She pulled the needle through the fabric, but it caught. She tugged at it and the thread snapped off the needle.
What if Colin lost? She sighed and bent her head to her knees? Only in privacy could she admit her fears. His chances of winning at the upcoming Woodstock tourney would be even less than here at Norfolk. It was a larger purse and many more knights would participate.
“Layne?”
She lifted her head to see Griffin entering the tent. His entire form took up the space in the opening. His blonde hair hung in waves to his shoulders. The sunlight shining in from behind him accentuated his strong arms, casting a golden hue over his shoulders. Her breathing hitched unexpectedly.
“Carlton told me you wanted to wash clothing. He is busy with my armor. I will escort you to the stream.”
Layne nodded. She tied off the string with a knot, folded the breeches and put them in the dirty pile. She lifted the clothes into her arms.
Griffin did not move as she approached. “Is your head bothering you?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s healing. Tender to the touch, but all right.”
Griffin’s gaze swept her face. “Then what is it? What troubles you?”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Was she that transparent to him? “I...” She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how important it was for them to win. She sighed softly and looked down. He was well off. He did not lack for weapons or a fine horse. Just another thing that separated them. He wouldn’t understand. “No. I’m fine.”
For a long moment, he stood before her, gazing at her. She couldn’t meet his stare. Finally, he stepped aside and she walked out of the tent, moving down the slight rise toward the stream. She heard his footsteps as he followed. She ducked beneath a branch and entered the forest.
He caught up with her then. “You are worried about your brother.”
Layne shrugged. “Of course. After the last joust, can you blame me?”
He shook his head.
“And for you. Carlton is checking your equipment?”
Griffin lifted his head to the forest ceiling where branches merged above their heads. “He is, but you should not concern yourself with that.”
“How can I not?”
He turned his piercing gaze to her.
She stopped and faced him, pushing the clothing down so she could speak. “I have to worry about it. I have to worry about you. Someone does.”
He took the clothing from her arms. “I have no need for someone to worry about me.” He continued through the forest.
Layne hurried after him, surprised that he had taken the clothing and now carried them for her. “Everyone should have someone to worry about them. What about your sister?”
He laughed, his rolling deep chuckle edged with bitterness. “She is too worried about fashion and her next new dress.”
Pity twisted inside of her. She had her brothers and they all worried for each other. She couldn’t imagine not having someone to be concerned about her. She nodded and lifted her chin. “Then I will worry about you.”
He glanced back at her.
She smiled at him.
“And if I don’t want you to worry about me?”
“I’m afraid you can’t stop me.”
He stopped and she almost bumped into him, but brought herself up short. “No one has been concerned for my welfare since I was a child. My father was too busy tending to the castle and lands. My brother had more concern for his sword than he did for me. No. I am the only one who looks out for myself.”
Layne’s gaze swept him. “Not anymore.” She raced past him and dashed to the stream. “I won.”
“I didn’t know we were racing.”
“It’s always a competition between my brothers and I. For just about everything we do.”
“Is that why you feel the need to sword fight and joust?” He set the clothing on the ground.
Layne considered his words. “My father liked to sword fight and joust. I suppose I thought if I liked it, that would bring us closer.”
“Did it?”
Layne knelt at the shore and picked up a shirt. “No.” She dunked the clothing beneath the water. “He was much of the same mindset as you are. It is a man’s game with no place for a woman.” She could feel Griffin scrutinizing her. She felt she was on display. This was something she didn’t want Griffin to see, a longing inside of her that she wanted kept private. “It really didn’t matter what I did. My father was more interested in my brothers than me.”
“Where is he now?”
“Edinfield Manor awaiting our return.” She took the soap and scrubbed the tunic. Then she dunked it into the water. “We will return after the Woodstock Tourney.” She froze and glanced at him. “Well, at least my brothers will.”
“They will not have enough coin to pay me.”
Layne looked down at the tunic in her hands. Griffin’s tunic. “Not if they don’t win a tournament. And even then, they might not.” She wanted Colin to buy the farm for their family, not pay for her release. She closed her eyes. She had really messed things up. “You might be stuck with me longer than you think.”
“You think that is a punishment for me?”
His words caught her off guard. “I think I am a chore for you. I think I distract you. I think --”
He knelt beside her and put a finger to her lips. “You think too much.” He brushed a lock of her hair back from her cheek. “You are a pleasant surprise for me. I was not expecting you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
His gaze swept her face, tenderly, a warm smile on his lips. “Good. You are like a breath of fresh air when the world had gone sour.”
His words shocked her and her blood began to simmer with the promise of those words. Slowly, doubt clouded her mind and a scowl etched into her forehead. She turned from him to continue washing. “Then why would you try to change me?”
“I don’t want to change you,” he said softly, his voice velvet and gentle. “I did in the beginning. I wanted you to be like other women.”
Layne scrubbed the fabric harder with the soap, her heart dropping. Just like her father. Just like her aunt. They had always wanted her to fit the mold of a lady, to be like the other young ladies. But she never could.
“Only now do I realize what a mistake that is.”
Surprised, she snapped her gaze to him. Confused, she could only stare. She must have misheard him. He couldn’t have said those words. Because she wanted him to say them. With all her heart, with all her being, she wanted him to say those words. She wanted him to love her just like she was. Love her? She froze, stunned by the thought.
“You are a wonder. You can see mistakes that most men would miss. In style, in weapons. In people. And you caught the sabotage. Even Carlton missed that.”
Was she dreaming? Was Griffin actually complimenting her on her jousting and weapons skills? Her mouth dropped slightly.
He sat back, leaning on his arms. “You must think I am mad. I think I’m mad. And don’t think this lets you off the hook. I still think you are in danger. From Osmont. From whoever is trying to sabotage me. I won’t allow you to place yourself into any more danger.”
Layne’s heart pounded in her chest. It was the closest thing to concern he had ever expressed to her. “Do you mean it? Truly mean it?”
"Do I mean you will stay out of danger? Absolutely!”
Layne rolled her eyes. "No. Not that.”
Griffin’s smile was relaxed and gentle and full of warmth. “I mean that you are perfect the way you are. Except, I would see you in a dress now and then.”
She smiled. “If the occasion arises, I promise I will don a dress.”
He gently laid his hand on her cheek. “You shouldn’t worry what others think and say.”
“I don’t,” she agreed. His palm was hot against her skin and she couldn’t help staring at his lips. “Only what you think and say.”
His eyes glinted in happiness and he eased her he
ad toward his lips, running his tongue across her top lip before entering her mouth hungrily. Tingles danced through her body. She would never grow tired of feeling his lips on hers, of having him kiss her. She reached around behind him, wrapping her hands behind the nape of his neck.
He braced himself with one arm and pulled her close with the other, curving his arm around her waist.
She angled her head to give him better access to her mouth. He tasted of warm ale, heady duck and a tinge of honey. There was a tenderness that belied his strength. He pulled her closer, more demanding, holding her tighter as if he was afraid to let her go. Her senses reeled as the kiss deepened. She clutched his shoulders.
“Ooooh! I’m telling.”
The voice was like a douse of cold water. Layne pushed herself from Griffin, her face coloring.
Michael stood near a tree between the tent and them.
“Michael!” Layne exclaimed, rising.
“You were kissing him,” Michael sang in sing-song fashion and turned to rush back to the tent. “I’m telling Colin.”
“Michael.” Griffin’s voice demanded obedience. “Come here, boy.”
Michael froze and then slowly, obediently, turned and approached him with his head down.
“Look at me.”
Michael lifted his gaze and there was a furious scowl on his brow.
“Do you have something to say to me?” Griffin demanded.
“You shouldn’t be kissing my sister unless you intend to marry her,” Michael stated.
As embarrassed as Layne was, she had to admire Michael’s bravery. Even after he was injured, he still had the demeanor of a great man.
“You are correct,” Griffin said.
Michael’s eyes widened. “You’re going to marry Layne?”
“Perchance,” Griffin said.
This caught Layne off guard. They had never said anything about marriage. But she couldn’t help the strange flutter that settled in her stomach at the thought of marrying Griffin.
“Then you shouldn’t be kissing my sister until you are certain.”
Griffin nodded in agreement. “You are correct. I am very fond of Layne.” He glanced at her and a gentle smile came to his lips. “Very fond.”
Joy ignited inside Layne. Joy and something else. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to touch him.
“But there are things that Layne and I have to work out privately. The jousts must come first.” He put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “As a young squire, you know that.”
Michael scowled again and kicked at a pebble on the ground. “Maybe.”
“This matter will remain a secret. You will not tell Colin. Yet.”
“But he should know.”
“And I will tell him when the moment is right.” Griffin gently shook Michael’s shoulder. “Agreed?”
Michael nodded. “Agreed.”
“Man to man.”
Michael nodded again, a lock of his brown hair falling into his eyes. “Man to man.”
“Good boy.” Griffin ruffled his hair. He glanced at Layne.
She was shocked that Michael had agreed to keep the incident from Colin. But she was again amazed at the way Griffin had handled her brother, amazed and proud.
“Let us head back. We have a joust coming up.”
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t go,” Layne complained.
Griffin sat on the straw mat, watching her pace the tent. “Carlton will tell us who is the victor.”
“I could have seen for myself if...” She whirled on him; the look on her face was like that of a trapped animal desperate for freedom beyond its cage. “Why couldn’t we go?”
“It’s best not to keep you in the forefront of Osmont’s mind. Let him think of other things. A fair joust, for one.”
“Osmont wasn’t jousting.”
“But he’s there,” Griffin said softly. “Layne. You being there or not being there is not going to affect the outcome. Relax.”
She frowned and paced again. Back and forth. There certainly wasn’t enough room to move, let alone get the pent up frustration out. “I don’t like Colin out there without protection.”
“And you think you can protect him?”
Layne stopped to stare at the ground. “Even you said that I have a good eye. Maybe I could see something everyone missed. Maybe ---”
“Maybe you would run out onto the field again.”
She rolled her eyes and looked up at the top of the pavilion. “I was not going to run out onto the field.”
“Because I had your arm.” Layne opened her mouth to protest, but Griffin continued, “You react with your heart, especially where it involves the ones you love. If you could control that initial reaction you would be a very dangerous opponent.”
Did he mean -? Could he actually mean -? “You mean on the field of honor?”
He stared at her for a long moment, a play of emotions moving through his eyes.
Her heart soared with hope, longing to hear the words of praise on his lips. Anticipation thrummed in her veins.
He looked down at the ground. Several pairs of torn breeches and a pile of tunics with various tears and rips in them lay scattered nearby. “Do you not have chores to do?”
There was a moment of silence in which her hope disintegrated. Of course he would never mean the field of honor. Not with her. No matter how good she was. She didn't belong on the field of honor. She looked at the clothing. “You meant as a mender of clothing,” she said with rich sarcasm. “Yes. Those other menders are very dangerous, too. I’m just terrified of them.” She scooped the clothing up in her arms.
“Where are you going?”
She glanced at him around the clothes. Her hair fell forward and she had to brush it back from her eyes. “I’m going outside to mend. You’d best accompany me. Those frightful menders might be there. I might need protection.” She ducked out of the tent.
“Layne!”
She looked over the slight rise toward the field of honor to see Carlton rushing toward them. Her heart twisted with dread and excitement. Eagerness rushed through her veins. Colin had to win. He had to!
“He lost. Colin was unhorsed.”
Lost. Her heart plummeted. That meant the Fletchers were out of the joust. The purse was no longer theirs to win. That meant only one thing. One of them had to win the Woodstock Tourney.
Chapter Seventeen
Layne sat in the tent with her brothers. She watched them somberly as they all packed up to leave. No one said a word.
Griffin and Carlton were at the field of honor jousting their last joust. There was no doubt they would win.
Colin stared at a flask of ale he was packing.
Layne grimaced. She knew he was disappointed. “Colin ---”
“Don’t,” Colin ordered. “I was expecting to be jousting out there against Wolfe.”
“Sometimes even the best are unhorsed,” she told him gently. “This is not a perfect art. Things go wrong.”
“Nothing went wrong!”
“Obviously something went wrong if you were unhorsed. Did you check ---?”
“Everything,” Colin insisted. “There was no sign of tampering.”
He sounded disappointed. She wished she had been there to see what happened, what went wrong. “Then we’ll just have to win next time. At Woodstock.”
“You don’t understand,” Colin said. He leaned toward her. “We have to win at Woodstock. Or we won’t have enough for the farm. Father... we... won’t have a home for the winter. We need that purse.”
Layne shrugged. “Then we will win.”
“It’s as simple as that?” Frances mocked.
“Yes,” Layne insisted. “If I could knock Griffin from the horse, then so can either of you.”
“You said someone cut his stirrup leather,” Colin said, looking down at the flask in his hand.
“It doesn’t matter. You can do it. You just need to practice. A lot. I’ll sneak out later and meet you at the field
of honor.” Colin looked at her and was about to protest, but she continued, “We’ll practice every moment we can. Every second we get. We will beat them. All of them.”
A grin curled Colin’s lips and he looked at the flask. “All right then. We’ll practice.”
“Of course, if you weren’t so lazy, you all would have been practicing already.”
“Really?” Frances demanded, rising and approaching her with a menacing gait.
“Is that so?” Colin demanded, tossing the flask at her.
She ducked and the flask sailed over her head, but Frances grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to the ground. He began to tickle her. She tried to fend off his hands, but peals of laughter issued from her.
“That is not how a lady is treated.”
Frances and Layne looked up to see Michael standing over them, a severe scowl on his brow.
“No?” Frances asked.
“You do not throw a lady to the ground and lay on top of her to tickle her.”
Layne shrugged. “He’s right, you know.”
Frances guffawed. “If I see one, I’ll be sure to treat her properly.”
Layne punched his arm.
A predatory look came over Frances’s face, dancing in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself from on top of Layne and approached Michael. “But there’s no rule against attacking your brother!” He leapt at Michael.
“Frances!” Colin called, sparing Michael who had turned to run. “Let’s pack up so we can leave first thing in the morning. That way we can practice later and ---”
A loud cheer came from the field of honor.
Layne led the way out of the tent, followed by the other three. She stared in the direction of the field. Nervousness churned her stomach. Then relief and a surge of happiness and pride settled her unease as cheers filled the air.
“Wolfe! Wolfe! Wolfe!”
“He won,” Frances whispered.
Her lips curled into a smile. “Yes he did.”
“How am I supposed to beat him?” Frances queried, running a hand through his dark hair.
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