“Nay, I remember seeing naught. Maybe we should flee to the nearest inn so that I may examine you thoroughly and see if that prompts a remembrance of any unusual birthmarks.”
“Your humor befits that of a jester,” she added smugly, using Derek’s own words before she glanced Derek’s way once more. The intimate group appeared deep in conversation. Leonie stayed close to Derek’s side, but he seemed too preoccupied to take notice.
“I have been wondering,” Robert said, “the way you look upon him. Admiration clearly forms upon your countenance.” He tilted his head. “I asked before and received no answer and fear I must know. Do you love him?”
Morgan drew in a breath. The question caught her off guard, but then also brought to mind Derek’s stubbornness, his constant scowls, and arrogant talk. She smiled to herself, for those traits endeared her to him as much as his more formidable qualities did. She did love him. She loved the way he caressed her with his eyes. She loved his dry humor and his subtle, yet obvious attempts to be more sensitive to others. The way he made her feel like the only person in the room warmed her insides, and the gentle guidance he provided the castle’s children…
“‘Tis written all over your face. You do love him, do you not?”
Morgan felt terrible for Robin Hood. He really did believe she was his beloved Amanda, blue eyes or not, and she didn’t want to hurt him…she liked him.
Before she could answer him, she was whirled about from her left side and Robert from his right as they were both enlisted in a giant circle, some sort of middle-age chain dance. The lute players had joined together in a fast tempo tune. The dance might have been enjoyable if she hadn’t glanced across the room in time to see Leonie look her way, giving her a satisfied wink.
Following every pivot the dance called for, Morgan did her best to mimic those around her. When the dance finally ended the crowd became en masse, but she managed to dip into a hasty curtsey. “I have to go, Robert.” She glanced about. “Derek said he’d kill you if he ever saw us together. Do us both a favor and find Amanda.”
Robert gave her a sincere but fleeting grin. “You have been saved for the moment, fair damsel, but I assure you,” he said, kissing her hand, “I am not ready to give up. I will be back.”
The trumpeters announced the end of the dancing and the king, it seemed, was getting ready to make an announcement. She moved through the ever-increasing crowds of people, mad at herself for trying to spare Robert’s feelings. Judging by the look in his eyes before he’d left, her hesitancy had probably added fuel to his determination to convince her to leave with him.
A silk veil lightly touched her face as she squeezed through the crowd. Many women wore high, pointed hats and headdresses horned with yards of fabric twirled about. The majority of ladies wore long, fur trimmed velvet and brocade gowns, heavy and cumbersome.
It was like being amidst a wonderful fashion show, she decided as she made a determined path toward Derek. She’d almost made it too, until Leonie appeared, blocking her way. Morgan cringed at the thought of having to speak to her. Not now, she thought, not when she was eager to talk to Derek about what she’d overheard.
“I see you finally decided to join us,” Leonie drawled, a husky twinge lining her voice.
“I would love to talk, but I’ve got to find Derek before he begins to worry.”
“You mean your husband, don’t you?”
Morgan tried to hide her surprise.
Leonie laughed, touching lightly at Morgan’s arm. “Husband, betrothed, no matter really. Either way it is my warm bed he seeks out whenever he can.”
Morgan pulled her arm free.
“Tsk, tsk, not very ladylike for such a high-born lass such as yourself. But then again, there are not many women who would not be just as furious under the circumstances.”
“Derek has done nothing wrong.” Morgan looked around, thankful to see him gesture for her to join him. “Ah, there he is now. I’ve got to go; my husband awaits me.”
She could feel the animosity left in her wake as she made her way to Derek’s side.
“There you are,” Derek said, turning away from the other guests. She saw a glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes that disappeared the moment she took his hand.
“I’d like you to meet Lady Margaret Paston and her husband, John,” he said as he eased her into the group.
Morgan listened attentively as introductions were made. Before long the conversation turned toward John Paston’s travels to London where he spent the majority of his time studying law. Apparently his wife took care of the estates while he was gone.
As they all chatted, Morgan felt Derek’s arm brush her side. At one point Derek laughed at a lighthearted comment made by John Paston’s wife, and Derek’s fingers touched at her shoulder as if to acknowledge his awareness of her. She’d never imagined that such simple things—a touch, a glimpse, the sound of his voice — could make her feel such an intensely feverish want. Hot and bothered was a term that suddenly made sense. She was hot all right, and she was definitely bothered.
As the pad of his thumb slid back and forth over her shoulder, she found it difficult to pay attention to what anyone was saying. She observed the slight crinkling of Derek’s eyes when he smiled. Such a delicious thing to know that he was hers and she was his. To know they would soon, although not nearly soon enough, be entangled within each other’s arms again.
The king’s voice blared suddenly across the room as he readied to make a speech.
“‘Tis something bothering you?” Derek asked with genuine concern as he leaned low, his breath caressing her ear. “You appear suddenly flushed.”
“I’m fine.” She squeezed his warm hand, wishing they were at Braddock…at home…where she belonged.
Where she belonged. The thought caused a flood of emotions to course through her.
After King Henry made an enthusiastic speech about a jousting event to be held the next day, he then made it known that he was retiring for the night. Morgan was thankful when he suggested his guests do the same. After saying goodnight to the Pastons, Derek led her through the castle decorated with detailed tapestries and artwork that belonged in a museum.
Stopping before one of the many royal rooms lining the hall, Derek opened the door and led her inside, leaving the door ajar. It was dark inside, shadowed only by a thin strip of light from the hallway and faint moonlight that filtered through the curtains. She could see shadows of the tapestries that hung from the ceiling, dividing the room in two. Derek took it upon himself to check behind the cloth divider. He then turned back to her and whispered into her ear. “Your maid is asleep. Maybe I should wake her so she can help you undress.”
Peering up at his face, her eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness, she boldly laid her hand on his solid flat stomach and slid her splayed fingers upward, slow and steady, reveling in the contrast between the soft fabric and his hard chest. Her voice came out husky and low. “Can’t you stay?”
“Nay. I have unfinished business to attend.”
She saw the hint of regret in his eyes and his whispered voice against her ear was enough to undo her. She hungered for him like never before. When he turned away and headed for the door without leaving her with so much as a kiss, she felt deflated and physically frustrated. She sighed, knowing his leaving was for the best. Odelia was only a curtain away and they both had a long day ahead of them.
She followed him to the door, gently putting a hand to his back. Before she could say goodnight, he turned back to her, took her swiftly into his arms and greedily claimed her mouth with his in a heated, desperate passion that matched her own. Their tongues mated eagerly as her hands slid around her waist.
After the kiss ended, he held her tight against him and pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead, leaving her standing in the dark…wanting him more than ever and missing him already.
CHAPTER 14
The intense heat from the sun beat down upon the crowds. The fields were a festival
of color with everyone attired in bright colors. Sprinklings of silk and flashes of shining baubles glinted in the sun as people waved fans, handkerchiefs, and caps to fend off the high temperatures.
The herald blew his trumpet and before Morgan or Odelia had time to take their seats, two armored parties rushed upon the other. The sharp clanging of iron against iron reverberated above the cacophony of noise coming from the onlookers.
Over a smaller man’s head Morgan saw the air fill with dust, splinters, and scraps of silk. Out of the thickest cloud of dust arose the neighing of horses and the continuing crash of blows. Morgan stood on her tiptoes and caught sight of two men charging one another with twelve-foot lances pointed straight and forward. “I can’t watch this,” she said to Odelia as they progressed through the cramped masses to find their seats.
“Close your eyes if you must, but I can assure you ‘tis only for entertainment. That wounded knight yonder there,” she said, flicking her hand to where two knights carried a wounded man off, “will derive the most pleasure of all. Every unwed maiden will tend to the knight with their fair kisses, and then coddle him for his brave and courageous deeds this day.”
This was worse than the stupid fights of modern days. What joy could be derived from wounding another? Morgan shook her head. She could hardly hear herself think through a herald’s cry and the crowd’s unwavering shouts. Perspiration dripped down her neck as she took the empty seat next to Odelia. Not too far away, the king sat perched within his throne on a high platform. She had no intention of watching any more jousting, but Odelia’s nudge to her arm caused her to look back to the fields. Her mouth fell open as she watched two more knights mount their steeds.
Two very familiar looking knights.
She shot to her feet and rubbed her eyes. She had to be hallucinating. It was definitely Robert DeChaville on the left. His horse, in purple satin trappings trimmed with gold, stamped at the ground and snorted in anticipation. Over his suit of mailed armor, Robert’s tunic blazed with his bright colored coat of arms. And with his basinet opened, she could clearly see his face.
She didn’t need to see the other man’s face to see that the Earl of Kensington had finally arrived. Her very own knight in shining armor was here at last. She shook Odelia’s arm. “Odelia, it’s the Earl of Kensington! I know that armor. He’ll kill Robert, I’m sure of it.”
“The weapons are blunted for their protection, my lady. Don’t fret, for Lord—”
Morgan paid little attention to Odelia’s words. The fact that the earl was actually here and…oh…Robert! He would be killed. She and her mother had read that the Earl of Kensington’s knightly abilities would go unchallenged until his death. She couldn’t just stand here and watch Robert die.
Jumping off the pavilion, she ran through the railing of shiny ribbon, running as fast as she could toward the armored men.
Robert smiled, a great flash of straight teeth, apparently deeply moved that she was coming to his side.
“Robert, get off that horse this minute. You’ll be killed. You don’t know that man who sits before you the way I do. The Earl of Kensington will strike you down with the swiftest of blows. You won’t know what hit you, I tell you! Get off now before they carry you away helpless and most likely dead.”
Robert bent over and kissed Morgan’s cheek. “Ah, my sweet Amanda, you’ve seen the light. Surely you know that by coming to my side you have given me the strength of four knights. The strength needed to win against the infamous Lord Vanguard,” he added, raising both arms.
Beads of sweat appeared. The thick dress she wore clung to her skin like a wet towel. “What are you talking about? That isn’t Vanguard. It’s another knight entirely: a knight more fierce and dangerous. Look for yourself.”
Morgan turned to face the man to which she now pointed. He was closer than she thought and he’d obviously heard every word. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Here he was, the Earl of Kensington, just as she’d last seen him at her mother’s antique store when her T-shirt had become stuck within the same glimmering plates of armor. There he sat, she thought, the proud knight, looking as chivalrous and fearless as the tales boasted. Through his basinet he stared at her as he’d often done while she was growing up.
But this was different.
The man to whom the armor belonged was actually beneath the metal suit. The plated armor, cunningly wrought and inlaid with gold and silver, was exactly the same. Unable to resist the impulse to touch, she took a step forward, her heart hammering against her chest.
At that very moment he pushed his visor up to finally reveal the face she’d longed to see since she was a child.
Her legs trembled at the sight of him! Her knight, her very own knight, holding his magnificent sword with golden hilt…was also Derek Vanguard, Lord of Braddock Hall. One and the same.
It couldn’t be. She felt dizzy.
He must have sensed her imbalance for he dismounted and his arms came around her and she could feel the hard steel of his armor against her chest.
The crowd, the polished and civilized lords and ladies, could barely contain their excitement as they watched the ongoing commotion. Even the king watched in a merry frenzy, as if he knew he couldn’t have summoned more titillating entertainment had he tried.
“Return to your seat,” Derek said as she regained her footing.
“Derek,” she said. “You are the Earl of Kensington; you’re the reason I’ve been sent here…to this century. All this time it was because of you, don’t you see?”
“Take your seat,” he said firmly, “or I will bring you to it myself.” He turned his back to her and went to his steed.
She followed him, still trembling from the shock of discovering that Derek was also the Earl of Kensington.
With help from a squire, Derek mounted his charger before he turned back to her. “‘Twould seem I may be forced to have you confined to your room if you continue to disobey me.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Go,” he said calmly.
“My dearest Amanda,” Robert called to her. “Do not fear, for there will be no later date for this man who dares to call himself a knight.”
Morgan was about to let Robert have a piece of her mind, but stopped herself when she saw Leonie run up and tie her dainty, lacy handkerchief around Derek’s arm. That did it!
Morgan went to stand by Robert’s gigantic horse and glanced about for something to tie on Robert’s arm. She didn’t have a handkerchief, damn it! She tried ripping part of her velvet sleeve but Shayna’s needlework was too good. She tried ripping at the hem. Damn. Still no luck. Finally she yanked the ribbon weaved within her braid, causing her hair to fall in a thick veil around her shoulders.
As she gifted Robert with a dazzling smile she tied the ribbon around his wrist.
Saucily, she glanced at Derek and instantly regretted her actions when she saw that he appeared officially ready to kill them both.
There would be no mercy when he jousted this day and the crowd knew it. Even from where they stood, the increasing hordes could feel the undaunted and intrepid vibrations of the two men. The anticipation alone made the unbearable heat suddenly very tolerable for the bloodthirsty crowd.
Derek looked straight at DeChaville, piercing the other’s blue eyes with his threatening gaze of dark rage and said without compassion, “I bid thee make a final prayer, for I shall presently cast you down from your seat so swiftly that you shall never rise again.”
“That shall be according to the will of Heaven, Sir Knight, and not according to thy own mortal will,” Robert said without diffidence.
Morgan pleaded with them both to forget the ridiculous joust, but neither would pay her any attention, and she had no choice but to return to her seat when one of the squires led her to it.
She sat tense and pale, worried sick at the thought that Robert would soon be dead. An overwhelming numbness seeped inside of her as each knight saluted the other before riding to his stati
on. Without waiting for the herald’s cries or the high-pitched blows of the trumpeters, the two knights shouted out and launched forth.
They met with a thunderclap of hooves hitting dirt and the dust rose high and a giant sigh escaped the crowd as the dust cleared and they saw that both men still sat firm upon their mounts.
The trumpets sounded, a mere whisper to Morgan’s ears. The horses whirled about to start at their allotted places. Morgan thought of Amanda, wondering how she would ever find Wilmead Farm so that she could tell her how sorry she was that Robin Hood had been killed.
The knights passed a second time, and she put her head to Odelia’s shoulder, squeezing her arm when Robert’s helmet was knocked clean off. Blood ran from his mouth and cheek, but he held his seat and wasn’t overthrown.
The two men returned to their stations and requested new lances. Even from here Morgan could see that the new tips were sharper, deadlier. She grabbed hold of Odelia’s hand. “Why are they doing that? Why are they taking a new weapon when nothing was wrong with the other?”
Worriedly, Odelia shook her head in wonder.
Both men saluted the king and when the brass horns fell silent they charged once more. The hooves of their mounts were again like thunder and when the sunlight hit both knights their armor flamed like lightning, and the people shouted their approval as the two men came together, lashing at each other with fearful strength. Morgan blinked to rid her eyes of the blinding tears, praying that neither man would die.
For a split second no one could see how the battle went. The crowds shouted in deafening roars, and she strained every muscle to see beyond the dust. Splinters of wood were cast into the air. Whole pieces of armor flew off from their bodies, and yet neither man yielded as they came from the cloud of dust, turned, and charged once again, this time without bothering to return to their starting places.
Derek’s horse appeared to fall back slightly. Robert noticed the slip and charged toward him, hitting her husband a great blow with his sword.
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