fox had been captured.

  “You heard the lady. Take him to the dungeon,” Evan ordered.

  The guards roughly seized hold of Fox’s arms. His black helm fell to the ground, and Evan kicked it aside as the men marched their prisoner toward Castle Ruvane.

  Chapter Eight

  “I can’t believe he would dare to show his face here!” Jordan marched back and forth across the solar, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

  Evan leaned back in his chair and let her rant, a grin on his lips.

  “What could he have hoped to accomplish?”

  “Your hand in marriage,” Evan supplied, graciously.

  “Ha!” Jordan exclaimed in disbelief. “I would not marry him if he were the last man alive!” She drummed her fingers on her lower lip. “He’s a wanted outlaw, a thief, and a killer. But he is not stupid. He knew there was no chance for him to win my hand in marriage. So why come here?”

  “Jordan,” Evan mused, “Fox never was very smart. I never thought so.”

  Jordan turned to look at Evan. “You used to be good friends.”

  “That was a lifetime ago. An
d truthfully, you used to be friends with him. I just tolerated his presence because I thought you liked him.”

  I did like him, Jordan thought, remembering their childhood friendship. I liked him very much. What had happened to the boy she had so admired? What had happened to the young man she had believed herself in love with? What had frozen his heart and turned his soul to ice?

  “What if he came to defeat you?” she mused. “His old friend?”

  Evan stiffened.

  But Jordan continued, not noticing the insult she had delivered. She waved her hand wildly about in the air. “It makes no difference why he came.” She scowled darkly. “The only thing that matters is that because of him, Maggie is dead.”

  Evan slouched slightly in the chair. “Well, we have him now. He will cause us no more misery. He will pay for his crimes, and pay dearly. He’ll be doing no more stealing.”

  “Yes,” Jordan said quietly. But her mind refused to stop thinking about those eyes staring at her from the battlefield. They were not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. They were not the eyes of a man who would take the life of a child to extract some sort of twisted revenge. Then why had he done it? Why had he stolen the herbs? Was it truly to get back at her? And if it was, did that then, in some macabre twist of fate, make Maggie’s death her fault? Guilt churned in her heart, even though she knew she could not realistically blame herself for the little girl’s death.

  Suddenly, the door opened and her father entered like a storm cloud. His fierce scowl warned Jordan of his temper. “Jordan,” he rumbled.

  Jordan knew better than to let her own temper show when he was so enraged. “Yes, Father.”

  He held out a dagger to her. “I believe this is yours.”

  Jordan took the dagger from his hands. She studied it for a moment. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Do not thank me yet, child,” he warned. “Your interference in the tournament was a disgrace.”

  “He was going to kill Evan!” she objected.