Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1)

by Cassidy Cayman

  “There’s nothing to remember,” Anne snapped, turning to shake her head at Batty. “It was nothing at all.”

  Fay saw her swallow and turn to the side, pretending to be fascinated by the same kind of trees they’d been tramping past for two days. She raised a brow at Batty, who just shrugged and shook her head. Fay burned with curiosity to know what had happened to Sir Harold, the sexy older ginger who’d had a crush on her sister. It was obviously something to make Anne snap at Batty like that.

  They rode in silence from then on. For a while, Fay got lost in the scenery, then was distracted by her numb legs. When the town could finally be seen from the top of a hill, she began to worry what would happen when her father confronted Lord Drayton.

  Sir Walter had assured her there was nothing to be concerned about, that he would see to it that anyone who’d heard about her so-called engagement had been outright deceived by Lord Drayton. She had feared Lord Drayton would make life difficult for her father, what with his favor with the King and his importance in the region. Sir Walter had tutted and said he had plenty of his own favor and importance. He added that what was worth far more, he had the true loyalty of many old, powerful friends.

  “I gained that trust through showing myself worthy of it,” Sir Walter had said, without a hint of boasting. “Those that matter will not think ill of us.”

  She’d appreciated that he’d said us, since it was really all on her for not nipping it in the bud the moment Lord Drayton asked for her hand. The curse made her crazy and she thought she had to keep every option open, when all the while she’d known she’d never love the man.

  Thinking of love always brought Tristan to her mind and, with the village gates only a stone’s throw away, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d run into him at the tournament. Batty assured her through her correspondence with Brom that they would all be there, competing for the hefty prizes. She knew she’d see him on the field during the games. There was no way she could keep her eyes from him, even if she tried. But would he seek her out to speak to her? Could she work up the courage to find him, propriety be damned? She hoped she could find the courage, because she had a very good feeling she would be damned if she didn’t get another chance with him.

  As they rode through the town, most of the men dispersed, leaving Sir Walter, his squire, old Roric the chamberlain who couldn’t have been kept away from the fun, and the girls to carry on to Sir Walter’s old friend Lady Heloise’s home. It had taken some piecing together, but Fay finally worked out Lady Heloise was a half-cousin of her late mother’s, or rather, Sir Walter’s late wife. Fay had grown so comfortable with them, she often forgot she wasn’t actually a part of the family.

  Heloise had been married to and outlived three husbands, each one richer than the last, and her house was huge, taking up an entire block in the bustling village. Fay couldn’t let her eyes rest for a moment for fear of missing something. Permanent shops and makeshift stalls lined the lanes. People called out advertisements and ran along beside them, trying to get their attention. Signs and banners for the tournament were everywhere and, as soon as Sir Walter got them settled with Lady Heloise, he took off to check out the playing fields.

  Their hostess was an imposing looking woman, with hints of raven black hair peeking out from her mantle. Her clothes and the furnishings in her house were the finest Fay had seen and, for the first time in a long while, she thought of Uncle Randolph with a pang. How he would have loved seeing all of it. An idea hit her like a lightning bolt. She would begin writing her own book, specifically for Uncle Randolph. If he was still trying to restore the castle, he might find it and know that she hadn’t really died back in her old time. It was a long shot, but she determined to get started as soon as they were back home.

  “It’s so good to see you two lovely girls again,” Heloise said, hugging her and Anne for the third time. “You don’t visit often enough.”

  She led them to the room they’d be staying in. It was a gorgeously-appointed guest suite with a huge four-poster bed, several luxurious padded chairs, intricate wood carvings, and a vibrant tapestry on the wall. The maid’s chamber was only slightly smaller and connected through a side door, much as their rooms at home. Anne hurried to the tapestry, smiling.

  “I made this one when I was only ten,” she said. “I must give you a better one. I promise I’ve greatly improved since then.”

  “I would cherish another tapestry, Anne,” Heloise said. “But you’ll never convince me that one isn’t perfect.” She smiled and promised them refreshments before leaving them to rest and freshen up.

  Fay strolled around the room, running her fingers over the rich furnishings. She’d been anxious Lady Heloise would denounce her as an imposter, but apparently the curse followed her around or it affected Lady Heloise because she was a relation. A huge platter overflowing with food appeared shortly after they settled in and, as if by magic, as soon as they were done eating, servants brought in a bath, which was quickly filled with buckets of steaming hot water. It was more efficient than any volunteer fire department could have ever hoped. After they were scrubbed and changed, they fell onto the bed, exhausted and stuffed full of food. Batty and Marjorie got their baths and then Anne dismissed them until it was time to get ready for supper.

  “I don’t think I could eat again for at least a day,” Fay said. The tray Heloise had sent up had at least four different kinds of sweet cakes on it and Fay had crammed her face with all of them.

  Anne coughed and rolled over, her eyes tired. “Nor me,” she said. She grimaced, clearly trying to hide a much needed cough.

  “Just let it out, Anne. You might be fooling Marjorie, but you’re not fooling me.”

  Anne laughed, culminating in a wracking coughing fit that had her sitting up and clutching at her chest. “I’m fine, really,” she said when it was over. “The dust of the road, that’s all.”

  Fay didn’t bother calling her bluff, but determined to rat her out to Marjorie as soon as she saw Anne’s maid again. She knew Marjorie wouldn’t have left home without some of Great-uncle Edgar’s potions and tinctures. She put her own pillow under Anne’s, propping them up so she could rest more comfortably and breathe easier.

  “Take a nap,” she said, laying on her side with her head on her arm. “I’m going to. We need to ride more. I am sorely out of shape.”

  “I agree, sister dear,” Anne said sleepily. Her long, dark hair was spread out over her shoulders like a fairytale princess. “I’m just plain sore after the journey.” She closed her eyes and Fay watched her chest rise and fall shallowly as she drifted off to sleep.

  She wanted to ask more about Sir Harold, and what had become of that, but not if Anne was on the brink of getting sick again. As much as she longed to know about that unfinished love story, it would have to wait until another day. As tired as she was, her own unfinished love story kept tugging at her mind and it was a long time before Fay was able to fall asleep.

  Chapter 23

  “Watch your step, Lady Fay.”

  She stopped just short of sinking her slippers into a thick, filthy patch of mud. She smiled at their burly bodyguard, one of Lady Heloise’s men who’d been tasked with taking them to their viewing box the first morning of the tournament. Sir Walter and his men had already been gone since the crack of dawn, readying themselves for the competitions.

  She rerouted to the area of boards that had been thrown down to try and make a walkway over the soggy ground and tried to pay attention to where she was going. The bustle and noise and color of the merchant area leading up to the fairgrounds nearly overwhelmed her senses. Every time someone came within a few feet of them to try and show their wares, Lady Heloise’s knight made chopping motions with his meaty fists and growled at them to back away.

  She quietly made plans with Batty to sneak back and look at some pretty purses hanging in one stall, as soon as they could free themselves from their grouchy guard. They broke from the crowded merchant area and threa
ded their way behind the stands for the common folk. Fay kept her gaze straight ahead and tried to breathe through her mouth until they were past. Another thing that her cushy life at the castle hadn’t prepared her for was the unwashed masses of medieval life. The last few days of travel and seeing how regular people lived had opened her eyes to the fact that she was extremely lucky to have ended up where she did.

  “Oh no, it’s Lord Drayton,” she hissed, grabbing Batty’s arm.

  He was dead ahead of them, about twenty feet away and closing in fast. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her and looked around for a place to hide, prepared to fling herself into the stands if she had to.

  “You needn’t speak to anyone you don’t want to,” their guard rumbled, squaring his shoulders. He made gruff Sir Tristan seem downright jovial.

  “Act like nothing’s wrong,” Anne demanded, slowing down and falling into step beside her. “It’s between him and Father, so if he speaks to us, you pretend to be completely ignorant to any of it.”

  It was a brilliant, though cowardly move. When Fay first heard of Lord Drayton spreading his stories throughout the countryside and possibly fouling up her chances to make another match and, even worse, fouling up her chances with Tristan, she’d determined to let him have it if she ever saw him again. If not raining down on him with fists, then a stinging storm of words. Now she was ready to take Anne’s advice and cut her losses. She hadn’t recalled how tall and broad he was, nor how brooding. She was glad Sir Grumpy was with them. Only a few feet to decide her fate…

  “Lady Anne, Lady Fay, how pleasant to see you here.”

  He’d decided to stop and talk to them. Fay took a deep breath, looking into his eyes, which were no longer friendly and kind, but hard and cold. Anne pinched her hard in the back of her arm.

  “So very pleasant to see you as well, Lord Drayton. It’s been such a long time since we’ve met. I hope you’ve been well. Have you seen our father yet?”

  There. She snuck a bitter glance at Anne. She couldn’t possibly have played more dumb than that. And to her surprise, it worked. A brief flicker of confusion passed over his face, then he visibly relaxed and the smile he now gave them was sincere, his eyes no longer hard as diamonds.

  “I have, Lady Fay. I wished him well in the tournament, though, of course, I must be cheering for my own men.”

  Anne tinkled a laugh, which Fay quickly copied. Or tried to. It came out sounding more like a startled cat. “Certainly, as you must,” Anne said. “We wish your men all luck as well.”

  “Yes, good luck,” Fay parroted.

  Lord Drayton bowed and moved on. It was over. “That was way too easy,” Fay said when they were far ahead of him.

  “He only needed to think you weren’t aware of it,” Anne said. “To save his pride. Perhaps he believes you truly don’t know what he did, but all that matters is that you acted like it in front of him.”

  Fay sighed. “Men are so confusing and …”

  “Foolish,” Marjorie finished. She turned, watching Lord Drayton wind his way through the onlookers with a disappointed look on her face.

  Fay didn’t know how to feel, still not convinced it was over. If she was so inconsequential in the whole scandalous affair that all she needed to do was pretend she didn’t know about it, then how important could she have been to Lord Drayton in the first place? She realized he’d only cared about the alliance, not her. It stung her pride more than her feelings. To try and put a positive spin on it, she told herself she was a catch and that plenty more men would want their chance to marry her. Honestly, the whole thing turned her stomach.

  “There’s our stand,” Batty squealed. “Oh, it’s so festive.”

  Fay wrenched herself out of the mood she’d momentarily sunk into, dodging the sour feelings as deftly as she’d dodged the mud earlier. The area where they were to sit and watch the proceedings was, indeed, festive. The open-sided tent had red and gold bunting along the front, with her father’s crest hanging from a banner in the center. White cloth festooned with a garland of roses was draped over a waist-high barrier, to protect them from any dirt that got kicked up. Under the tent were two rows of benches, scattered with throw pillows.

  “Luxurious, too,” Fay noted. “But where’s Father? He’s going to watch with us, isn’t he?”

  “Your father will join you after the procession,” their guard said, motioning for them to get under the tent and sit down.

  No sooner had they settled onto the benches, trumpets blasted from the far end of the field. They were on their feet again, leaning over the pretty barricade to get a better look. Sir Grumpy rolled his eyes, but didn’t interfere. He had the faintest look of interest in his eyes, probably as excited as he ever got.

  The knights proceeded past the cheering onlookers in a long line, two or three abreast, waving like rock stars to their fans. The horses were as decked out as their riders and Fay couldn’t help but feel a tightening in her chest. Would she see Tristan in this fancy promenade?

  As if to answer her thoughts, Batty grabbed her sleeve and waved furiously. “There they are! I see Brom. Look at the shine of his armor, they must have polished all night.” She bent over the barrier so far Marjorie grabbed the back of her skirt to keep her from tipping head first into the path.

  Fay was too busy being entranced by Sir Tristan. He was slightly ahead of the rest of his men, Brom a bit behind and to the right. The armor was as shiny as Batty exclaimed, the sun winking off Tristan’s plated chest and shoulders. He had his helmet under his arm and his glossy, dark hair waved gently behind him as they trotted ever closer. Her head turned of its own accord, her eyes glued to him, waiting to see if he’d get close enough for her to see the blue of his eyes. A weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe, and she clutched at the front of her gown.

  She missed him. That was what was crushing her. She missed how he looked at her as if she were odd, but he didn’t really mind and might possibly like it. She wanted to cling to those gleaming shoulders without their armored plates. She wanted to fling herself over the flower-strewn barrier and grab the reins, forcing him to stop and face her. Tell her why he never came back. Then she could tell him it didn’t matter, she still wanted him. If only he still wanted her.

  The men were mere feet from their platform. There was no way they could miss the women with Batty waving and flailing about. And yet, Sir Tristan sat erect in his saddle, eyes straight ahead. He was purposely ignoring her and it felt like a slap.

  Brom saw Batty and pulled his horse close enough to toss her something. She caught it and held it to her chest, then blew him a kiss. She was swiftly punished by Marjorie yanking her braid and pulling her back under the tent. Fay could tell Batty didn’t feel it at all as she unfolded the cloth-wrapped bundle Brom threw her.

  They were past. Fay continued to watch them. She would watch him until she couldn’t anymore, despite how much it hurt. She was so desperately envious of Batty’s token she thought she might throw up. She would have been happy for a look, a mere glance from Tristan.

  “Call his name,” Batty hissed.

  Fay opened her mouth, but couldn’t say anything. She’d already gone against her nature in letting Lord Drayton off the hook, and she found she still had a shred of pride left. He knew she was there. He knew and he didn’t turn.

  “Sir Tristan,” Anne called, imitating her voice remarkably well. Her face turned red and she sat down, fanning herself from her recklessness.

  Fay would have murdered Anne if Tristan had been gone from view, but she still couldn’t tear her eyes from his back. He turned and their eyes met. It was too far to see the brilliant blue, but she could tell at that distance that he wasn’t happy to see her. She silently beseeched him not to look away but, in a moment, he’d be crowded along by the swarm of competitors who followed him.

  “He must have heard the gossip about Lord Drayton,” Batty said, her jubilant mood doused.

  Fay had a half-second to decide what to
do. “I’ll find you,” she silently but exaggeratedly mouthed. Her eyes began to water but she refused to blink and break contact with him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he nodded and her pathetic hope soared.

  *

  Tristan paced the length of the temporary stable, punched one of the support beams, then returned to his horse. The creature had no words of advice for him so he resumed his violent march. He needed to calm down, concentrate on the first competition he and Brom were both entered in. Normally, the cheers of the crowds didn’t affect him and, indeed, they hadn’t this time, either. It was one voice calling out to him that had him so worked up.

  He’d made up his mind to pretend she didn’t exist and he’d done a fine job of it. It was all the harder when her maid had practically flung herself into the parade to get Brom’s attention. He knew Fay would be upset if the girl got trampled, so it took all his willpower not to glance that way to make sure she caught Brom’s daft token without getting killed for it.

  He was pleased to see Brom so happy, and there had been a day when he might have imagined himself presenting a token to a fair maiden. He punched the beam again, thinking of the bracelet he’d never gotten rid of. He carried it with him wherever he went, for what reason he didn’t know. It was in his saddlebag now, buried deep. Taunting him. He would sell it while he was here. With all the merchants, he was sure to get a fair price for it from someone. With that and all the prize money he planned on winning, he’d be able to ride home much happier, richer, and freer.

  But why had Lady Fay called to him? He stopped in his tracks, wanting to save his punches for the fighting ring. He thought he’d imagined it, wished for it so hard his mind had tricked him into hearing things. Then when he turned, only to make sure he was losing his mind and hadn’t actually heard her, he found her staring at him hungrily, passionately. He was going to take some hits, hard ones, before this tournament was over, but he wagered none of them would hurt more than that look of hers.