Hoots and titters sounded from the back of the growing assembly.
“And if that be the case,” Garrett said gleefully, looking intently into the faces of the young ladies upfront, “would the audience agree that he who speaks to a narrator is even more the dressmaker’s dummy?”
Great gales of laughter erupted as the men clapped their hands and the ladies murmured to one another their agreement.
Joe cocked a brow, deciding two could play this game. “The boy is right when he calls this troubadour a fool, for it is well known by many that the only reason this wandering troubadour is here at all is because of a promise.”
Joe raised a hand high and squished his forefinger and thumb together. “A very small, simple promise,” he added before dropping his hands to his sides. “Not a promise declared emphatically, but one whispered in a moment of great weakness.”
“But,” Joe stated loudly before Garrett could say another word, startling a few ladies in front, “a promise all the same. What the narrator tends to forget as he and the troubadour roam from castle to castle to tell their tale, is that the troubadour could find his way much faster without a petulant, irritable narrator forever at his heels...like a shadow, but not quite, because the shadow has no voice and it minds its own business.”
“What the ridiculously garbed goliard does not realize,” Garrett cut in with exaggerated glee, “as he spends most his time arguing with his shadow, is that he is in love. And that, my friends, is the crux of this story.”
Even the King of England seemed to be enjoying himself and all was going smoothly until Joe recognized the paid assassin near the back of the hall. A dark hood shadowed his face, but the cruel scar across his chin along with his bulkiness was hard to miss.
While Garrett introduced Alexandra as a young woman who had grown up in the nunnery, Joe glanced toward Sebastiano, gesturing with his chin toward the hooded figure in the back.
Alexandra came onstage, her face covered by a veil. She sat on a stool that had been left for just that purpose. Joe went to her, his back to the audience.
“What is it?” Alexandra asked in a whisper as Garrett held the audience entranced with his recounting of the troubadour and the nun’s first meeting.
Before Joe could answer her, all was quiet again as the audience waited to hear the rest of the tale. Joe turned to Garrett, thanking him for his most interesting of introductions and then tapped his nose to his finger, a signal they had rehearsed before hand, telling Garrett it was time for him to run off and find his sister, Mary.
When Garrett hesitated in leaving the stage, Joe smiled inwardly at the sparkle in Garrett’s face as he took a bow and then another, the crowd thundering their approval before he made off.
“My lady,” Joe said, kneeling down on bended knee after all had quieted again. “I wish you were not hidden beneath that veil, for then you might see the man who tried to kill your brother.”
“Is he here?” she asked.
Joe breathed a sigh of relief to know she understood. “Aye, he has come and I fear for your life.”
“Do not fret, my love, for as long as you are at my side, I am safe. Besides, I could dare not part until I hear you say that which you feel in your heart.”
This was ridiculous! Joe stood, tugged at her arm, but she wouldn’t budge.
The audience laughed at her stubbornness.
He gazed down at her with a frosty glare, but she wasn’t looking up at him at all. Instead she was admiring his silky hose and whatever else happened to be at eye level. He rolled his eyes and even covered his lower anatomy with his cloak to the delight of the crowd. “Do you mean to tell me that you understand what I’m saying...” He waved toward the audience. “That there is a killer amongst us and yet you care not that you may be in grave danger, but instead only wish to hear me say what? That I love you?”
The women in the audience nearly swooned with romantic delight.
Alexandra lifted her chin defiantly. “How very receptive you are to a woman’s true meaning.”
“For the love of God,” Joe said, fully exasperated. “If I declare such words as you wish to hear, will the fair maiden then seek cover?”
“Of course, but not until said troubadour is back on bended knee as the script calls for.”
Teeth clenched, he fell to his knee with a thunk.
The crowd roared its approval as Joe grabbed her hand and brought it close to his chest. “My heart beats only for you. At night I dream of you—your—er, crimson hair and lips of roses...make that honeyed lips. I love you from your head to your toes.”
A rotund woman with a nose as sharp as an eagle’s beak, stood tall and shouted, “What is this man but a goliard feigning love for a nun when ’Tis clear he could not convince a wench from the Stews that he feels anything but lust as his snug hose dare make clear.”
Sir Joe fixed the woman with a level stare. “Quiet you mangy goat!”
Gasps and murmurs floated through the hall, and the women’s husband touched the hilt of his sword.
Joe threw his arms wide. “What?” he asked innocently. “I said ‘Quite a marvelous coat!’ It’s beautiful.”
There was laughter and a few sighs of relief as the woman and her husband took their seats.
“I am not a goliard from the brothel,” Joe explained to the growing assemblage, “but a scholar of the caliber of John of Salisbury, and I journey from one place to another, not seeking pleasure and excitement, but only knowledge, awareness and understanding. And if I am allowed to finish...” He looked at the obnoxious woman with an arched brow. “I will recount my love for this monastic maiden in a manner more suited to your romantic tastes.”
There were a couple of “oohs“ along with a few “aahs“ and then all was silent as they waited for him to confess his feelings for the woman who sat patiently before him.
Joe spotted Sebastiano in the crowd, in the same spot the hooded man had been only moments ago, but the hooded man had disappeared into the crowd. He could be anywhere.
Turning back to Alexandra, more anxious than before, it took him a moment to remember where he’d left off. But the fervent gaze of anticipation on her face swiftly reminded him.
The audience wasn’t the only one waiting eagerly to hear him make some sort of amorous confession.
The pressure was on.
Swallowing hard, Joe took her hand again, this time noticing its softness, its femininity despite the short nails and years of hard work. Her hand fit nicely into his palm. “I-I do not know where to begin.”
She looked into his eyes and it was clear she wasn’t about to help him out. He’d have to be an idiot not to see that she was taking this whole declaration of love thing quite seriously. No wandering troubadour and monastic maiden here, not in her eyes. This was clearly between Alexandra and Joe. And she wanted the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Damn.
He almost forgot about their audience. That is, until the distant murmuring reminded him that the crowd was growing restless.
“My heart,” he began in a strangled voice, then cleared his throat. “My heart beats faster when you are near.”
His mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Like the hooves of a dozen white horses against my chest.”
She cocked her head to one side, waited.
Such a tolerant, patient woman she was, he mused.
“Sometimes when I look at you unaware,” he continued, warming to the soothing gaze she focused on him, “a hot wave sweeps through me and sets my blood aflame.” He paused. “And in those moments, I...”
The women in the front row leaned forward against the stage to better hear him.
“I-I find myself wishing I could hold you in my arms forever.”
Alexandra smiled coyly.
“But then I remember you are promised to another. You know, from another world, so to speak, and...”
A smile curved her lips.
“I ache. I ache with an inner longing so inten
se that I think I might die if I can’t have you.” And it was the truth, he realized suddenly. He’d spent more than one night aching for her, wanting nothing more than to find her and bring her to his bed, never mind that there were kids coming out of the woodwork. How many times had he wished it was he she was washing when she took Rebecca to the lake for a bath, or that it was he she was comforting in the night when the wolves came too close? He missed having her to himself, and yet he also knew it was best. Because no matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t stay, because if he did, someday he would regret it. He might get used to cold baths and the lack of amenities, but sooner or later his thoughts would return to all that was left unresolved in his own world. And the love he felt for Alexandra would turn to resentment.
But he did love her, didn’t he?
The thought that he might, caused a jolt of alarm within. He’d never known what love might entail. But the realization that he might love her, felt different than anything he ever imagined. It felt okay, almost good. Maybe he did love her. Alexandra loved him. She had told him so. And even if she hadn’t, he had seen the way she looked at him when he was busy with the horses or with the kids. And he saw it now as she gazed candidly at him, regarding him with open fondness.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded.
It was true what they said about “it not being over until the fat lady sings“ because the fat lady stood up again and shouted, “For the love of God, tell her how you feel!”
The crowd clapped their approval and the woman smiled and then bowed before taking her seat again.
Joe did his best to pull himself together. “I confess my love to you now, this moment, my fair lady. And if loving you is a sin, than I am a sinner, for I cannot stop myself from loving you any more than I could stop my heart from beating. And even then...I would never stop loving you.”
All was still.
Alexandra released a faint soft sigh. “I, too, love thee,” she said, “and it is the truest, deepest, most sincere of loves that aids me in making the choice I must make. God, the All-Merciful, would never wish to come between a love such as ours. Thus, I am leaving the nunnery. He would want it so.”
Every man seemed to gasp while most women in attendance released a wistful sigh, making the hairs on the back of Joe’s neck stand on end, for he interpreted Alexandra’s words to mean that he should leave his other life behind and stay with her forever. And she knew better than anyone that he could not stay. Would not stay.
“My lady,” he said, drawing her close so that he could whisper in her ear, “that’s not how the tale ends.”
“Today it ends my way,” she whispered back. “Mayhap on the morrow it will end your way. Now kiss me, and quickly, before the crowd revolts.”
Joe stood, pulling her up with him. And before the audience could grumble further, he leaned low and covered her mouth with his, eagerly finishing the kiss they had begun in the hallway. For one moment, one tranquil moment, he forgot all else but the woman in his arms.
Moments passed before they parted. Joe took a bow as the crowd clapped their approval, cheering wildly for an encore.
Joe spotted Garrett immediately. He was with a young lady who wore a tightly fitted bodice with dipping waistline and fur trim on the sleeves of her dress. Instead of looking like a woman who had spent three weeks in a dungeon, she gave the impression of being nobility—in dress and in manner. She also looked nearly identical to Alexandra. Her eyes weren’t as bright, but her hair...her hair was definitely the same.
Something overcame Joe in that moment when he looked upon Alexandra’s sister, something good and decent, making him feel whole and satisfied. They had done it.
Together, they had crossed the untamed wilderness and rescued her sister, a damsel in distress. But then why, he wondered, was Garrett standing out in the open with her? And why did Alexandra’s sister look so furious?
Joe shifted his attention back to Alexandra. An animated smile lit up her face as she spotted Garrett and Mary.
Gasps from the crowd drew Joe’s attention. Two men were shoving and pushing their way through the masses. The hooded man was making his move, heading straight for King Henry. Sebastiano was just about to close in on the assassin when King Henry’s protectors stopped him in his pursuit, setting their blades to his throat.
The king’s men failed to see what was happening.
Joe didn’t stop to think, he just jumped, leaped off of the stage like a madman and landed smack on top of the killer who managed to break Joe’s fall quite nicely.
Joe and the assassin rolled across the floor, taking an innocent Duke with them, the Duchess screaming as her husband was sucked into the middle of the chaos. People parted like the Red Sea, and then someone managed to pull the Duke to safety. Chairs and benches were broken as they went. Joe felt a scorching pain as he was knocked into a wall, pinned there long enough for them both to catch their breath.
The man’s hood fell back and his vulgar smile revealed a row of discolored teeth, his breath like rotted meat. Before the man broke free, Joe slammed his foot into his gut, pushing him backwards and giving himself enough time to get to his feet.
Joe saw blood on his shirt, but he had no time to worry about whose blood it might be. He staggered slightly before someone at his side helped him keep his balance. It was Garrett. A spasm of horror crossed the boy’s features.
Joe spun around.
The assassin was coming for him, his repulsive face lit with bitter triumph as he held his dagger outward, ready to lunge it into Joe’s heart.
He felt sad that it had to end this way.
“Take this you rat infested scum,” Garrett said as he raised a hand and sprayed pepper spray squarely into the man’s eyes. The man’s dagger dropped to his side, giving Joe time to lay a hard and fast fist on the man’s face, sending him staggering backwards and into the hands of the king’s guards.
Another of the king’s men stepped forward and Joe recognized him immediately as Udolf. “’Tis the man in tights who wishes the king harm,” Udolf called out.
“He lies!” Alexandra cried from the stage. “The man who calls himself your protector is the very man who paid this killer to take your life.”
“She speaks the truth,” Sebastiano chorused, still held back by too many strong arms. “I am one of many sent to find you and warn you of the impending danger. ’Twould seem Perkin Warbeck is up to his old tricks again. He has escaped prison and has raised a small army of rebels.”
The king laughed at hearing Warbeck’s name, as if the man who plotted his murder was merely a thorn in his side. King Henry snapped his fingers. “Release the young man. Allow him to bring me the message he speaks of.”
Sebastiano jerked his arms free, smoothed his hair back, then pulled the rolled parchment from his satchel. He unwrinkled it as best he could before handing it to His Majesty. Sebastiano fell gently to bended knee, waiting with bowed head for the king to read the scroll.
His Majesty looked up when he was done. “What have you to say to this?” the king asked Udolf, who now stood pale and rigid before him.
“Surely you do not believe a mere goliard over your own protector?”
“Your Majesty,” Sebastiano cut in, “I beseech you to check the birthing records of this so-called protector and his malevolent companion, George. You will find that they are related to the earl of Warwick, son of the duke of Clarence.”
“And what of them?” the king questioned, waving toward Joe and Garrett. “What is their place in all of this?”
“’Tis a long story, Your Majesty, but I can well assure you that this man who plays the lovesick troubadour is as brave and chivalrous as the men I served in London. His name is Sir Joe McFarland, otherwise known as the Black Knight.”
The crowd murmured and gossiped, delighted to have witnessed such an exciting event, especially now that the king was safe.
“He is humble, too,” Sebastiano went on, “for he be
lieves himself to be naught more than a simple scholar from afar.”
The king lifted a brow at Sebastiano. “And in payment for his protection and brave deed you suggest...”
Sebastiano was impressed by the King’s receptiveness.
“Sire,” another man called, interrupting the exchange.
“What is it, Sir Richard?” the king asked impatiently.
“Before you decide such an important matter, I have a question for the monastic maiden.” Sir Richard gestured toward Alexandra. “If I am not mistaken, she is my wife’s own sister.”
“Well, by all means let us find out,” the king said.
Sir Richard did not at all resemble the man Joe had envisioned these past few weeks. Standing at an unlofty height of about five foot eight inches, a few inches shorter than the king, he looked downright harmless. His long reddish-blonde hair touched at the metal plates covering his shoulders, and he wore a fascinating breastplate attached with straps and buckles to a lower plate. A gold cross hung about his neck and clanked against metal when he moved.
Mary came forth before Sir Richard could continue, Garrett close behind. “Alexandra,” she said, “Garrett tells me you are here to rescue me. Whatever for?”
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “Because you were taken by this wicked man,” she said, jabbing a finger toward Sir Richard, “and we are here to save you from a life of turmoil.”
Mary’s face paled. “Did you not receive my message?”
“Nay,” Alexandra said, a murderous look in her eyes. “What foolishness do you speak of, and be quick to answer, for your obvious happiness upsets me to no end.”
“As you well know,” Mary began nervously, “Sir Richard and I had met on more than one occasion prior to his men coming to take me away.”
Alexandra tapped her foot impatiently to the floor. “And I sent him away.”
Mary chewed on her lip. “On this particular occasion, you were not about. What I failed to tell you previously,” Mary went on, her face pinched, “and had every intention of doing so, was that I had fallen in love with him.”
Alexandra gawked in disbelief. “How could you fall in love with a man who watches idly by as hard times befall those around you?”
A Knight in Central Park Page 22
