Layne narrowed her eyes.
Michael grudgingly growled, “Lady.”
Griffin drew the trencher closer to the mat. “Eat,” he commanded Michael. “To be strong.”
Michael glared at the food for a long moment and then finally reached out to rip a piece from the bread and gingerly took a bite of it.
Griffin met Layne’s stare and shared a conspirator’s grin with her.
Warmth flooded through Layne. He had achieved what she could not. With her own brother. She should be insulted. But she wasn't. Not at all. She was grateful.
Carlton stuck his head into the tent. “Frances lost.”
Layne slowly turned the roasting stick over the fire outside of Griffin’s tent, cooking the duck that was skewered on it. She glanced at the Fletcher tent. It was strangely quiet, although she knew Frances and Michael were inside. Frances was furious he had lost. He was always hard on himself when he lost a competition, but even more so now when so much depended on him. Colin sat outside of the tent, sharpening his sword.
Even more depended on Colin now. They needed to win one more tournament to have enough coin for the farm. A home of their own. It’s what they all wanted. She knew that Colin would be torn whether to buy the farm or keep the money to pay to Griffin for her freedom. She was determined to make that an easy choice for her brother. She could survive much more time with Griffin, much more time than her ill father had left in the world.
Colin ran the whetstone across his blade. He was always so calm, so even tempered. She wondered how he did it. He knew the risks. He knew what they had to do. She admired Colin. She wished she could be more like him. If she was, she would never be in this situation. She would not have taken Frances’s place and jousted. She slowly turned the stick.
Griffin had let her stay with her brothers while he and Carlton went to practice.
“Ahh,” a voice called, and she turned to find a tall man approaching her.
She slowly rose, glancing at Colin who had paused in his work to watch her.
The man stopped, his hands raised. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.” He bowed slightly. “Ethan Farindale.”
“Griffin is not here.”
Ethan nodded. His sharp eyes took in everything, his surroundings, the duck she was roasting and her brother who watched him. He lifted a hand to Colin in greeting before looking back at Layne. “Where is my friend?”
“Practicing.”
“With the jousting he did today, I'm not sure he needs to practice.”
She had to agree with Ethan on that. “Should I tell him you stopped by?”
Ethan’s gaze swept her. He glanced at her brother. “Perhaps I can wait for him.”
Layne shrugged and knelt down to turn the stick the roasting duck was cooking on, easing it over so it cooked evenly.
“I didn't get your name,” Ethan said to her.
“I suspect you know my name.”
His lips curved up into a sideways grin. “I do, indeed. Fletcher. Layne Fletcher. The only one to ever have unhorsed Griffin. Well, until de la Noue, that is. But you will always be the first.”
Layne watched the duck, trying to remain impassive at his statement. Yes. She would always be the first, but she knew what had happened. She knew why Griffin fell. A tingle shot up her spine and she shifted her gaze to Ethan. She wondered if he did.
Ethan’s gaze moved over her, assessing her. “Why do you wear men’s clothing?”
“It makes riding easier.”
Ethan chuckled softly. “That’s true. Perhaps that is why knights do not wear dresses.”
“Would you like me to tell Griffin that you stopped by?” Layne asked, turning the spit.
Ethan smiled. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Layne shifted her gaze to him. “I’m just wondering what you want.”
“Ha!” Ethan exploded. “You don’t find me good company? You are not intrigued by my dashing good looks?”
A strand of dark hair fell into his blue eyes as he leaned forward, putting his arms on his crossed legs. His looks were indeed the type that maidens would fall for. One flash of his smile and he could have any woman at his mercy. Any woman except her. There was something she didn’t trust about Ethan. “Should I be?”
Ethan chuckled, but the full-fledged radiance of his smile didn’t fade. “I suppose not. You’re not like all the other women.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “There is something I would like to know.”
“Really?” He leaned forward and his look turned downright wolfish.
“How long have you known Griffin?”
Ethan sat back, blowing one of the dark strands from his eyes in disappointment.
Layne had a moment of satisfaction deflating his self-worth.
“It was shortly after he left home. I met him just before his first joust. I saved him from a group of ruffians. He never would have made it if it wasn’t for me.” He looked at her. “Are you impressed?”
She turned the spit. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the truth.”
“I have a question for you.”
“Another one?”
Ethan rumbled with laughter, but his humor slowly faded. He cast a glance at Colin who had sat back down. “Why would your brother trust you to Griffin’s care after you humiliated him?”
That familiar stab of guilt wound in Layne’s heart. Humiliated? “You mean because he was unhorsed.”
“By a woman.”
Layne ground her teeth. “I thought it was very honorable what Griffin did. Colin needed his help and Griffin offered his protection.” She looked at Ethan. “Besides, there is no humiliation in being unhorsed during a joust. No one can win all the time.”
“Well said, m’lady!” Griffin called, reining in Adonis and dismounting all in one movement. He walked toward Ethan with a menacing gate.
Layne stood.
Ethan jumped to his feet.
Griffin stalked forward until he was directly before him. “Have you something to say to me, old friend?”
Ethan stammered, “I… I… I thought you were practicing.”
Griffin’s ice blue eyes were chilly. “You did not think I would be that long, did you?”
Something passed between the two men and Ethan bowed his head. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Of course not,” Ethan said.
“Why did you come?” Griffin demanded.
Ethan cast a glance at Layne and then back at Griffin. “I heard tell she was the one who unhorsed you. I wanted to see for myself.”
Griffin’s jaw clenched. “She is. Have you something to say about that?”
Ethan’s brows rose in surprise. Then a slow grin curved his lips. “No.”
Layne felt a twinge of remorse and pain for Griffin. How many times would he have to defend himself, his reputation?
“No.” Ethan backed away from Griffin. “I guess… I’ll be going.”
Griffin grabbed his tunic front and pulled him close. “Stay away from her, Ethan. Do you understand?”
Again, Ethan’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“She is under my protection.”
Ethan nodded. “I’ve heard.”
Griffin released him.
Ethan’s lips tightened in what looked like regret, before he moved off toward the cluster of tents in the distance.
Layne looked at Griffin. He watched Ethan with a cold gaze and tight jaw. “Do not be deceived by his charm. He is untrustworthy.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Griffin glanced at her in surprise. His lips curled up at the ends. His eyes were so blue, staring at her with such focus, such acceptance. Her mouth went dry, but she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to look away. A slight wind rustled past, tossing a lock of his blond hair before his face.
Layne dipped her head in embarrassment and found a grin lighting her face.
Carlton ran up to them.
He took Adonis’s reins and started to lead him to the side of the tent. The moment was lost.
Layne stepped into the Fletcher tent.
Michael looked up. “What do you want?”
Layne grimaced. She wished she hadn’t been so harsh with him, but at least now he was sitting up. She was not going to apologize to him. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for himself. “Colin is preparing to joust.” She stood in the doorway, hesitant.
Michael shrugged.
“You know how important it is that he win this purse. Now that Frances is out –”
“I know.”
Layne stared at him. He wouldn’t look at her. He cradled his bandaged hand beneath his other arm; his shoulders drooped. “I need your help.”
He grunted. “For what?
Layne took a deep breath. She glanced out the tent flap. Colin and Frances were at the field of honor. Carlton and Griffin were at their tent.
“I learned why I was able to unhorse Griffin.”
“So what?” Michael snapped. “So you were able to defeat him.”
“Michael,” she said sternly, drawing his gaze. “Someone is trying to sabotage him.”
His brows furrowed and then distaste twisted his mouth. His eyes narrowed in doubt. “How do you know?”
“When he lost to de la Noue, his cinch was cut. Not torn. And when he jousted with me, the stirrup leather was cut.”
Michael looked down at the ground again. “Did you tell him?”
“I did.”
Michael shrugged. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Griffin, Carlton and I are going to the joust to watch Colin. I just want you to sit outside and watch his tent. Make sure no one comes around.”
Michael scowled and looked down at his wounded hand.
Layne knew he’d rather go see the joust. “Or you could go to the joust and I’ll talk Carlton into staying. I just thought that maybe you’d like to help.” She turned to exit the tent.
“Wait,” Michael called.
Layne paused.
Michael frowned his pouty expression, staring at the ground. “You could be wrong. You know you’re wrong sometimes. You don’t know everything.”
“Yes, I could be wrong. And I want to be. But he’s been unhorsed twice now. Against me and de la Noue. He shouldn’t have been unhorsed against us. Not against us. We’re not as good as he is.”
Michael was quiet for a moment as he considered her words. “I’ll watch.” He stood. He brushed past Layne. “I’m not doing this for you.”
She pressed her lips together. She knew he wasn’t. He was doing it for Griffin or maybe to prove her wrong. It didn’t matter why, only that he was doing it. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Chapter Sixteen
Griffin stood beside Layne, his gaze moving over the field of honor and through the spectators as if he were searching for something. In truth, he was calculating where the knights were positioned. They posed the most threat to Layne, and while Griffin was sure they wouldn’t act in a crowd, he had to be cautious. Carlton leaned on the fence beside him.
Colin rode Angel back and forth on his side of the field, preparing for the joust. Frances acted as his squire for the match. Colin moved Angel over to Frances and spoke quietly to him.
Griffin’s gaze shifted to Talvace, Colin’s opponent. He wore no helmet yet and his dark hair hung to his shoulders. Fool, Griffin thought. It would get in his way when he jousted. It should be tied back. Still, he was good, a competitor not to be taken lightly. But so was Colin. It should be a great match. His gaze slid to Layne.
She stood on the first wrung of the fence, her hands on the top plank. She tapped her foot constantly, nervously. A slight breeze blew her hair back from her face, giving him a glimpse of the healing wound on the back of her head. His jaw tightened. Instinctively, he scanned the field and the spectators. It took a moment, but he finally found Osmont. He was on Talvace’s side, at the other end of the field from them, laughing at something one of his companions said. Of course he was on Talvace’s side. Any side other than the Fletcher’s.
“You shouldn’t scowl at him.”
Griffin swiveled his head to find Layne grinning at him. She was eye-level with him and her beautiful blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
“People will know of your displeasure.”
Griffin looked back at Osmont. “It is only important that he know of my displeasure.”
“I think he knows.”
At the sound of the horses thudding through the dusty earth, they looked back at the field of honor. The match had begun. The knights lowered their lances and closed in on each other. Talvace missed Colin completely, but Colin landed a blow to his shoulder.
“Not hard enough,” Carlton said.
Layne glared at him. “His horse slipped.”
Carlton looked at Griffin, who nodded in agreement. Only a trained eye would have seen it. It didn't surprise Griffin that Layne had spotted it. She was good.
As Colin rounded and rode past them toward Frances, Layne pushed herself upright and cheered and clapped.
Griffin got the feeling she was being reserved.
Colin took his fresh lance from Frances.
Talvace was offered a lance, but shook his head, pointing to another. His squire offered up the lance Talvace had indicated.
Colin set off first, giving him the advantage.
Layne leaned over the fence, her hands together, the tips against her lips as if she were praying.
Griffin narrowed his eyes. The lance Talvace held didn’t move at all as the horse galloped down the list. Usually there was a little play that the rider had to contend with. Either he had a tremendous grip on the lance or…
Griffin straightened in dread.
The brutal impact struck a blow to Colin’s side, launching him back and off of his steed. Colin’s lance struck Talvace’s stomach, but slid off his armor; Talvace remained firmly in the saddle.
Layne stood up on the plank of wood, her hands in her hair, her face twisted into one of disbelief and concern.
Griffin stared as well, but he was not looking at Colin. The lance Talvace used lay on the ground, unbroken.
From the other side of the field, a cheer went up as Talvace threw his hands in the air in victory.
Frances ran out to Colin who lay on the ground, unmoving.
Layne leaned forward, over the fence as if she wished she could go to Colin.
Griffin grabbed her arm, partly in comfort, partly to prevent her from leaping the fence and racing out onto the field. He leaned over to Carlton. “Go and feign checking on Colin.” He spoke quieter. “But check Talvace’s lance.”
Carlton nodded and ducked beneath the fence to run onto the field.
Colin lay still on the ground. Prickles of apprehension raced along Griffin’s shoulders. He looked at Osmont, who was lifting his hands in victory, pumping them in the air. Talvace rode before the fence, back and forth, waving to the cheering crowd.
Carlton slid to his knees beside the lance. His hands ran over it, inspecting. He knocked on it.
Talvace’s squire, a blonde boy, raced to Carlton. He tried to pull the lance away from his study, but Carlton seized it and knocked on it, again. The blonde squire shoved Carlton, taking possession of the lance
Carlton sat back and for a moment Griffin thought he was giving up. But then he stood as the squire lifted the lance and began to carry it from the field.
“Foul!” Carlton screamed, pointing at the retreating squire.
The squire faltered. He glanced back at Carlton, his eyes wide with fear.
“Foul!” Carlton repeated, lifting his voice above the celebration and cheers of victory.
The crowd began to calm and quiet.
“Foul!” Carlton cried again, poking a finger at Talvace’s squire.
Layne straightened.
Griffin leaned toward her. “That lance didn’t move as he jousted. In this tournament, a lance like that is p
rohibited.”
Layne gasped. “It’s solid.”
Griffin nodded. “That’s what they’ll find out when they test it.”
Three nobles dressed in black robes appeared from beside the grandstand and walked toward the squire, across the field. The poor young man looked at Talvace and then at the nobles in indecision.
Griffin kept his hand firmly on Layne’s arm. He didn’t want any reason for this victory to be upheld.
Two of the nobles took the lance from the squire.
Talvace didn’t look so smug anymore. And Osmont had stopped his celebration. But why would he do it? It was an even match. Talvace had every chance of beating Colin fairly. Griffin’s gaze settled on Osmont and his eyes narrowed. He had a suspicion why.
Carlton walked over to Colin as Frances was helping him sit up. Colin held his hand to his side, but he appeared to be all right. They glanced at Carlton who spoke and then looked down the field at the black robed nobles near Talvace’s squire.
A tall thin noble straightened as his two companions held the lance. Griffin knew him as Lord Bartlett. He was one of the judges for the Norfolk Tournament. He pointed to Talvace. “Disqualified!” he proclaimed. “Sir Colin is the winner!”
Layne didn’t rejoice. She scowled. “They did that to hurt him.”
Griffin shook his head. “Not him. You.”
Layne glanced at him in surprise.
“I’m sure Osmont is behind this,” Griffin said, staring across the field at the dark haired knight who was speaking with Talvace. “Punishing your brothers for what you did.”
The final joust of the Norfolk Tournament was scheduled for later that day. But before that closing event, there was still another joust that had to take place; the winner of that match would be the man who would joust against Griffin. It was between Colin and Sir Geoffrey Williams. Layne sat in a corner of the tent, pulling a thread through a tear in Carlton’s breeches to stitch it up. She sat in the far corner, facing the tent entrance. Her knees were bent and she concentrated on the stitching. She pulled the needle through the fabric.
They had given Colin a reprieve of a few hours to tend his injury. It wasn't bad. He had only been bruised. Layne scowled, poking the needle through the fabric. It shouldn't have happened. He should have faced Talvace in a fair competition. Why would they want to injure him? Because of her. Her scowl grew. Colin had to win. But even as she thought this, doubt festered in her mind. What if his bruise hindered his performance?
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