Hard Day's Knight

by Katie MacAlister

  “Oh, God, now I have an audience,” I muttered, gripping the lance in the manner Farrell had shown me. “Lovely. Volcano, I will personally see to it that you have a bucketful of apples if you resist the urge to take a bite out of my leg, or any other body part that might come within reach.”

  The horse, which had been reaching back to snap my toes off, snorted disgustedly and pooped.

  “Put up or shut up,” Farrell reminded me with an odious grin. I contemplated lancing him for a minute, then figured it wasn’t sporting, no matter how intense the provocation. He grabbed Volcano’s bridle and pointed her to the nearest end of the ring, slapping her on the rump to get her moving. “Off you go then. Take it at a canter; it’s easier. And don’t mind the crowds.”

  “Oh, that’s helpful,” I said as Volcano walked to the end of the ring. How could I help but be aware that everyone within range of the spotlights had come to the ring to see what was up? There were men and women in various types of garb, kids running around behind them, some people perched on the railing, others standing around with drinks in their hands, laughing just like it wasn’t them about to make a big, fat fool of themselves. Which, I guess, it wasn’t.

  I just thanked my lucky stars that CJ and Walker and his group were at the opposite end of the tent city. “At least this way they won’t see the lights and come over to witness what is sure to be my downfall. And I mean that literally,” I told Volcano as I turned her head to line her up with the quintain. “Let’s keep the word fall from our vocabulary, shall we?”

  A flash of white caught my eye, a familiar flash of white with orange legs, and the form of Claude running after it. I looked ahead to where Moth was racing to, and wanted to sink into the ground. Leaning up against the railing, flirting with one of the girls in an especially low-cut bodice, was Vandal. Next to him Fenice was climbing onto the top railing. Butcher was clearing a space so that tiny, petite CJ could watch the show—namely, me. But worst of all, standing next to the Norwegians (who had brought a cooler with them), a tall, dark-haired, silver-eyed man frowned at me.

  “Great, just what I need. Everyone in the world to watch me fail at hitting a stupid target. Okay, Volcano, we have a point to prove here. Let’s try to keep Pepper from falling off, and if you could aim so the end of my lance hits the quintain, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Farrell suddenly bellowed, turning around in a circle with his arms spread wide, ever the showman. “Team Joust! presents a very special entertainment this evening.”

  “What a ham,” I told Volcano. Her ears twitched as if she agreed.

  “Lady Pepper asserts that women are just as capable of jousting as a man is!”

  The women in the crowd cheered. Most of the men made disparaging noises, but I knew they were all in fun. I doubted if anyone but Farrell and his all-male team was serious in the belief that only men made good jousters. “Tonight we witness that age-old battle between the sexes, taking the form of a challenge between a lady fair and Sir Quintain.”

  The crowd, which I noticed with dismay was quickly growing until the entire ring was surrounded by Faire folk, chuckled appreciatively. The Norwegians promptly began to take wagers. I kind of wished I could put a few bucks on Sir Quintain, but figured that wouldn’t be kosher.

  “Will the lady rise to the challenge . . .” Farrell mimed someone stabbing something with a lance. The crowd cheered. “. . . or will she fall victim to Sir Quintain’s tricky nature?” He swept a low bow, and pretended to dust off the dirt around the quintain. The crowd howled.

  “My lady, are you ready?” Farrell yelled down to me.

  “As I’m ever going to be,” I muttered, then waggled the awkward lance as my answer.

  The people around the edges of the ring roared their approval.

  “Then let the challenge begin,” Farrell shouted before sauntering away from the quintain.

  Volcano snorted as I adjusted my one-handed grip on the reins, pushed my heels down, and tightened my legs around her sides. “Ha!” I yelled as she jumped forward from a dead stop into what I hoped was a canter.

  Evidently Volcano had a bit of ham in her, too, because she didn’t canter down the practice ring; she galloped—head down, ears back, tail streaming behind her, a flat-out gallop.

  I tried pulling her back to an easier pace, but she was not Farrell’s horse for nothing. Bits of dirt flew up from her hooves as she thundered down the ring. It took me a few seconds to remember that my part was not just to stay on her back. I leveled the lance over her neck, keeping it a good foot above her mane so it wouldn’t accidentally drop onto her, aimed at the yellow-and-blue shield nailed onto the quintain, and prayed the shock of hitting it wouldn’t hurt any of my vital organs.

  I needn’t have worried. I didn’t even come close to hitting it. We zipped past it, and Volcano, an old hand at the quintain, immediately swung into a wide circle to head back toward the starting spot. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite quick enough with the lance, and before I could call a warning, several people sitting on the rails threw themselves off just seconds before the lance tip slammed into the wooden railing, shattering with an ugly squeal of wood on wood.

  The shock of the blow threw me backward and sideways in the saddle, and I have to admit that it was Volcano’s skill as an experienced jousting horse that kept me on her back. She adjusted her swing to keep me balanced, even as I dropped the lance and clutched at the saddle pommel with my free hand.

  The crowd groaned.

  “Just a practice run, gentlefolk,” Farrell said as Volcano cantered past him. I gritted my teeth at his grin, and shook my still-smarting hand. “We have to give the lady a practice run. Now we’ll see Lady Pepper regain her honor!”

  Volcano stopped at the far end, snorting and tossing her head as she mouthed the bit, obviously waiting for me to arm myself again. Jody approached me with a new lance. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered over the din of people making bets on the outcome of the next pass, advice being called out to me, and, in the minstrels’ case, a rousing song sung in my honor.

  “I’m okay; it just stings a little,” I told her. “Can’t let all of womanhood down, now, can I?”

  Jody smiled and backed away as I took the lance in my gloved hand, sliding it down until I had a good grip. Volcano’s body tensed beneath me, her ears forward as she waited for me to give her the signal to go. I glanced over to where Walker and his team were lounging. CJ was clutching the railing so hard her fingers were white. Butcher was smiling and giving me the thumbs-up. Bliss called out some advice about keeping my lance tip up. Vandal followed after a well-endowed woman with a bunch of grapes and a promise in her smile as she disappeared into a darkened stable. And Walker . . . Walker was leaning against the railing looking bored, Moth draped around his shoulders like some sort of living fur boa.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Farrell clapped his hands for silence. He didn’t get it, but the din did drop down a level or two. “Now that she’s had her practice run, I give you Lady Pepper versus—”

  “Time out!” I called, swinging Volcano’s head toward the Three Dog Knight team. She didn’t want to go, but I didn’t grow up riding the most evil horses in existence for nothing.

  Walker’s eyes got bigger as we headed straight for him. Several people sitting on the railing around him shrieked at the sight of my lance, diving off the railings much as the guys near the quintain had. Everyone within a six-foot radius of Walker peeled off, stopping at a safe distance as I pulled up Volcano to lean toward him. “Any advice?”

  “Pepper?” Farrell called. “Lady Pepper, your audience is awaiting you to make good on your challenge to Sir Quintain.”

  Walker’s lips pursed for a moment, and I was distracted by the sudden image of what it would be like to suck one of those lips into my mouth and have my wicked way with it. “Yes. Get off the horse.”

  “Lady Pepper, your audience!” Farrell bellowed.

  I ignored him,
keeping my eyes on the man in front of me. “Other than that, any advice?”

  One of his glossy eyebrows rose, just as I knew it would. “You’re asking me, a has-been, a failure, for advice?”

  I gave him a long, steady look. “Those are Farrell’s words, not mine. Do you have any advice for me or not?”

  “My good people, the lady is a bit shy. Shall we give her some encouragement?”

  The crowd screamed their enthusiasm as Walker matched my look for the count of ten; then he asked, “Why?”

  I sighed noisily. “Because I get the idea you’re the best there is at this. If you don’t want to help, then I’ll ask Farrell, but to be honest, I’d rather listen to your advice than his.”

  His eyes narrowed for a second as he thought about this, but in the end he nodded briefly. His voice was low and deep, sending shivers down my arms and back as he quickly rapped out instructions. “Let the horse watch where she’s going; you keep your eye on the quintain. Don’t lower your lance until the last minute. Aim a little high and to the right. Lean into the hit. And keep your horse at a canter; a gallop is too hard to control. As soon as you make contact, pull your arm inward, toward your body. It will lessen the shock to your wrist.”

  I smiled and blew him a kiss, something that had him taking a step back in surprise. “Thanks, Walker. Don’t let Moth eat any horse poop; it makes him barf.”

  Volcano was only too happy to head back to the starting point, but this time I had a firm grip on her, her neck arching as she slipped into a flashy trot. The crowd yelled and offered comments and suggestions, all of which I ignored as I lined her up with the quintain, whispered a plea for her to make me look good—or at least not bad—then clamped down tight on her sides with my heels as I gave a little war cry I had no idea I knew.

  I kept my attention on the quintain as the horse leaped forward, but she settled happily enough into an easy canter, allowing me to narrow my focus to the simple blue-and-yellow shield. I noticed but didn’t pay any attention to the fact that everyone at that end of the paddock cleared the decks. Instead I leaned forward, my eyes on the shield, and when Volcano was a few lengths from the quintain I lowered the lance. I didn’t even have time to adjust my aim upward and to the right before it hit the shield, the blow much less a shock as the quintain spun around on its axis. I whooped with joy and hoisted my lance in victory, the people along the railing cheering like mad.

  “Atta girl, Volcano!” She trotted toward Farrell, who jumped out to catch her reins, pulling us to a stop in the middle of the ring. I looked for Walker’s tall form, intent on sharing my victory with him. He inclined his head at my grin, which I figured was as much as I was going to get from him.

  Farrell wasn’t nearly so reserved.

  “Hear ye, hear ye, manly lords and virtuous ladies! It gives me the greatest possible pleasure to present to such a worthy gathering that brave damsel, that maiden of the lance, the most buxom and beauteous Lady Pepper, champion of the quintain! And what shall my lady’s reward be for such a daring act of bravery and strength and a keen eye?”

  I gave my lance to Jody as she ran out to get it, then turned to indulge in a little gloating to Farrell as he played up to the crowd.

  “I’ve got a lance she’s welcome to try next,” someone yelled out.

  “She can scale my battlements any day,” another joked.

  “I’ve got a couple of crystal balls that need polishing,” one of the Americans next to Bos offered.

  “No, no, fair knights, this is a lady we’re speaking of,” Farrell said, one hand on my knee. My skirt was wide enough to ride a horse astride without flashing too much flesh, but even so, he managed to get his hand on my bare knee. His fingers tightened around it as Volcano tossed her head. “Her reward must be a treasure as pure as her virtue.”

  “Have her come over to my tent and I’ll show her the largest treasure in the land,” one of the Norwegians suggested.

  “A kiss!” a woman’s voice yelled out. “Let her have the kiss of the bravest knight present!”

  I perked up at the thought of that, looking straight at Walker. “Oooh, yeah!”

  “It shall be so,” Farrell proclaimed, and without giving me a chance to flash Walker the leer I was warming up, he reached up, grabbed the neckline of my mail, and hauled me sideways, planting his lips on me as I slid off into his waiting embrace.

  Chapter Five

  I’ll say this for Farrell—the man knew how to kiss. That thought popped through my mind as he locked his lips on mine. It was a distant sort of thought, and academic analysis of just exactly how his lips were moving over mine, an assessment of his technique from the brush of his lips to the way his tongue tried to tease its way into my mouth.

  I thinned my lips, not willing to give him the intimacy he wanted. I was willing to let him end the show with a grand gesture, but a gesture it would remain—empty of meaning and purely for show.

  By the time I put my hands up on his chest and pushed him back, the people around the edges of the ring were hooting and hollering advice that was—fortunately for the children present—couched in the worst sort of Olde Medieval Speake.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said to Farrell. His nostrils did their annoyed flare again, but he stepped back easily enough, sweeping me a bow that rivaled Vandal’s for effectiveness. I turned to give Volcano a reluctant scritch behind her ears, feeling she deserved it after treating me so well, and looked around her to find Walker.

  He wasn’t there. Moth was, an annoyed expression on his furry face as CJ clutched him to her chest, but Walker wasn’t there. Damn.

  “Pepper,” Farrell said behind me. “Wait—”

  “Thanks for the loan of Volcano; that was fun. Oh, here’s your mail. Maybe sometime you can show me how to joust against a person. And thanks for dinner; it was great.” I struggled out of the mail, dumping the heavy set of linked rings into his hands as he tried to stop me. “Thanks for your help, Jody. You’re the best squire a girl could have.”

  She giggled as I walked past, struggling a little in the soft sand-and-dirt mix that made up the warm-up ring. The spectators alongside the ring were dispersing slowly, a small clutch of people gathered around the Norwegians as they doled out money to people who’d bet on me. Several of them called out greetings as I made my way along to the far end of the ring. I waved, thanked the people who yelled congratulations, and hurried as fast as I could over to where CJ and the entire group of the Three Dog Knights—minus Walker—huddled together in a tight circle, clearly talking about something important.

  “Hey, guys,” I said by way of (an admittedly weak and feeble) greeting. Given the coldness that had come over them before I had left for dinner with Farrell, I decided a happy, joking attitude was the one that was going to win friends and influence people. “That was a lot of fun. What did you think of my form? Am I ready to give up my day job and become a jouster?”

  The group broke up and scattered like they were billiard balls struck by an anvil.

  “Hi, Pepper,” CJ said, looking at Butcher from the corner of her eye.

  I looked from her face to the others. CJ avoided meeting my eyes, but the others had no such difficulty. They all grinned big, shark-toothed grins at me.

  Instantly I was suspicious. “Uh . . . is something the matter?”

  “No, nothing, not a thing, not one single, solitary thing,” Fenice said, looking at her fellow Knights. “Nothing’s the matter, is it?”

  “No, nothing is the matter. Something is very right,” Bliss said; then she reached out and squeezed my hand. “Be at the practice ring tomorrow at seven. I’ll take you through running the rings.”

  “Running the what?” I asked, wondering if everyone was being nice to me because someone had called with bad news. Was my mother dead? Had my apartment been burned? Were CJ’s parents going to take even longer coming home, leaving me with extended Moth duty?

  “Rings. You’ll need to know how to run the rings. Tomorrow, se
ven.” She waved at one of Fenice’s Americans, the two of them heading off to where the Norwegians were now toasting their success as bookies.

  “Um . . .” I said, totally at a loss. I looked back at the remaining people. “Okay. Rings. Oh, jousting rings, did she mean? I heard someone mention them.”

  Five heads nodded in synchronicity. Four smiles got brighter. One cousin avoided my eyes.

  “Why are you guys being so nice to me?” I couldn’t help but ask, my suspicions getting worse with every flash of their piranha smiles. “Has Seattle dropped into the ocean? Has my mother been captured by bandits? Have CJ’s parents bequeathed Moth to me?”

  “We’re just happy,” Fenice said.

  “Really? Because I hit the quintain?”

  “No, because Walker was so angry,” Bos said. He was a nice man with sweet brown eyes, not what you’d think of when you imagined dashing knights of old, but he had a twinkle in his eye that had me smiling back despite my confusion. “You ready, honey?”

  Geoff, who was standing next to Bos with a bucket of grain and a currycomb, nodded, winked at me, then toddled off with Bos to the far stable, where the Three Dog Knights’ horses were housed.

  “Okay, maybe you guys would like to explain to me what’s going on, and why Walker would be angry that I took his advice and hit the quintain.”

  Fenice put her hands on her hips and glared as Vandal sauntered out of the shadow of a nearby stable, his mouth smeared crimson. “For God’s sake, Patrick, wipe your mouth! You look like you’re seven and have been into the jam pot.”

  “Probably pretty close to the truth,” Butcher rumbled to CJ, who giggled. Fenice marched over to her twin and grabbed him by his ear, scrubbing her sleeve across his face. “Piggy, that’s what you are, a little pig! I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

  “Fenny,” Vandal whined as she dragged him off toward the tents, “let go of my ear; you’ll rip it off!”