Braden smiled. “You might have the right of it. The feast this eve will prove interesting at the very least if Chanse is named champion.”
~*~
Braden watched as Chanse attempted to speak with Lord and Lady Graham at the head table that evening. Mayhap if he didn’t know him so well, he wouldn’t have noticed how much of a struggle the conversation was for his brother.
People normally adored Chanse, but the hosts—along with their daughter—didn’t seem to know what to think of him. He was quite different from the previous champion who’d had little to say unless spoken to.
While on the one hand, watching his brother’s normal charm fall flat was amusing, on the other ’twas frustrating. Progress was elusive here.
There had been a few moments of concern earlier when the competition was well underway. Chanse had prepared to mount his horse for another round of jousting when his steed bucked. Braden didn’t think it simply bad luck that Chanse found a burr under the saddle blanket. Who had placed it there was the question.
Alec had done his best to see if any of the squires knew anything about it. Braden looked forward to hearing if he’d had any success.
Lady Arabela might have been entranced by Chanse while he’d been on the lists, but now that he sat on the other side of her father at the head table, her reaction was the opposite. She only looked at him when spoken to and gave brief answers.
“I think she’s shy,” Ilisa whispered.
“Truly?” Braden asked. “Her behavior earlier didn’t suggest that.”
“Think of how she’s acted at each of the feasts. She’s appeared extremely uncomfortable at them all, regardless of who sat nearby.”
“You may be right.” He shook his head. ’Twas unlikely that the lord was going to share anything of significance with Chanse just because he sat at the head table.
Earlier he and Ilisa had each shared what they’d learned, him from Sir Niall and her from Arabela. He felt as though they had several different parts of an object but couldn’t quite determine how they all fit together.
And if they had details of Graham’s plans, then what? How did they stop him? Would it be enough to simply share what they’d learned with their contact who was close to King Edward or did they need to find a way to stop Graham before they left?
He hoped to discover the answer before the end of the celebration. But the opportunity felt as if it were slipping away since the tournament would end in two days’ time. It seemed impossible that they’d been here nearly a sennight.
While they’d learned far more than he’d hoped when he first conceived this plan, the road ahead was both uncertain and long.
In truth, Braden would count it a victory if they escaped here without further injury or loss, especially after the close call earlier with first Ilisa and then the burr. Anything beyond that was a boon.
Why didn’t it feel as such?
Servants brought in platters of food, sending an appetizing aroma wafting through the hall. The first course included venison pies, black pudding, and stewed chicken, which were displayed for all to see before Alec served them.
At Braden’s raised brow, Alec shook his head, indicating he hadn’t found out anything more about the burr.
The second course included strained peas, smoked eel, and fish. Following that came sugared almonds and mulled wine. The meals thus far had been generous. No one could fault Graham for that.
With the guests satisfied, Lord Graham rose with his goblet held high. “Join me in congratulating the jousting champion, Sir Chanse de Grasse.”
“Here. Here,” the guests joined in.
Rather than simply lifting his cup to accept the toast, Chanse rose.
“Oh, dear,” Ilisa murmured as Braden shifted on his seat.
Braden could only hope his brother behaved and acted with caution.
“My thanks to Lord and Lady Graham for hosting this wonderful celebration,” Chanse began. “And to their lovely daughter, Lady Arabela, for gracing us with her presence. I wish you many happy years.” He raised his cup, his gaze holding Arabela’s as color flooded her cheeks.
“Slàinte!” the guests cheered, raising their cups as well.
Arabela appeared taken aback. Whether due to Chanse’s good wishes or to the attention she was receiving Braden didn’t know. She looked to her father as though hoping he would direct how she should react, but Graham watched Chanse as if he was wondering what more he intended to say.
Then the moment was gone, and the attention of those Braden watched was drawn elsewhere.
He couldn’t help but notice how often Monroe watched Ilisa. Was he still puzzled by her quick recovery or was something else afoot?
“Why is Monroe staring at you so often?” Ilisa asked.
Braden frowned. “He’s watching you.”
“I thought so at first as well, but I believe he’s watching you.”
As Braden looked at the steward once again, the man quickly looked away. Unease crept up Braden’s spine. Surely he didn’t suspect Braden of healing Ilisa or know his true identity.
Neither thought was comforting.
At last, Chanse came to sit with them. “Did you see anything of interest this evening?”
“Very little. You?”
“I would venture to say the Earl of Rothton and Sir Niall do not care for one another.”
Braden smiled. “That does not come as a surprise.” Now that he knew they were on opposite sides of the issue, he was confused as to why Sir Niall had been invited to the celebration. “What else?”
“Lady Arabela is a puppet for her father,” he whispered.
“What do you expect her to do?” Ilisa asked, and Braden could hear the temper in her voice. “She’s a woman. She’ll go from doing as her father says to doing what her husband requests.”
Chanse’s lips twisted at her remark. “She obviously has a difference of opinion with him on several topics. But she makes no effort to share them other than giving her father a glare or two.”
“I hardly think that’s unusual,” Ilisa protested.
“I agree with my wife,” Braden said. “A woman in her position has little say in her life, especially with a father like Graham.”
“I still believe she is the key. If only we could find a way to use her.” Chanse glanced about to make certain no one could hear him.
“Are you mad?” Ilisa looked both shocked and appalled. “Use her in what way?”
“I don’t know yet, but with luck, I’ll think of something.”
Braden’s thoughts raced, wondering if such a thing was possible. He didn’t know what his brother had in mind, but if they wanted to either stop or delay Graham’s plans, action would soon be required. Luckily, they needed to wait until the end of the celebration. That gave them a little more time to determine what would be the most effective way to keep Graham and the Sentinels from causing chaos in Scotland and bringing King Edward’s wrath upon the innocent people who lived here.
~*~
Ilisa snuggled under the covers on the bed, wondering when—or if—Braden would join her. Something had changed since their intimacy this morn. She could feel it.
Did he regret what they’d shared? ’Twas the only answer that made sense to her but the one she hated the most. Life was too short for regrets.
Chanse had escorted her to the tent and waited outside for Braden’s return. Her husband had stayed in the great hall, visiting with some of the other men who weren’t yet ready to retire for the night.
She was so tired, a result of her healing body she supposed. If only she knew who’d pushed her, perhaps she wouldn’t have this terrible sense of fragility, as though she might shatter if something else happened.
She needed to dig deep to regain her strength, her independence. Standing on her own, without Braden’s assistance, was vital to her peace of mind. Choosing to be with him merely because she felt vulnerable was no choice at all. Once she regained her balance, then she’d know
what to do.
Saying as much didn’t dampen her longing for Braden or for what could be. If onlys filled her mind.
If only...their marriage was real.
If only...he wanted her in truth.
If only...he loved her with his whole heart.
But if she’d learned anything over these past difficult years, it was that longing for people or things that couldn’t be took her nowhere and only led to heartache.
Was that what this was? Something that couldn’t be?
Eyes drifting closed, she rubbed her hand over her already aching heart.
Chapter Twenty-One
Being married was killing him. Braden ran a hand over his face as he lay in bed early the next morn. Slowly. One moment at a time. A timid smile. A quiet look. A gentle touch.
Ilisa was going to be the death of him, he had no doubt. She was twisting him in knots without even trying. He’d delayed going to bed until he knew she’d be asleep, but it had done little good.
Damn the straw mattress that dipped in the middle, pressing them together no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance. How could he sleep when he feared he’d wake with her in his arms once again, unable to resist making her his in the fullest sense of the word?
Giving up on sleep, he carefully rose from the bed, his gaze lingering on Ilisa. So beautiful, especially in sleep, with no worry marring her brow. Long lashes brushed her cheeks, her rosy lips parted, and soft hair loosely plaited along her shoulder.
The desire that had simmered inside him since he’d retired for the night flared brightly, causing him to close his eyes and turn away before he did something they might both regret.
Or would they?
He ignored that voice, the same one that insisted she was his wife and therefore his for the taking. She might have said the vows, but she hadn’t meant them. He had no right to take more from her until they were far from this place and decisions could be made with a calm and rational mind.
He had some decisions of his own to make as well. Not surprisingly, his mind shied away from such deep thoughts. ’Twas far too early to ponder those things.
He stepped out of the tent, stretching to ease the knots in his back and shoulders from the lumpy mattress.
“Good morn, Sir Hugh.” Alec’s whispered greeting had Braden turning in surprise.
“You’re awake early this morn.”
Alec glanced about. “I needed to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“Oh? Let us step away from the tent as my wife still sleeps.” Though he didn’t see anyone who might overhear, he preferred to take care not to refer to Ilisa as Alec’s sister.
Alec followed him a short distance away from the tents in the outer bailey but still in view of where Ilisa slept.
“What is it?”
“Some of the squires were talking last eve before they fell asleep. I was in one of the stalls, so I don’t think they realized I was there. Two of them mentioned how the melee will be interesting to watch and how Sir Chanse might very well find himself on the losing end of it.”
Braden muttered a curse. He’d known nothing good could come of Chanse’s winning the joust. They should’ve taken the burr under his saddle as a warning. “Did they say anything more?”
“Nothing specific. I couldn’t tell who was speaking except one. Sir Gideon’s squire has an odd accent. His voice was recognizable but not the other.”
“Well done, Alec. Though I doubt I can convince Chanse to withdraw, I can at least warn him to watch his back.”
“Do you think that will be enough?”
“’Twill have to be.” He had great faith in Chanse’s abilities but would feel better if he could protect his brother himself.
Mayhap he could somehow convince Sir Matthew to remain watchful as he was charged with making certain everyone fought fairly. Though he didn’t trust the knight and still wondered if he’d been the one to push Ilisa from the stairs, he’d be hard-pressed to ignore Braden’s request.
“They said something else.”
Braden narrowed his eyes, certain he wasn’t going to like this.
“Sir Gideon is going to do all he can to convince you to join in the melee.”
That didn’t come as a complete surprise as Gideon had already ribbed him for not participating. Jousting had been out of the question, for his shoulder was far from full strength. He’d done it no good by running the quintain to demonstrate to Alec how to couch the lance.
The idea of joining the melee held no appeal other than providing him a way to make certain nothing happened to Chanse. That he appreciated.
“Well done, Alec.” He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have been incredibly helpful this entire journey.”
A small smile tilted his mouth. “I’ve learned much.”
“Indeed, you have, and I’m proud of you.”
Alec dipped his head, obviously pleased but embarrassed at the praise.
The rest of the morn passed quickly. He and Ilisa wandered about the outer bailey, conversing with the other guests and walking through the temporary market square created by merchants who peddled their wares. Everyone was in high spirits. This evening’s feast would be the largest of all and would include musicians and entertainers as well as dancing.
He left Ilisa in Alec’s company for a time as he preferred not to leave her alone. Matthew stood near the lists where the melee would soon be held.
“This promises to be quite an event,” Matthew said by way of greeting. “Many are betting on your cousin.”
Braden spotted Chanse sparring with another knight, a good way to warm up as well as allay any nerves. “I’d place my money on him as well.”
He debated how much to tell Matthew and whether he could trust the man as Ilisa seemed to think. Wasn’t it time he trusted her instincts rather than give lip service to them? “Might I ask a favor?”
“Of course.” Matthew held his gaze. No shadows lurked in his eyes. Surely that was a good sign.
“I’ve heard rumors that some intend to band together to harm Chanse. While that’s to be expected in a melee, I would prefer not to see my cousin seriously injured in the process.”
Matthew frowned. “Such false alliances are for less honorable competitions than ours. Have no worries. I have a trick or two up my sleeve to make certain no one can gain favor by making such agreements.”
“My thanks. I’ll warn Chanse to watch his back but doing so can be difficult in such a confusing setting.”
Matthew glanced over Braden’s shoulder. “I do believe Sir Gideon would like a word with you.”
Braden hesitated only a moment. He’d have to hope his shoulder withstood the action. “Is there still time for me to join in the fray? I know I cannot win since this is the only competition I participated in, but I would appreciate the opportunity.”
“Of course.” Matthew nodded, his smile growing broader. “That will make an even more enjoyable competition for the guests.”
Mayhap Ilisa was right, and Matthew could be trusted. He’d know more once the melee started.
“Sir Hugh!” Gideon’s call had Braden turning to face the man.
“Good day, my lord.” Braden made his expression as pleasant as he could, but he’d come to realize Gideon was as annoying as his wife. Ilisa had been right from the start.
“Have you come to put your name in as a competitor? Surely, you don’t intend for your cousin to take all the glory.”
“I—”
“Come now,” he continued, his smirk annoying. “All will believe you are fearful if you don’t.”
Anger crept up Braden’s spine, just as Gideon had meant it to. He didn’t think Gideon was the type of man Graham would bring into his confidence, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be used to stir up trouble. Was he to blame for the burr as well? Possibly, but the lord didn’t have the courage to shove Ilisa from the stairs.
“You’re too late, Sir Gideon,” Matthew advised him. “Sir Hugh has
already requested to be part of the melee. I assume that means you’ll be joining as well?”
“Oh. Ah, I... That is to say...”
Braden left Gideon sputtering excuses to Matthew, pleased to have turned the tables on the lord.
As Braden feared, Chanse only grinned at the news of the plot against him. “That will make the competition more enjoyable.”
“As long as it doesn’t get you killed.”
Chanse waved a hand to dismiss Braden’s concern. “You worry more than an old woman.”
“And you worry less than a squire.”
“Mother always said you were born with an old soul.”
“Don’t say that too loudly or you’ll be accused of being something other than a Christian. Our grandfather was a bishop, remember?”
Chanse snorted. “Not a good one.”
“I’m joining the melee to make certain nothing untoward occurs.” Braden waited, wondering how Chanse would respond.
“Excellent.” Chanse slapped him on the back. “I appreciate your concern and your willingness to protect me.”
This time, Braden waved his hand. “Heaven knows you won’t need it but doing so will make me feel better.”
Chanse laughed.
Braden debated whether to tell Ilisa of his intent. Yet if he expected her to advise him before taking action, he needed to provide the same courtesy to her.
“You’re going to what?” she asked, her dismay obvious. “That’s a terrible idea.”
Braden frowned, realizing she’d said that to him more than once. Never mind that she’d been right previously. “Do you have a better way to make certain no harm comes to Chanse?”
“Who’s going to make certain no harm comes to you?”
“I’m not the target.”
“You might be once they find out you’re competing.”
“Alec,” Braden said, giving up on convincing Ilisa for the moment, “don’t leave her alone for even a moment.”
“Nay, sir.”
“Regardless of what she tells you.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’m still standing here,” Ilisa protested. “No need to speak of me as though I can’t hear you.”
A Knight's Temptation (Falling For A Knight Book 2) Page 23
