She kept wondering if there would be some kind of magical notification that the curse had been broken, or if she could just quietly live out a happy life with Tristan. No matter how chest-burstingly happy she felt, she kept thinking about what might have started the curse in the first place. In fairytales, the evil person who laid down the curse always got theirs, but she had no idea who placed her curse.
She might have been able to put it out of her mind altogether, but she couldn’t stop wondering about the original daughter, who she must have replaced. Anne, Batty, Marjorie—everyone at the castle knew something about her, from being dropped as a newborn infant, to her love of reading, to going on family trips to visit Lady Heloise in the past, long before Fay or any of her predecessors turned up. All the questions that plagued her when she first got sent to that time came back. How long had it been going on? The instruction book had mentioned a tournament as well, but from what she’d put together, Anne was still a teen when that happened. Surely the curse couldn’t have been going on that long?
It was Sir Tristan’s turn at the final category of the tournament, the much awaited joust. She put aside the unanswerable questions and got ready to watch her man own everyone who dared to face him. She hadn’t been able to steal a single minute alone with him since they’d cleared up their misunderstanding. As much as she enjoyed watching him kick butt all over the place, she longed for it to be over so they could work out the details of their upcoming marriage.
The crack of Tristan’s lance smashing into his opponent’s chest collided with her gasp at the thought of being married. To Tristan. It happened every time. That heady mix of anticipation, excitement, fear. She knew she didn’t have a clue about being married in her own day and age, when everything was equal. She had less notion of what it would be like with that big, brooding knight as her lord and master. She giggled out loud at the idea of it, and Marjorie gave her a weary look.
“Aren’t you sick of all this violence?” she asked, thinking Fay’s giddy laugh was over the carnage on the field. “I, for one, can’t wait to get home.”
“I look forward to it as well,” Fay agreed, surprising Marjorie. “I’m glad Sir Tristan is winning, though. His final opponent will be Sir Ulrich, Lord Drayton’s knight who he competed with at the presentation back home. Do you want to wager on the winner?”
Marjorie wrinkled up her nose. “I would if there was any sport to it. It’s plain Sir Tristan will win.”
“I’ll wager with you,” Lady Heloise said. “I agree with Marjorie, but it will give Sir Tristan great pride to know you’ve won some money because of him, dear.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Fay said, her cheeks burning at the open secret about her and Tristan.
Even her father had teased her at supper the night before, saying he’d be shocked if they didn’t receive a visit from Sir Tristan as soon as they returned home from the tournament. Fay hoped they would all whip their horses to full capacity, because she didn’t think she could go much longer watching him from afar.
“Consider it a wedding present,” Lady Heloise said, making Sir Walter, who’d seemingly been ignoring everything except the competition, burst out in a loud guffaw.
“I do hope it’s a large wager,” he called from the other side of Anne. “She usually gives quite generous wedding gifts, Fay.”
They settled up the terms of the bet, with Lady Heloise promising she would still give a wedding present. Fay was almost scared that they could make light of it. She felt secure in her love for Tristan, and his for her, but anything could go wrong. She supposed she wouldn’t feel one hundred percent certain until they were on the way to their honeymoon. No sooner had she thought about leaving the castle for their honeymoon than she was assailed with a dozen different horrible things that might happen to them on the road. They’d stay at the castle, that was all there was to it. She blamed the curse for making her so paranoid. It seemed like ages ago that her biggest worry in life was whether to pack a lunch or eat at the department store’s cafe.
Batty poked her repeatedly in the ribs, bringing her back to the tournament from her black hole of worries. “He’s coming this way,” she stage whispered with each poke. Fay whipped her head around to see Tristan trotting toward their tent. Batty dug in Fay’s sleeve, pulling out her handkerchief. “Give this to him,” she instructed, then slunk a foot away from her.
She felt like she was in a spotlight when he paused and turned his horse so he could better face her. Like a magician, he produced a red rose from his saddle and leaned over. “Lady Fay, please accept this token of my affection.”
Another hard poke made her reach out her hand and take the rose. It was a perfect bud, just beginning to spread its petals. She could smell its spicy fragrance as soon as she had it in her hand. Tristan smiled down at her expectantly and she shakily held out the handkerchief, glad it was clean. She wanted to say the perfect words, but she wasn’t from this time. Batty would have done a far better job than her.
“Of course,” she stammered. “Please accept one from me as well.”
She could almost hear Batty groaning at her inadequacy, but Tristan didn’t seem to care. He took the hanky with a flourish and waved it like a trophy. The crowd went wild with applause and she made a tiny royal wave in each direction, feeling proud and silly at the same time. She caught the dark stare of Lord Drayton in an observation platform a bit further down from them. He had leaned out to see the spectacle but, as soon as he caught her eye, he disappeared behind the others in his tent.
As soon as Tristan understood the truth about the rumors Lord Drayton had spread, she forgave him for his lies and completely forgot about him. Tristan was all that mattered to her. But the look on Drayton’s face clearly said he hadn’t forgotten about her, nor was he going to be so forgiving. His sour look brought up all the weeks she’d lost with Tristan, all the kisses and walks along the stream she’d missed because he’d thought she was engaged to another.
“Give him hell,” she said, only loud enough for Tristan to hear.
He nodded, reined up his horse, and thundered back to his starting position. She glanced over at her father to make sure he didn’t disapprove of that sudden display of affection. After all, nothing was finalized. He applauded along with everyone else, so she breathed a sigh of relief, then concentrated on the joust. If Tristan happened to lose, she would owe Lady Heloise a rather large sum.
She had a pretty good grasp on the rules now that it was the very end. She’d been listening and paying attention to what constituted a win in each of the four courses.
In the first round, Sir Ulrich’s lance fell out of his grasp, causing Tristan to raise his and ride past him, without taking a hit. The crowd jeered and booed with disappointment and Tristan waved jauntily at them.
“How embarrassing for Sir Ulrich,” Anne said. She leaned forward on the bench, her fingers grasping the edges. “Hopefully we’ll see a hit some time before sundown.”
“I imagine it was very hard for Sir Tristan to remain chivalrous and not just bowl him right over,” Batty said.
“Hush, they’re about to go again,” Marjorie told them. Even she couldn’t hide her interest.
The two horses raced forward, hooves thundering. Both men lowered their lances. The seconds drew out into a small eternity before the crashing blow. Each man took a hit, but they both stayed in their saddles. Tristan’s lance was shattered, Sir Ulrich’s intact.
“Point to Sir Tristan,” Fay squealed. “Two more rounds. I hope Sir Tristan can get him off his horse this time.”
They rounded back to their places and got their equipment in order. Fay held her breath as they charged toward each other again, this time both of them splintering their lances. Judges raced forward to inspect each lance, talking animatedly amongst themselves until that course was declared a tie.
“They’re too well matched,” Lady Heloise said, tutting. “It’s almost not fun to watch.”
“It looks like
he’s hurt,” Marjorie said. “Look at the way he’s rolling his shoulder.”
Tristan was, indeed, maneuvering the shoulder that had been hit as if he were trying to work out a kink. When Brom placed the lance in his hand, it fell away to the ground.
“Oh, no,” Batty said.
“His hand’s probably gone numb from the blow,” Sir Walter explained. “He’ll be all right in a moment.”
But there wasn’t a moment, or the ability to call a timeout. Sir Ulrich had his lance ready and his horse pawed at the dirt, raring to go. Brom once again affixed Sir Tristan’s lance, and this time he held it, but his shoulder listed slightly. He was clearly in pain.
Fay stared at him, willing him to look her way. This was the fourth and final course that would decide the winner. The crowd wanted more than just a splintered lance. They wanted someone to fly through the air. And she didn’t want it to be him. At the last second, he turned his face in her direction but, with his helmet down, she wasn’t sure he saw her. She placed both hands over her heart and then held them open, palm forward to him, before quickly replacing them in her lap. There, she’d given him her heart. Hopefully, he’d seen and would know she believed in him. For herself, she didn’t care, but she knew how badly he wanted to win.
“Come on, come on,” both Anne and Sir Walter repeated, as the two knights thundered toward each other again to finish the match. Fay knew Tristan wouldn’t be able to live with a tie, any more than he could live with a loss, not after all he’d promised her.
The crowd fell silent as they approached each other for the last time. She held her breath, following the tip of Tristan’s lance, willing herself not to blink. The violence of the collision made her close her eyes for a split second. When she opened them, the crowd roared and stamped. Batty and Anne screamed. Lady Heloise and her father were on their feet.
Sir Ulrich lay in a heap on the ground, his horse having already cleared the field without him. Sir Tristan rode victoriously with his broken lance held high in one hand, her handkerchief in the other.
He’d won. He’d won the tournament for her, in her name, in her honor. Every moment of regret she’d had since she’d been brought there by the curse disappeared. She was meant to be here, in this time, with this man. She hadn’t been cursed at all, she’d been blessed. She was the luckiest woman on earth. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Tristan, to share everything she felt with him, determined to make him feel like he was the luckiest man on earth.
Chapter 25
“This was fortuitous, was it not?” Brom asked, perusing the room Tristan had been given in Lady Heloise’s home. “Being the victor of the tournament has many prizes besides the ones listed, it seems.”
Tristan nodded, not willing to show he was as pleased about it as Brom was. “Indeed,” he agreed blandly.
He didn’t want to appear conceited in front of his squire, but he didn’t believe luck had anything to do with his being invited to stay the night before they began their journey home. Lady Heloise was a distant relation to Fay, a trusted friend of her father’s. His being invited could only mean he was truly accepted as Fay’s choice for a husband. For once, he was glad Sir Walter indulged his daughters the way he did. He had to admit it was much sweeter to be chosen by Fay than be foisted upon her because of the vicinity of his land or his accomplishments in battle.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we were asked to join them on the way home tomorrow,” Brom continued, tarrying in his duties so he could stay in the luxurious room a bit longer.
“Nor would I, given our lands are on the same road and a mere day’s ride apart,” Tristan said.
“All right, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” Brom said. “I, however, think it’s extremely good fortune. I’m sure the stable I’ll be bedding down in won’t be anywhere as fine as this room, but I daresay it will be comfortable all the same.”
Tristan had to agree. The townhouse was the biggest he’d seen and was as richly appointed as the King’s palace inside. He patted his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such tender suckling pig. And that fiery confection at the end?”
“I didn’t know if it was food or the entertainment,” Brom said. “Until the entertainment came out, that is. I heard that the minstrel also performed for our lord the King himself only last month.” He looked around him and sighed. “How do you suppose she avoids the sumptuary laws?”
Tristan shushed him, feeling like they were sinking into gossip about their lovely hostess. “She probably just pays the fines,” he said. “Now, be on you way so I can rest. I can’t imagine you’re not tired as well.”
“I am at that, though I expect a visit from Batty before I sleep. I managed to whisper to her in the hall where I would be.”
Tristan gave him his sternest look. “Do I need to lecture you about responsibility and honor?” he asked.
“You do not, sir,” Brom answered. “I care very much for Batty and only wish to act respectably toward her.” Deep red circles bloomed on his cheeks, barely visible through the sunburn and scrapes from the last two days of the tournament.
“See that it’s so. You may get your wish and have the maid at my household soon enough, so I expect her to have no reason to raise a fuss with Lady Fay.”
Brom’s brows almost disappeared into his hairline. “You’re going through with it, then? The rose wasn’t just a gesture? You’ll speak to Sir Walter?”
“Of course the rose wasn’t just a gesture,” he huffed. “How many tournaments have we competed at over the years? And how many roses have I tossed to young ladies?”
“Many tournaments, but only one lady,” Brom said, abashed. “You’ve resolved your fears over her … er, illness?”
Tristan wanted to lash out, bellow for Brom to keep his mouth closed about his lady, but tiny doubts still pecked away at him about Fay’s health. She did say and do some odd things and she was dangerously reckless. He’d known Brom long enough to know his squire asked out of the utmost concern for him, so he owed the question some thought. Yes, he worried for the state of her mind. But he also believed she wasn’t so far gone that things couldn’t be turned around once she was at Dernier Keep and under his care. The craving he felt to be near her and the spreading ache in his chest at the thought of giving her up were far stronger than his doubt.
“I have resolved those fears,” he said.
Brom beamed. “Good.” The happy smile turned wicked and he moved toward the door. “I’ll bid you goodnight. Perhaps you will also have a visitor before you sleep.”
Tristan managed to look scandalized instead of hopeful and shooed Brom away. He was hopeful though. Very much so.
*
Fay’s heart beat harder than the horse’s thundering hooves during the final joust as she tiptoed along the hallway to Tristan’s room. She still couldn’t believe her good luck in Lady Heloise inviting him and his men to stay their last night in the village, and almost felt like it was set up specifically for her. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Lady Heloise during supper for fear the woman would wink or give her a knowing smile, but she was more than grateful. Anne was sure they would all take the same road home. It was safer to travel together and it would be foolish not to.
Everything was falling into place for her, if only she didn’t drop from a nervous heart attack before she reached Tristan’s door. Everything seemed different now that she knew how she felt. Instead of knocking, she carefully edged the door open and peered around it. He was either never off-duty or she wasn’t as stealthy as she thought, because he turned from where he stood by the window. The moon, full and bright and blazing down on his muscular form, couldn’t dazzle her nearly as much as the welcoming smile he gave her.
Hurrying inside, she pressed the door closed, stunned by his handsome face and rippling body. He wore only his hose, loosely held at his hips with a carelessly tied belt. She licked her lips, thinking it would barely take a tug to free its hold.
“Lady Fay,” he rumbled low, holding out a hand to her. She shook her head. “Fay,” he corrected himself, then the corner of his lip flicked mischievously. “My lady. Come here.”
Her feet seemed to glide the rest of the way, her hands reaching for him. He took them and placed a kiss on her knuckles, gazing down at her. Warmth coursed through her at the touch of his lips, and she pulled free so she could run her palms up his chest and over his shoulders.
“Does it hurt very much?” she asked, gently avoiding the many bruises that marred his smooth flesh. “Goodness, you’ve got a lot. I hate to think about your poor opponents.”
He chuckled. “Did I make you proud, as I promised?”
She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, letting her eyes flutter shut at the pure delight of their lips finally meeting after too long. “Very proud,” she said, finding it hard to focus. “You smell nice, like oranges.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder and breathed him in.
“The fine soap,” he told her. “I was offered a bath after supper, but demanded it before in hopes you might visit me.” He laughed softly, his fingers tracing her shoulder blades and then disappearing into her hair, which she’d had Batty brush until it floated in soft clouds around her shoulders, not a pin in sight. “I remember how you seem to like things to smell sweet.”
“What?” she asked, embarrassed.
“You’re always sniffing things, even the air,” he told her. “I find it funny and endearing.”
She’d never noticed she was being obvious about it, but so many things in this time did have a rather rank odor, so she supposed she’d been being cautious. She also thought she’d built up a pretty good tolerance to most smells, so had been prepared for him to not smell so yummy.
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 22
