Paul stood and moved to the window. He looked toward the roar of the crowd.
Jaclyn rose and went to stand behind him. “Two more jousts. One today. One tomorrow. Then it will be over.”
“Why did you do it?” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Why did you take my place in the joust?”
“You asked me.” She looked out the window, remembering that day. A cool breeze swept by her, brushing her skin. “And I was afraid that father would marry you off and you would leave me.” Just like Alexander had left her. Then, with Paul gone, she would be all alone.
Paul looked at her. There was sadness and sympathy in his clear eyes. “I won’t leave you,” he said quietly.
She grinned. But she remembered Alexander vowing the same thing years ago.
The applause of the crowd rose like thunder in the sky. The chants of “D’Sayre! D’Sayre!” filtered through the castle.
“Sounds like D’Sayre has won,” Paul murmured. “Do you think you can win against him?”
Jaclyn narrowed her eyes. “Undoubtably.”
Alexander threw off his helm and looked back at his opponent. Hartley’s armor did not gleam as much when he lay on the ground in the dusty field of honor. Alexander grinned. He immediately turned his gaze to the dais. It was empty.
He rode from the field and handed his helmet to his squire. He looked back over his shoulder at the empty platform. He had time before the next joust to find her. She had wounded him not watching his joust. He had wanted her to see his skill.
He spurred his horse back to the castle.
He dismounted in the courtyard and, in full armor, he entered the keep. He wasn’t angry, he told himself, that Jaclyn had not been there to watch his victory. He was... annoyed. Yes. Annoyed. She should have been there. Watching to see who her husband would be. But her absence spoke volumes. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t going to try to win. Because he was. He didn’t want Jaclyn going to any other man.
He stopped. The sudden realization was quite overwhelming. He had been unprepared for her beauty when he saw her. She was no longer the young girl he remembered kissing. She was now a woman who inspired an entirely different set of longings. He had trailed her through the halls and courtyards of the castle like a pup. And when he had kissed her... God’s blood! It was like opening a flood gate. He could not stop thinking of her. Even the lovely maiden in the kitchens held no interest for him. Only Jaclyn. He had thought of her at night when he lay alone in his bed, which of course should have been a warning to him.
He had deceived himself for far too long. He had run from her years ago because he had nothing to offer her. How could she, lady of Fainsworth, agree to be a tailor’s son’s wife? She couldn’t and he had no intention of asking her. So he had fled. He had run from a boy’s infatuation.
After all this time, he had been certain he was over her. He returned for the purse, for the challenge, for the game. To further his wealth. He sighed and leaned against the wall. I am over her, he told himself firmly. But he knew it was a lie. His instinct was to flee. But he couldn't leave her. Not again.
No. He couldn’t leave. Not now. His gaze slid to the upper rooms. He just wished she would trust him. Like she did in the past. He knew he couldn’t ask it of her, after he had abandoned her in the past. She had to come to him.
But he would give her every opportunity.
He took the stairs two at time, which in the heavy armor was quite a challenge. He knew exactly where she would be. He moved down the hallway to Paul’s room. Laughter came from inside. Alexander recognized Jaclyn’s voice. He paused outside the door. He could catch her now and she would be forced to reveal her secret.
Alexander reached for the handle of the door.
The door opened. Jaclyn stood before him. She met his gaze for a moment, before her chin rose. “Paul’s preparing for the joust. What do you want?”
Alexander knew he had missed his opportunity. But there would be more. She was still angry. “You.”
She grimaced and pushed by him, closing the door behind her. “You must say that to all the women.”
“Only if I think it will work.”
She began walking down the hall. “Then you are sadly mistaken this time.”
“You weren’t on the dais.”
“I don’t want to watch those knights joust. I’m not cheering for them.”
“What about me?”
She stopped and he almost ran into her. She put a hand on her waist and cocked her head at him. “I can’t afford to play games right now. Too much is at stake. Is there something you want?”
He stared at her. She most certainly was taking this seriously. Then, something caught his gaze. “Were you in the stables?”
“What?”
He reached toward her and she lifted her chin. He fumbled in a lock of her dark hair before pulling a piece of straw from it. He displayed it between them, twirling it in his fingers. “A tryst in the stables, love?”
The shock in her eyes vanished, replaced by furrowed brows and anger. She shoved him away from her. “That is what you would think!”
He grabbed her hand, pinning it to his chest plate and pulled her close. “And here I thought we were the only ones to share a kiss.”
“You arrogant --” She fought against him, pushing at his chest to free herself.
“Jaclyn,” he whispered in a soft voice. “Let me help you. Stop fighting me.”
Startled, Jaclyn stilled and lifted her gaze to his.
Lord, she was breathtaking. Those large blue eyes. Her delicate nose. Her soft skin. He lifted a hand to brush an errant strand of dark hair from her chin. He trailed his fingers across her cheek to her ear and down to the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For ever hurting you.”
Her surprise gave way to a gentle scowl. “You never hurt me.”
“Don’t,” he snapped. “I know you. You’ve been angry with me since I arrived.”
She shook her head and dipped her gaze so he could not see her eyes. “No,” she insisted. But her tone lacked conviction.
“Jacie,” he whispered, trying to coax her to look up. When she did, he was startled to see tears glimmering in her eyes.
“I needed you, Alexander. There were times when I could have played the games with you. Times when I wanted to play with you.” She sniffled and blinked. “But I can’t. Not anymore.”
Stunned, he could only stare at the pain in her liquid eyes. “I would have come if you sent for me.”
She grinned sadly. “Then I would have lost.”
He scowled.
She stepped back from him.
He reached for her instinctively, but then lowered his arms.
“I’ve outgrown the games, Alexander. I don’t play them anymore.”
Alexander stood, stunned. Shaken. Had he lost her? When he had never really had her? He opened his mouth and then closed it.
Jaclyn turned to continue down the hallway.
He straightened, watching her. No. He would win the joust. She was wrong. It was still a game. It was all a game. And he planned to win this time. He planned to win it all.
Paul reluctantly handed Jaclyn the helmet. “I could do it.”
Jaclyn placed a gauntleted hand on his cheek. “I know you can. I promise to be done after tomorrow. You can joust to your heart’s content.” She pulled the helmet over her head and closed her visor. She walked to the door. “Stay hidden, Paul. Don’t let anyone see you.”
“I know,” Paul said softly.
She could see that he was irritable by his slouched shoulders. Jaclyn would be happy when it was all over. She walked from the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She moved down the hallway toward the inner ward and the stables.
Two more jousts. This was the last joust of the day for her. For Paul. And after she won, there was only one more joust for them tomorrow. For the victory.
She moved through the large double doors of t
he keep into the inner ward. It was empty. Most of the peasants and merchants were watching the joust.
“Paul!”
She continued walking.
“Paul!”
Paul. She was Paul. She faltered and turned to find Alexander moving toward her. Fear engulfed her and she thought of running for the stables. But that would give her away. So she just stood as he approached. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Through the thin slit, she saw him smile.
“All set, right?”
She nodded.
“You think you can beat Brickenden?”
Another nod. What could she do? She couldn’t speak; he would know she was not Paul. She turned and continued toward the stables, hoping that was all Alexander wanted. She drew herself up taller, even though she and Paul were the same height. She didn’t think she looked like a woman walking with the armor on. It was too heavy and too concealing to see anything womanly.
Alexander took up step beside her. “I know that the Yuletide is approaching and I know how Jaclyn gets at this time of year.”
Truth be told, she had not had time to ponder the time of the year. With her mother and father departed, Paul and she were the only family left. They would celebrate the Yuletide when this was all over. It had always been important to light the Yule log with family.
“But there is something else going on, isn’t there?”
She continued walking, looking down at her feet. She couldn’t answer without giving herself away. Did he know? She clenched her jaw.
“She seems...different.” He chuckled. “More different than the girl I remember. A lot more beautiful.”
Jaclyn stumbled. Could he mean it?
Alexander scowled at her. “Are you drunk, man?”
She shook her head. He had called her beautiful. Why would he say that?
Alexander grabbed her arm to halt her. “Listen, I know that Jacie feels I betrayed her. But you don't, do you? When I left, I had good reason.”
She shrugged.
“I wish I had never left her. But I had to.” He looked at the ground. “There were things I had to take care of.” He looked back up at her. “Since I’ve been back, I've realized what a fool I’ve been. She means everything to me.”
Why was he telling Paul this? Her heart hammered in her chest. Why would he say that?
Alexander chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breath. He cared for her.
Alexander stared hard at her. “Take your helm off so I may speak to you.”
Alexander stared, waiting to see if the Mistletoe Knight would remove her helm. If she would trust him. But the Mistletoe Knight stood before him, unmoving.
Cheers suddenly erupted from outside the castle walls. Alexander glanced over his shoulder toward the commotion and then turned back. She was entering the stables, her helmet still on.
“Paul!” Alexander followed her into the stables, but when he caught up she was mounting her steed. He sighed softly. “We shall talk after your joust. Good luck!”
She nodded and spurred her horse out of the stables.
Alexander watched her go. What would it take for her to trust him again? What would it take for her to confide in him?
The impact jarred Jaclyn as she struck Brickenden clean in the middle of his shield. Her lance splintered under the strike and she tossed the splintered pole aside. She reined her horse in at the opposite side of the field and turned in her saddle. Brickenden leaned over in his saddle, trying to adjust himself. The horse circled. Finally, the knight righted himself.
Jaclyn cantered down the field. Damn. She had hoped that last blow would have knocked Brickenden from his horse. She reached for the lance the boy offered her and then spurred her horse for another pass. She leaned in, holding the lance firmly before her. Brickenden charged toward her. She concentrated on the target, his shoulder. One well-placed blow would spin him from his horse into the dirt.
Just beyond the charging knight, Jaclyn noticed a man with glistening blond hair standing at the fence. He was leaning over the top plank, watching. Alexander. Shivers shot down her body. Concentrate! She adjusted the lance, but it was too late. Her blow hit, but her aim was not true and the lance slid off Brickenden’s armor.
She wasn’t so lucky. His strike hit her shoulder with such force that if she had not been holding on with her legs and her arms, she would have been the one in the dirt. As it was, her fingers clutched the reins tightly. Perhaps too tightly. Her horse reared slightly. She leaned forward to correct her balance. She fought desperately to hold onto the reins, to remain seated.
Instinct guided her horse to the other side of the field. It took a moment to regain control of her pounding heart as well as her horse. She moved the horse in a slow circle for a moment, making sure to calm the animal. It was only when she looked down the field toward Brickenden that she felt the wetness at her shoulder.
Red dripped from beneath her shoulder plate onto the rerebrace, the plate armor covering her upper arm. For a heart beat, she didn’t recognize the liquid. Then pain numbed her arm. She was hurt! She wasn’t sure if it was the blow itself, or if a piece of wood from the lance had struck her arm. But something was terribly wrong.
She couldn’t stop the joust. She couldn’t. She reached with her unhurt hand for the lance. Her entire shoulder was throbbing. She had to finish this now. Brickenden was proving to be a worthy opponent.
Jaclyn spurred her horse and charged down the field. Each pound of her horse’s hooves was like a tremor in the earth, sending spiraling fire through her shoulder. She grimaced, aiming the lance at Brickenden's stomach. Don’t miss. She focused. Can’t miss.
As they closed, she lifted her wounded arm to push his lance aside and struck him square in the stomach, lifting him back and up from his horse. He landed in the dust as she galloped by him.
Jaclyn tossed aside her lance and turned to look at Brickenden. He was rising to his feet amidst scattered applause. The sloppy victory was good enough for Jaclyn. She spurred her horse out of the field. Her arm. It hurt like the devil. She could barely move it. Each step of the horse sent shooting pain through her arm.
Alexander. He had distracted her. No. It wasn’t his fault. She shouldn’t have let him take up her concentration. She rode into the outer ward. It was empty except for an occasional servant. Most had been watching the joust.
She rode into the inner ward and to the keep where she dismounted, handing the reins of the horse to a stable boy.
When her feet hit the ground, the world tilted and a wave of dizziness assailed Jaclyn. It was all she could do to take a step. And then another. She just needed to make it to Paul’s room. Just up the steps. She made it up the two steps and into the hallway where she had to pause and lean heavily against the stone wall. Sweat trickled down her forehead. She wanted desperately to remove the helmet, but knew she couldn’t. She couldn't let anyone know who she really was.
She forced herself forward, using the wall as support. The corridor shifted and she had to rest for a moment.
She suddenly realized someone was speaking. The voice sounded distant and very distorted. Jaclyn turned her head to see one of the servants, a girl of no more than sixteen summers, staring at her with concerned brown eyes. She had been employed by the household since as long as Jaclyn could remember. Lauren. Her name was Lauren. “Help me to my room.” It was a second too late that she remembered to disguise her voice.
Lauren nodded and took hold of her arm, helping her to move through the corridor to the stairway. “I can remove your helm --”
“No!” At least Jaclyn remembered to keep her face covered.
The stairs were agony as she labored up them one at a time. Halfway up, Jaclyn rested for a moment.
“I’ll get a healer,” Lauren offered.
“No.” Jaclyn made her voice deeper. “No. I just need rest.”
“But you’re blee
ding.”
Paul could help her. She shook her head.
Lauren supported her arm and Jaclyn used the wall to help her move up the stairs. Finally, they emerged into the hallway. She took one step and stumbled, going down on one knee.
Lauren helped her to rise as best she could. They continued down the hall to Paul’s room.
Jaclyn closed her eyes as she reached for the handle, a moment of relief slicing through her pain. “Thank you, Lauren. That will be all.”
The servant girl stood unsurely, but finally bobbed a curtsey and moved down the hall.
Jaclyn pushed the door open, entered and closed the door behind her. She sagged against the wooden door, sliding down. “Paul,” she gasped, reaching up to unstrap the helmet. It was difficult with one hand and it took a moment to pull it off. Cool air assailed her sweat-drenched brow. She sighed softly, taking a moment to let the fresh air revive her.
She looked around the room. “Paul?”
But the room was empty. Paul was not there.
D’Sayre stared down the list at Alexander. In full plate armor, he looked a formidable opponent. But Blaise knew he was undisciplined, unfocused and not as determined as he. There was no chance Alexander was better than him.
He reached down and took the lance from his squire, then spurred his horse. Through the slit in his visor, he saw Alexander lower his lance and lean forward. As they closed, Blaise noticed his friend’s new-found concentration. His horse didn’t swerve; his command of the animal was excellent. It wasn’t until the lance struck him in the shoulder in a very unexpected move that he realized he could have misjudged his friend’s abilities.
Agony speared through his arm as he tossed his lance aside and rode by Alexander. Was he grinning beneath that helmet?
Blaise circled and rode back to his squire. He adjusted his gauntlet and then reached down for the lance. He would not underestimate his friend until he was lying in the dust of the field.
Merry Medieval Christmas Page 15
